A Sojourn Into The Soul (Open)

[Mokobo]

"D'aww look! He loves it already!"
"He's still sleeping, and he looks absolutely ridiculous."
The two voices, both strange and yet oddly familiar, sounded muffled and faint as if they were passing through a thick pane of glass. The first was distinctly female and was overflowing with glee. The second, however, was male and practically dripping with irritation and chagrin. Oren struggled to open his eyes so as to see who these stranger conversing over him were. Yet no matter how much he struggled to focus his gaze he only managed to glimpse two bleary figures, one being much larger than the others.
"Don't worry, he'll grow into it."
"It's him growing at all that I'm worried about."
"Oh don't be such a pessimist."
For a moment Oren sought to lift himself from the soft bed of leaves upon which he was reclined, but his muscles entirely failed to obey his will. The sensation was entirely unwelcome, but not admittedly not as foreign as he liked to admit. As his mind raced to puzzle out what sort of predicament he was in, the young druin strove to calm himself and survey what he could of his surroundings. There was no sunlight, so either it was night or he was in a den of some sort, the latter being his hope as he had fallen asleep in the relative safety of one.
"The emperor is already upset with us, this will only make things worse."
"I don't give a fig what your brother thinks. These are my children too! That relic has been in my family for generations, passed from first born to first born. It's his birthright!"
Oren was so captivated by these passionate words that he paused studying his surroundings to once more stare in awe at the hazy silhouettes which wavered above him. It wasn't until the silence that followed that he began to focus on determining which of his senses still seemed to work. He could feel the comfortable layer beneath him occasionally rustling, almost as if he shared his bed with another. This suspicion was quickly confirmed as he felt a paw press uncomfortably into his back. That action shoved his body into a cold object with rough edges that seemed larger than his entire being. Once more Oren felt panic rise in his throat as his paws curled about that unknown item despite his best attempts to back away from it.
"Druins don't carry weapons, he will be ridiculed."
"Well I guess it's a good thing that he's only half druin then."
Another pause in the conversation came, but this second interlude was quickly broken by a soft sigh of surrender.
"I don't suppose you're going to change your mind?" The smaller, feminine figure's head swayed quickly. "Alright then, you win- but let me name him. The least I can do to ease his burden is give him a strong name."
"What did you have in mind?"
"How about Deathblood?"
"Oh...well...that's quite- droll."

With a startled gasp and a racing pulse Oren abruptly awoke. The lanky youth rose from his own crude bed of leaves quick enough to loose his footing before promptly falling face first upon the cold stone floor. The world seemed to be reeling around him as he struggled to make sense of what he had just seen. Had it all simply been a dream? Oren hoped to himself that such was the case, but he was uncertain if he could dream of creatures he had never met. For a moment the young druin wondered if perhaps he was still asleep, and this entire experience was just one confusing nightmare. After extricating himself from the hard earth beneath him and shaking the dust from beneath his scales, Oren would look around to determine just what was going on.
Luckily he seemed to have full faculty of his senses once more. The interior of his temporary den was as dark as the one in his dream, the only difference being a faint red light which he assumed for the moment to be the oncoming dawn outside. In a corner he could see the remains of the previous night's meal just where he had left them, and he could still hear the steady drip of water which had kept him up for half of the night. His nostrils were quickly flooded with the scent of mildew as well, quickly confirming the fact that Oren was indeed in the same place where he had laid his head to rest. The youth wasn't entirely comforted by this fact however, as the puzzle of what he had seen quickly rose to the forefront of his mind once more.
The druin continued to tell himself that the dream had been simply that and nothing more, but each new way of explaining it seemed weaker than the last. This was hardly the first dream of this sort, as he had experienced a few on his lonely trek from his desert homeland. Yet the previous ones had never been so intense. Additionally Oren had experienced several spotty but vivid day dreams ever since he had come upon this wondrous new land, but most of them were simply old memories of his father. He wondered to himself if perhaps the two were connected. The druin didn't think it was possible to dream of someone he had never met, but he hadn't in truth actually seen who was talking. However he knew he had never heard either of those voices before, and yet somehow they had seemed familiar.
Oren closed his eyes for a moment and stood perfectly still in an attempt to calm his mind. After a few heartbeats he managed to find a thought that brought him a little bit of peace; whatever he saw, it truly did not matter. Rolling that idea about in his mind calmed the druin greatly, so much that he issued a loud yawn. While dawn was coming, and he had many things to do this day, Oren reasoned to himself that he could return to his slumber for just a little while longer. After all, it felt as though he had hardly slept at all. Yet just as he stirred the leaves of his bed in an attempt to make it a little more comfortable, the red light grew bright enough that its radiance dully lit the entire den. In that moment Oren realized the glow was not coming from the entrance to his den, outside of which the moon was at its highest, but rather was issuing from the very spot on which he had been laying.
Barely covered by a few dry, broken leaves laid his father's sword. The light radiated from the large ruby set into the weapon's pommel, growing brighter as he drew near. The scabbard with his father's mark set into it was nowhere to be seen, leaving the bright metal of the sword exposed bare. The red light seemed to dance across the smooth surface, occasionally gleaming as it came across several tiny nicks in the edge which sharpening could simply not remove. For a moment he wondered if something catastrophic was about to occur and cautiously retreated a step. Yet the only thing which followed was a faint dimming to the red light coming from the sword's pommel. The youth even went so far as to alternate advancing and retreating only to have the light increase and decrease respectively before he decided that this new mystery could wait until morning.
Oren looked to the side of his resting place where he had left the sword, quickly spotting the blade's scabbard against the far wall as if it had been flung there.A sigh escaped the druin as he added rolling around in his sleep for the first time to the ever growing list of strange things that had happened as of late. Deciding that it was probably not wise to sleep atop a razor sharp sword, the druin would reached down to grasp its hilt. Yet as soon as his paw enclosed around the worn, burnt leather wrapping his head began to swoon. As the dark den began to spin and the red light grew brighter, Oren completely lost his equilibrium and fell to the floor. Worse yet, the muscles in the paw which held his father's sword seemed to be the only ones which still worked, as they continued to grasp the weapon tightly. Desperately the youth clung to consciousness, but his best efforts were quickly overcome as the world was consumed in the bright red light.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

|The sunlight was blinding as it pierced through the light storm to illuminate each flake of snow and make them into small, glistening gems. Oren lifted his paw to shield his eyes against the offensive brightness, but what he saw instead was a hand. A hand and forearm coated in soot as black as midnight all the wall to its elbow before transitioning to exposed, bronzed skin. After the brief hesitation his arm seemed to lower it self of its own accord before its clenched fist opened. At last he could continue his examination of the trinket within, and in better light to boot. It seemed to be nothing more than a clay carving of the moon, crudely made and rather old. Yet its previous owner had been rather desperate to keep it, and had paid a rather handsome fee for such greed, so the object, however how odd, had to have some sort of worth.
"Consider this payment for breaking my father's sword." The words left his lips unbidden, carried away quickly on the brisk wind as his other blackened hand lifted itself to angrily brandish a large great sword which was broken in half. The one at whom his words were directed, conniving trickster he had been, laid (or rather smoldered) dead below him. All that remained of his foe was a charred. smoking corpse which had curled in upon itself during its last throes of life. The fox had been small, but surprisingly resilient, and had proven powerful enough to draw him into his true form and still give him a run for his money. That the creature had defiled the last thing he had of his father's made him wish he could bring it back from the dead only to kill it again a thousand times over. After uttering another curse and spitting upon the wretched remains, he turned away from the macabre scene.
Still rather irked at having what should have been a simple bit of sport go so wrong, he would hastily shove the broken weapon into the sheath strapped to his back. The housing for that blade emerged from the mouth of a large, black wolf's head resting on his shoulder. That head, and the pelt attached, was the only adornment covering his otherwise bare torso. With one hand now free, he pulled the hide of his cloak away from the grasp of the wind and his side to reveal a small pack of dark velvet. That pouch of sorts was connected to an old belt that held up even older pants which had once been made of a fine material but were now tattered. It was into this pack that he carefully stowed his newest treasure for safekeeping.
"Hey Jhomin, does he have any food too?"
"Really Oska?" Jhomin's words were accompanied by an exasperated sigh before he lifted his gaze to his travelling companion. Oska was a bear of a man, or a man of a bear to be technical as he was in fact a werebear. Somehow Oska's nose had escape the onslaught of his massive, red beard, which completely hid his third chin to reach down his chest, only to occasionally do battle with rogue locks of his knotted mane. He covered himself in a crude garb of bear skins which appeared to be hand-stitched rather clumsily, a masterpiece to which Oska would vehemently claim creation of. While Jhomin wasn't certain if the original outfit was by his friend's design, he did know Oska had patched it himself several times, usually to add more pockets or extend the midriff to better hold the girth of his almighty stomach. One thing Jhomin was certain of was that his friend could certainly sew a living hide far better than a tanned one, as he had been under Oska's needle himself far more times than he cared to admit to.
"Does it look like there's anything else?" Here Jhomin paused to gesture to the still smoking corpse behind him. "If you're that hungry, there's some meat right there, freshly cooked just for you buddy." Oska's insatiable appetite had proven to be a more reliable timepiece than the sun itself during their years wandering together. After all, Jhomin awoke each day directly after third breakfast, which was naturally the crack of dawn. Yet every time he told Oska eating so early would slow him down during the day's trek the latter always told him he would be 'quicker than the sun' which had an air of truth to it at least. Yet despite that ravenous hunger the werebear exhibited a surprising eating habit.
"You know I don't eat meat." Oska muttered these words into his beard as he dejectedly turned his gaze to the ground below.
"You know something? No matter how many times you say that I'm still shocked each time." Jhomin walked up to his companion's side which towered over him by a third his own height. He would reassuringly pat Oska on the hand before reaching behind himself and plunging his hand into the wolf's maw once more. "We'll fix it someday, just remember what I told you; always try new things." Quickly Jhomin would fling his hand forth, attempting to toss an apple up into the sky. Not surprisingly, Oska's beefy hand snatched the fruit from the air before it could pass him in a feat reminiscent of a frog catching flies. Yet the grin the werebear wore made the failed trick still worth it. "Come on Oska, let's get going." With those words Jhomin would turn to begin carelessly striding through the ice-encrusted trees and the snow storm surrounding them.
"But- What about the others?"
"What about them?

OoC - I want to say first that I'm really excited to be getting this particular project underway >=D Jhomin and Oska are likely equally excited to finally be out of my notebook as well >.> They've been shut in there for some time now, but enough about that.

First off, for those who have not visited this thread, and are interested in knowing more about how to join, please follow the aforementioned link.

So how I envision this working is just like how we really old SOians used to RP, way back on Neopets (which I'm not sure if anyone else here was around for that D=) but with a little twist of my own. All the rules for the rest of the board apply, with the one exception that profiles are not required for characters participating in this plot (which honestly makes sense given its temporary nature ((not to say you can't make a profile for the character you create here for regular use if you so choose and such a thing is feasible))) In this first instance, since our family is still small, we're going to be using the honor system, but depending on how this experiment goes the rules for any later instances may change.
This plot is taking place in the distant past, and much about the current state of affairs is unknown, giving us a lot of creative freedom and allowing us embellish upon the previous post and build a portion of SO's legend. However, I must insist that we remain within the established history and lore so many have put so much of themselves into. If you have any questions about this matter feel free to message them to me at any time and I'll do my best to answer them (and probably defer to Rel at some point in the process of answering them =3) As for what I have already established with Jhomin and Oska (which isn't much but hopefully enough for a reply) it is what you see. Everything I have planned pertains to the characters themselves (and one eensty tinsty little idea of where they might stop by at some point >.>) so feel free to make your reply your own =D
For my closing remark I want to assure you guys your replies do not have to be as long as this initial post. Over half of this was simply getting us to this point and the rest was just character introduction, Also please mind the dust as I don't have time to edit this tonight ^_^; (I wasn't actually going to finish it in one day but bottled inspiration can be consuming like that sometimes)

[Relairah]

As white as the surrounding snow and ice, she was distinctive only for the starkly contrasting black swirling patterns etched into her thick fur and the color of her eyes - a blend of blue and green that could change between the two depending on her environment. How long had she trekked without seeing another, she wondered, save for the prey she had hunted for sustenance?

She stopped, her head rising and fluffy, triangular ears flicking forward as two distinctly male voices carried in her direction. She was downwind of them and she sniffed, picking their scents apart from the others swirling in the air. Neither of them were quite beast or quite human. Much like herself, she supposed. Yet she was also familiar with how the scent could change depending on the form one took on. Within moments, she was no longer standing on four paws but rather stood on two feet. Her skin dared challenge the snow around her, her eyes ever the same. Long, wavy black tresses flowed down her back. About her shoulders and flowing down her torso into a thick tail trailing behind her was in essence an enormous stretch of thick fur, resembling her pelt as a wolf. Dark boots adorned her feet, reaching above her knees and about her arms were long dark gloves.

Confidently, she continued forward toward the voices she had heard in part out of curiosity and for other reasons. The blizzard continued to rage, yet she moved through it as though it were still, the wind seeming to dance past her figure. Finally, they were in sight. Two silhouettes, yet she began to make out their appearances the closer she grew. Soon, they would see her ahead of them, coming their way. She felt a stir of anticipation.

[Mokobo]

As Jhomin and Oska ventured forth into the ever increasing blizzard, the former's temper slowly began to simmer and cool. His only protection against the bitter cold was his tattered pants and the dark wolf pelt, draped over his shoulders in a lazy manner, and the fires that burned within. Even his feet, which were blackened in a similar manner to his hands, were completely bare, and yet Jhomin continued to outpace his much taller companion. However the storm of his passion was not culled by the tangible weather of their realm, but rather by the thoughts that plagued his mind.
The first few minutes of their fracturing from the group went rather well. Oska busied himself with the quickly diminishing remains of the apple while Jhomin pulled the odd moon trinket from his pack to examine it once more. How was it that his fire, which until now had consumed all, had failed to incinerate such a worthless bobble? How was it a two week apple could taste so good? With each of the travelling pair absorbed in their perspective worlds of wonder and avarice for their personal desires, the newcomer managed to approach very near to them before being spotted. The first to see that slender frame emerge from the swirling snows was Oska, who quickly pulled the core of his meal from his lips to whistle a surprisingly melodic bird call. That soft whistle, which both pleased the ear and carried far, was deadened by the blanket of white which continued to cascade about the area. Its intention, however, was achieved, causing Jhomin to turn his attention from the clay moon to the the shrouded forest before them.
"Jhomin..."
"I see her Oska."
"Shouldn't we-"
"Nope. Absolutely not."
"But what if-"
"Just follow my lead."
After hastily stuffing his newly acquired treasure back into the relatively safety of his pack, Jhomin would assume the air of an errant traveler, casting his gaze about the shroud of snow which surrounded them. Promptly he would feign shock as discovering the sight of another amongst the forest. After an exaggerated stagger, Jhomin would pat his much larger companion before swaggering forth, raising one soot-covered arm in a dramatic attempt to shield himself from the frigid winds. While Jhomin would take a meandering path to reach the newcomer, his words following their meeting would be issued quickly.
"Well hello there! Mighty fine weather we have today." Jhomin raised his hand in a friendly salute as he exclaimed these words, all the while continuing his progression forward. "Unfortunately you'll have to excuse a pair of heroic gentlemen as ourselves from escorting such a delicate flower as you." A courteous bow, offered in a manner far more polite than was required, interrupted his tirade before he continued to lead a confused Oska past the other. "Say, that's an impressive mane of hair you've got there.  Anyways- You see, we have some rather pressing business to attend to. Fair travels and may the spirits guide you." This last phrase was spoken with a certain finality as Jhomin grasped the thick bear pelts of his friend's coat and gave it an insistent tug. "Come on Oska."
Oska, however, ceased to follow his companion as soon as they drew even with the new arrival. As Jhomin spun his web of words, the werebear's brow knitted together tightly as he struggled with a certain detail. When his friend yanked on his beloved garb, Oska didn't even budge an inch, but rather lifted his meaty hand to stroke the gigantic beard which flowed from his face in a ponderous way. "But-"
"Time to go Oska."
"But Jhomin,,,"
With a sigh of frustration Jhomin would raise his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose before muttering in a voice which barely concealed his annoyance. "What is it?"
"She's not a flower Jhomin."

[Relairah]

She stopped as at last their paths began to cross, standing with her arms by her sides and allowed the blizzard to touch her. The taller one spoke as so many men she often had met. She gave him a doe-eyed look, her lips curving in a delicate smile. She opened her mouth to respond, and then stopped when his chubbier companion did not follow. Her eyes met his directly and her smile turned to a smirk as he spoke.

"Your friend is right, Jhomin." Her voice was melodic, though held another quality to it. Would they be able to detect it? The subtle hint of something beneath the surface. It was meant to be a siren's call. "I am hardly delicate, it's true. Though I'm much intrigued. And where are you two fine gentlemen headed?" she asked, turning enough to glance toward the taller of the two from the corner of her eyes.

[Mokobo]

As soon as the stranger's silken voice passed her lips, Jhomin's eyes narrowed into two suspicious, fiery coals. Her words cause him to lift a corner of his mouth a brief, wolfish snarl, his blackened hand twitching once as he resisted his bestial nature. The fire of anger over his recent battle, and the breaking of his father's sword, still burned within his chest. This newest distraction only stoked the embers of his wounded pride, which would be apparent in the way he quickly approached the woman. The snow melted away from his bare, soot-coated feet, and when he came to a stomping halt green grasses were revealed before browning and turning black.
"Oska and I are going away from here, and you." His fierce orange gaze locked upon her own as he lifted his right hand, in which a small ball of bright flame churned. After a moment of this display of dominance, however, Jhomin began to calm down. He suspected it was from keeping eye contact with the woman, knew it had to be due to her magic, but could not help but empathize with her. He was a demon himself after all. Thrusting his arm to the west, Jhomin would send the ball of flame shooting into the distance.
"If you're looking for a meal, I suggest searching that way. Now, again, fair travels to you." Speaking the last statement in a firm voice, Jhomin would spin about and begin to quickly stride north. "Let's go Oska."
"Don't mind Jhomin, he's just mad a fox broke his father's sword." Oska seemed to not even hear his companions bidding. Instead his cheery blue eyes twinkled at the woman from above his massive beard, which seemed to be concealing a smile in its current raised form. The large wear-bear would bow in a surprisingly polite manner, almost resembling a member of court, even though his garb was more that of the jester. Gingerly he would take the lady's hand, barely brushing his whiskers against her skin before rising once more to his full height. "Ser Oskavar Bjormar, a pleasure."
"Seriously? Again?"
Jhomin's voice seemed to snap the wear-bear out of a daze, causing Oska to glance between the woman and his companion in a embarrassed, confused way.
"Three seasons ago, the jungle nymph."
"Oh"
"Thirteen seasons ago, the sea harpy."
"But I-"
"Nineteen seasons ago, the bog witch."
"She tricked me with food."
"Twenty-five seasons ago, the desert demon."
"Hey, you fell for that one too!"
"That was the only one!" Angrily Jhomin stomped his foot, sending a splash of water scattering across the snow. "That's beside the point."

[Relairah]

The woman met Jhomin's gaze squarely, yet then looked down, feigning submission, before meeting his eyes once again, her brow softened. She let her tongue slide across her lips, offering a fair smile. She felt a tingle of something she hadn't in such a long time. How she loved the manly dominant ones. Oska was more docile - an easy one to play with. But Jhomin. He was a challenge. She tucked her thoughts away, finding herself growing curious. Perhaps it was chance. Or fate. But whatever it was, she was determined to find a way to learn more and stick with them. Even for a time.

She pretended to ignore the two as they argued and at last, she interjected. "Yukia Arashi," she said toward Oska, looking up at him through her eyelashes. She turned her gaze toward Jhomin, moving a step in his direction.

"Angry about a broken sword?" she paused, her eyes trailing to his blackened hands and then once more to his face. "Haven't you thought of using your fire to weld it back together?" she asked. "It seems quite the heat you're able to create - much like the cold for me." At this, she reached a hand toward him. If he let her make contact, he would feel that her finger tips were as cold as the snow swirling around them.

[Mokobo]

During the rather one-sided argument with his friend, Oska's shame-filled eyes notched a little lower with each recounted encounter. Yet Jhomin kept it up, even after conceding to what had seemed like a good defense. For several minutes Oska bashfully kicked one crudely-booted  foot. occasionally speaking out to defend himself and usually only getting the first word out. At least he knew that after seventy seasons he would be released from the onslaught, but when that fateful milestone came Jhomin continued on. Now his demonic companion began to allude to mishaps which happened when Oska traveled with the former's father. A small, confused frown formed beneath Oska's immense, red beard and he drew in a breath to ask Jhomin how he knew of such things. However, before the words could pass his lips, the pretty lady tactfully interrupted to introduce herself to Oska, causing what was visible of his cheeks to match the shade of his beard and his following words to bumble across his lips in a soft mumble.
"A pleasure."
Just when it had started to get good, and Oska was about to rise to the half-hearted taunts, that woman interrupted once more. This time he was only partially able to suppress the wolfish snarl which bubbled up his throat. Jhomin narrowed his eyes suspiciously once more as Yukia promptly directed her attention to him. Her words immediately made his blood boil with primal annoyance tinged with a bit of embarrassment. Instinctively he locked his furious, orange gaze upon Yukia's in another show of dominance. For a heartbeat he wondered where to start explaining the foolishness in such a suggestion, perhaps how improper heating and cooling could ruin the best metals, or how right now his fires could melt the best steels. Not that any of that really mattered.
It was then that Yukia approached and had the audacity to actually touch him. While he was aware of the cold which emanated from each of her fingers, he could not perceive how biting that frosty touch truly was, not with the fires of his fury burning through his veins with enough heat to leave his own flesh scalding. Jhomin realized he had once more let himself be calmed by her temptress magic. Quickly he turned his gaze away from her's before reaching into the wolf's head resting on his shoulder to draw forth his father's desecrated sword, deciding to tell her why the aforementioned points were null.
"This isn't your every day sword." Out of habit he paused to appreciate the cry the sword always made as it was drawn from its hidden scabbard. With less that two thirds of the great sword remaining intact, the blade's song was different now, and Jhomin failed to hide his disappointment. "This is sky steel."
"I helped Jhomin's father collect the pieces."
"Thanks for that riveting history lesson Oska." Jhomin glared at the grinning were-bear before rolling his eyes in exasperation and continuing. "It does not rust. It does not dull-" Here he swung the broken blade close to Yukia's head, cleanly shearing the tip off a nearby branch. "It does not melt." Jhomin lifted his free hand, another ball of flame rolling about in its palm, before directly the fire to the steel. The latter seemed to drink the demon's fire before once more glistening in the pale light of the surrounding storm. "And it does not break." Angrily Jhomin shoved his father's sword into its sheath once more before looking at Yukia from the corner of one eye. "Which is precisely why Oska and I are going to find the creature which forged it."

[Relairah]

Yukia smiled at Oska, curtseying ever so slightly at his pleasantries. Afterward, when Jhomin proceeded to show her the sword and describe it, she frowned softly. Ah, it made more sense now. Yet she couldn't help the soft coy smile at the corner of her red lips. "And yet despite it's supposed imperviousness, here you are. What makes you so certain you can find this creature? And further, what makes you think he'd reforge it for you? I imagine such a precious blade returning to its creator in less than perfect shape would ignite his fury. If he's any true crafstman, that is."

She glanced toward Oska. While he had endured the onslaught from his companion, she hadn't failed to note the nature of the argument. Clearly, Jhomin sensed her nature. And that made it all the more interesting. But it also meant something else. She didn't need to attempt to spell him. "You might reconsider, one last time. You see, I might know more than you think. And if nothing else, I might offer some assistance in completing your quest." She paused, meeting Jhomin's gaze squarely, "I promise. I won't try any tricks with either of you... since you so clearly suspect me of less than honorable intentions." She glanced toward Oska and then returned her focus to Jhomin once more.

[Mokobo]

"She will reforge it." Jhomin's words came in response to Yukia's taunting questions, but were uttered more as a conviction rather than a reply. "Have no doubt of that." While as of late he had been experiencing a bit of bad luck, Jhomin felt for certain that this was one matter in which he would have his way. The one who had forged his father's blade claimed to be the Master Smith, and few would dare argue the matter, to her face at least. He had only met the creature once, when she had been invited to his father's home. Most everyone had been scared to death of the Master Smith, but not Jhomin, He had sat beside her listening to stories and constantly asking questions throughout most of the night. The demon knew that her pride was greater even than his own, and surely their minds would be one on the matter of repairing his father's blade.
This memory filled Jhomin's mind as Yukia turned her gaze to Oska, causing a small, wistful smile to take hold. This new expression seemed to suit his face far better than the scowl he had been wearing before, transforming his fierce features into a more charming complexion. Yet this change quickly disappeared as Yukia's voice snapped him from his reverie. Jhomin continued to gaze at her from the corner of one bright orange eye, not daring to meet her gaze less his guard be broken once more. Despite this precaution, however, the demon held a patient silence as the woman spoke, that is until her final statement. An audible scoff preceded Jhomin opening his mouth to speak, but before he could, he found himself interrupted by a distant, summoning howl.
"Jhomin," Oska hissed his companion's name under his breath.
"I hear it Os-" Once more the demon's words were cut short by a howl, but this one seemed closer and somehow triumphant. That was enough for Jhomin, and he only hesitated long enough to give Yukia one more appraising glance from the corner of his eye. "Alright, you can tag along, but you better not fall behind." Speaking these last words with a sort of finality, Jhomin would quickly stride over to his large friend before thrusting out his open palm. "Give it here Oska."
A low, tormented whine threatened to escape from the were-bear's throat as he clutched some item hidden beneath the collar of his piecemeal garb. Instantly what was visible of Oska's face grew dreadfully pale as he began to shake his head softly in protest. "Please Jhomin...I can keep up like this. I promise." In a soft, subdued voice Oska passionately pleaded with his companion, who in turn slowly lowered his arm. Oska hated to make the change, feared it even and Jhomin knew it. Normally the demon would never ask Oska to make the change, but the latter forgave the former for that. The were-bear knew his friend was anxious about more things that his father's sword.

OoC - I just want to note that I have no plans or idea for who these "others" are. >.> Only that Jhomin and Oska were traveling with them, but Jhomin decided he didn't like following along. -wink wink- <.< -nudge nudge-

[Relairah]

Yukia's smile became more triumphant as Jhomin at last conceded she could tag along. She didn't much care the reason why - only satisfied she'd won, for the moment. She also didn't fail to note the tension between the two. She only grew more intrigued, though this time remained silent. The howl that startled them had been close - obviously closer than either of her now companions were comfortable with. What hunted them, she wondered, and why? She suspected it also had something to do with Jhomin's broken sword. Regardless, she moved after them, keeping up just as she'd been instructed. Moving swiftly through any sort of cold weather, blizzard or not, was easy for her, given her nature, after all.

[Mokobo]

After conceding to his companion during their quick, cryptic exchange Jhomin's demeanor changed. For a moment the demon's visage was a vision of concern hinted with shame, but that moment was brief. With his jaw firmly set and a grim sort of determination in his eyes, Jhomin nodded once more before wordlessly lifting his right arm to Oska with his hand pointed skyward. The gesture seemed to be well known to the two, as the were-bear promptly gripped the demon's hand. The traveling companions pulled each other closer before slapping each other on back several times. This almost brotherly display ended quickly, and when it did Jhomin turned to march in a purposeful way without so much as a glance backward. 
"Come."
This word was apparently directed to Yukia, as Jhomin seemed uninterested that Oska had bent over to secure his foot wrappings. Without waiting for a reply or to confirm his beckoning was followed, the demon dashed off into the blizzard at a jog. The swirling snows seemed to part before him, most likely due to some remnant of his earlier rage. In the absence of that shroud, it would be easy for any nearby to witness the change that came over Jhomin. The wolf pelt draped across his shoulders did not billow out behind him, but instead seemed to stretch and wrap around his frame. His hands and feet began to contort before suddenly the demon was running on four massive paws. The large wolf's head seemed to rise up his nape before smoothly melding over his own. Throughout the whole transformation Jhomin's pace never slackened, and at its end he continued to bound forth in the form of a large, jet black wolf.

[Relairah]

As the two took off, Yukia was quick to follow. As swift as Jhomin's change had been so was hers, the long pelt down her own back engulfing her body as did her clothing blend, swirling into her white fir so that she was merely a large white wolf with uncommon markings. She kept up with ease, her strides long and also quick. Whatever... or whoever... it was that was chasing them, she did actually hope they didn't catch up. Although, there was one advantage. The blizzard had thickened, which meant they had the advantage. This was absolutely her element. More importantly, she was curious how far away the smith for Jhomin's sword was.