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Post by .::Tyrant::. on Jun 11, 2005 6:21:57 GMT -5
Everything was still. Not a wind stirred the leaves of the many bushes marking the borders of the park. The only noises were the soft chirping of crickets and the distant noises of cars on the far off motorway.
Another sound leaked into the melody; the sound of pawsteps. Pawsteps, faint at first, but becoming louder as the source of the gentle 'thud, thud, thud' came closer. Soon enough, the foliage gave a rustle, then parted to reveal a large, rust red dog.
The dog's chest was a pool of white, his occuli two blazing coals. He stepped majestically from the bushes and began to stride pruposely forward, parrelell with the fence. His tail was held erect and his head perked, every muscle showing off his alert posture.
Tyrant was patrolling, As he did every evening. Patrolling his borders to look for signs of new dogs, willing to join his gang. He did have one member: His friend, Reverie. And although she was his closest friend he longed for other relationships with other dogs. He longed for a proper gang.
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Post by hondaraycer on Aug 9, 2005 14:16:31 GMT -5
Long after this patrol had taken place, and during the earliest hours of night, when the bugs and nocturnal animals had just started their activities, did a gigantic brujo wander slowly onto the turf o' the park. He leaned slowly down to sniff for any recent activity, to find that this area was patrolled evening by the dog that owned the terra, a male.
Amos straighted his form, standing a full 50 inches tall, he towered over all dogs 'cept for other danes and the odd Irish Wolfhound. Instead of continuing onward, he paused. The tree nearest to him was decorated with some sort of sweet smelling bauble. :: Fruit:: Amos recognized immediately. Gingerly he stretched to his full height, placing his front paws on the trunk of the tree, and picked a low-hanging fruit from a branch.
He carefully resumed his posture on all fours, slowly to minimize his discomfort; the wormy lumpy fruit still in his mouth, like a tennis ball almost. Though he did not like to eat fruit, he did like to chew them up to unrecognizable bits, which is what he set about to doing on this evening.
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Post by .::Tyrant::. on Aug 10, 2005 5:33:48 GMT -5
The now fadded footmarks that ran parallel to the fence that bordered Tyrant's lands were being retraced, by none other than the Top Dog himself. The rhodesian ridegback was patrolling, as he did everyday, scouring his borders for newcomers. Now that Feraimo's a scout, he can help me with patrolling like this, he thought, smiling at the thought of the dog with such low self-esteem, who now had a respectable rank in his gang.
Suddenly, Tyrant haulted, leathery nares flared and quivering. The unmistakable scent of dog wafted nito them, and aubern plume began to sway happily. The Top Dog broke into a gallop, and soon his black-and-white vision picked out the form of a dog larger than himself tearing at a strange ball shaped object, which he had seen many a time in the trees in the Deserted Woodland.
Tyrant slowd, padding up to the large ebony and ivory dog. He scanned him quickly with dancing eyes, a warm, welcoming smile playing upon his lips. This dog was quite obviously old. If he were to join, he would autumatically become an Elder. But Tyrant had accepted one new old-timer into the gang. The more the merrier! He thought, before speaking.
"Welcome, stranger. You are standing upon the borders of my gang's land. If you wish to join, you will be welcomed. If not, I advise you to leave now. May I enquire of you dubbance?"
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Post by hondaraycer on Aug 10, 2005 12:29:30 GMT -5
The fruit dropped from Amos's mouth as padfalls, rapid and growing closer, reached his ears. 'Cept for many deep gouges in the skin, the fruit that had now hit the ground was more of less intact, as its assailant hadn't had much time to assault it before this interruption.
The fruit now lay there on the ground as Amos slowly turned his head to see a large red dog with a thin strip of fur 'pon his back that was either bristled or growing the wrong way. As Tyrant appraoched, Amos saw that indeed he had a strip of fur that grew opposite his peltage.
Indeed, the other had a smile on, his tassel swaying. Amos faced Tyrant fully, slumped over a bit to get a better look at him. He didn't see as well in the dark as once he used to.
"Amos." He answered slowly. He was aware of dog gangs. Some were alright, some were not. He didn't know much about this gang, but the leader seemed polite enough. "I'm too old for a gang. . .Too slow. . .too big. . ." And to accentuate big, he straightened his posture, in case Tyrant wasn't sure just how big he was. "And I'd rather collect plants and herbs. . .not fight." He looked around a little, not meeting Tyrant's gaze, since he didn't show any other form of submission, he didn't want to appear that rude. "So if you're looking for a fighter. . .sorry. I'm just an old dane. . ." His sharply pricked ears flattened a little, and he turned to leave, forgetting his partially gnawed fruit in the process.
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Post by .::Tyrant::. on Aug 11, 2005 14:20:10 GMT -5
Tyrant frowned as the large, aging male turned away, and he cocked his head. Collecting plants, he says.... He thought, a faint smile playing upon his ebony lips.
"Wait, Amos." He barked after the black and white Great Dane. "You say you gather herbs? Are these medicinal herbs you gather, or is it just a hobby?" His smile grew broader and he bounded forward, skidding around so that he was facing the giant canine.
"If you are familiar wth gang rankings, then you will know that their is a position called a Shaman. A medicine dog. This position is not yet taken in my gang. If you like, you could have a go at taking up the position. And even if it doesn't work out, it's not only fighters I'm looking for in my gang. We're always willing to help out one that has lived for longer than us, one with more experience than us."
His eyes danced warmly, his raised tail swaying. He cocked his head to one side and, in a warm, persuasive voice said, "Well, what do you say."
As he awaited the Dane's answer, an amusing thought crossed his mind. Reverie'll kill me for this. Persuading an elderly dog to join even after he's refused. But the gang needed a Shaman, and it was rare to come across a dog wth the right talents to become one. Tyrant knew of gangs where dogs had died from meagre wounds simply because there was no dog with any knowledge of medicine.
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Post by hondaraycer on Aug 11, 2005 15:39:25 GMT -5
Amos had slowly started padding away, surveying the road so he could cross safely, when again the ridgeback bounded in front of him. " I use some of them for my arthritis," He answered truthfully, thinking of the tree that he collected those specific leaves from. "The rest, I guess is kind of a hobby. . .I did come across a female named Blayser once that needed help from being hit by a car, so I used some of my plants on her. . ." He said aloud, almost as if talking to himself.
" I. . .dunno" He looked down at the pavement, sharp auds flattening again. "I don't have enough herbs for a whole gang. . ." To be honest he'd never heard of a shaman before. " If you really want an ol' Dane like me. . ." He trailed off, looking up again and seeing Tyrant's hopeful expression just below his nose.
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Post by .::Tyrant::. on Aug 12, 2005 3:27:49 GMT -5
Tyrant grinned. The 'old dane', as he called himself, seemed a perfect candidat for the job. When Amos had finished talking, he nodded vigerously. "Of course! We'd love to have such a talented shaman amongst us!" He exclaimed, his plume swaying frantically. "And don't worry about the herbs. We live in a small woodland, I'm sure there'll be plenty there. I'll get somone to help you gather them."
He cocked his head to the side and his plume slowed its pace slightly as his gaze met the dane's. "So, will you join us, Amos?" He asked once more, his voice sombre.
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Post by hondaraycer on Aug 12, 2005 11:37:30 GMT -5
:: Talented? Me? Wow, is this guy ever laying it on thick! :: Amos thought as an incredulous look spread across his features, pinnae flicking to attention. :: Shaman? I suppose that's the word for what I have been doing. Humans call it doctor or physician.:: He wanted to comment that not all of what he gathered was found in the woodland, some was found there, some on the sides of the street, and one rather hard to fetch one that stopped massive bleeding could only be collected growing out of sewer grates, and therefore was rare.
He intentionally broke Tyrant's gaze as the red and white dog's voice grew serious again. "Oh. . .Okay" He said in a slow, almost forced voice. He'd lived this long without getting into serious trouble and he didn't know if now he was agreeing to something that would be the death of him.
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Post by .::Tyrant::. on Aug 12, 2005 11:41:51 GMT -5
Tyrant grinned as Amos accepted, plume beating the air so fast that it seemed merely an aubern blurr, trick of the mind. He bowed his head, as even Top Dogs sould be respectful to Shamans, then turned.
If you can, follow my scent trail back to the gang base. I need to finish patrolling. If you need anything, give me a bark!"
He said, beggining to pad slowly away, staying close to the border fence. What luck! A shaman already! He thought wih glee.
ooc: Argh. M got to go. May get back on for like.... 2 minutes later. Bubi!
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