Aplos Riverside

Moladion’s powerful, winding river...
Aplos River is a broad, slow-moving river originating from somewhere beneath the mountains of Spirane and feeding Iromar’s moors in the south. The northern parts of the river are known for their strong currents, with the water becoming slow moving in the south. The riverbanks vary along its course, ranging from soft hummock grasses to small groups of pine, and sometimes nothing but pebbles and sand. Crossing can be difficult at times, but it can be swam or bridged by fallen trees or boulders alike.

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Posted on December 3, 2018 at 08:50:03 PM by Tyrion

Tyrion was not so fond of winter in terms of the temperature as he aged. But there were plenty of things to remedy the bone chilling cold; it was the more than occasional ache in his aging joints that frustrated him more than anything. That did not stop the old silver-tongued diplomat from venturing out of Spirane every now and again. The golden blonde dwarf ventured to places closer to home. Travelling too far might very well be a premature death to him. There were far too many things to assist with for the pack, and far too many ladies that he might lay his eyes one.

That was something he had almost shied away from over the past year. Perhaps it was because he had tried to do better with his existing children. Tyrion had been more focused on that. All four of them were coming into their own though, so even for them his presence was less necessary. As a result, his mind and paws began to wander. Of course, it was harder to be suave to familiar ladies who knew of his ability and reputation. It was not hard for Nymeria or Kalseru to discern his relations, so he would not put such a thing past others.

So, the old man padded along the Aplos river. He took in a deep breath of the crisp winter with a smile. What was that old saying those crotchety northern wolves always said back in his birthplace? /Winter is coming/, they would say. Winter was here, and it came like clockwork. There was a strange reassurance to the changing seasons of Moladion. Tyrion rather liked it, even if it caused him a bit of pain now and again.

His dual-colored eyes drifted about. The mis-matched black and green were unnerving to some, but it seemed to suit him quite well. Tyrion did not cut the most dashing figure, with short legs and a massive scar down his face and a missing piece of his nose. Maybe he had once had a handsome face, but that was so long ago he hardly remembered. As a result, he survived on his charm, wit, and intelligence. He might be no adept hunter, but he could keep tensions low or high in a heated situation without violence. Such was the beauty of his gift. He smiled to himself as he recalled days of his youth. They were not all happy memories, but it shaped him into the wolf he had become.

A sudden noise ripped him from traipsing down memory lane. Tyrion tilted his head slightly. It was not the sound of someone in distress or pain, but certainly unhappy. And most certainly a lady. The old wolf padded nonchalantly towards the source of the yelp. As he drew nearer, he spied the pristine white woman stepping away from the water’s edge as though defeated. No, that would never do. He padded a bit closer and cleared his throat audibly to indicate his presence without startling her. ”My dear lady, you should not be out in this cold alone. I pray nothing is so terrible a pretty face like yours would be upset,” he said.

Tyrion watched her movements quietly. He had clearly interrupted her grooming session, but that did not explain the yelp, as there was not blood or anything else that might indicate pain. So what else could trouble her? The stranger was certainly a lovely sight, so he could only hope she’d let him linger. Otherwise, he’d be highly disappointed. ”Might I join you, perhaps, and aid in whatever predicament ails you?” Tyrion offered. It was certainly worth a try, and he would hate to leave a lady disappointed.

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