Thrown to the Wolves

Verial Akilara

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Post subject: Thrown to the Wolves

There was a loud bang followed by the sound of gears coming together. This was the noise that jarred Verial awake from his sleep as the airship docked into Port Bariston. Verial had been resting on one of the airship's passenger benches, unaware of the stares he had gotten due to scales covering part of his shoulder and wings. For all those people knew, we was some sort of winged lizard man. He slowly woke himself up, dark feathered wings stretching behind him and looked down at the palm of his right hand. The triangular shaped wound on his hand was still present, but healing slowly.

It was this wound that had spurred him into taking the leap to head to Bariston. He had been checking out his silver tipped arrows and after placing the arrowhead in his palm, it burned in response. He was starting to become irritated to silver. This, among other things such as a sickness in his stomach due to a constant battle between the beast he already harbored and the one that wanted to emerge, made him realize just how little time he had left.

So Verial headed to Bariston, taking an airship from Hinewai Harbor, Grand City's expansive and lively port. Though he had planned to head out with Deanna and Quinn, there were a few days in-between in which they didn't meet and he couldn't wait any longer. Sure, he could have sought them out, but it was not unlike the occasionally unruly dragon inside of him to jump into action without waiting for help.

Bariston called to him thanks to the Weeping Willow's story. Throughout her bouts of drunken tears at the pub, Verial found out just what had happened to Mal. He only told Deanna a portion of Willow's story (since she had passed out in the corner of the bar). Apparently Mal and Willow had been visiting the western continent where he was originally attacked. Mal's body, which was found on Eiler, was drug from one continent to the next. The part Verial left out, keeping in mind that Deanna's emotional wounds were still fresh, was that Mal had not just been carried around from one place to the next. He'd been attacked by a pack of werewolves and ripped to shreds and they only decided to kill the mutilated man once they returned to Eiler. Willow somehow had managed to track and follow them - somehow made it back alive - as if those therianthropes wanted her to tell her story.

In any case, it was the one lead that Verial had, that somewhere on the continent of Elved there was a clan of vicious were-creatures. And where there was a pack, the alpha was sure to lead. It was this thought that once again renewed Verial with a little purpose and hope that he would find the beast that attacked him and be restored to his formal self. After all, he couldn't quite imagine himself coated in fur.

Posted: Wed Oct 26, 2011 4:35 pm

Deanna

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Post subject: Re: Thrown to the Wolves

She had left the Executioner's Block and by early afternoon found herself at the Hinewai Harbor. South. She was told Verial had headed south. It would only reason that he had taken an airship to his next destination, but where? Muttering curses unfit to pass a lady's lips, Deanna was at a loss as to whether she should board the ship, and if so, where to go?

Deanna rubbed at her temples, agitated that her trail ended here when a familiar voice caught her attention. She turned in the direction the voice was coming from, and with narrowed eyes caught sight of Mal's old paramour Willow, obviously not grieving for her newly deceased lover, for she held fast to the arm of a strapping young man, giggling at some remark he made to her.

She didn't mourn for very long, did she? Deanna thought sourly as she strode over to the younger and obviously drunken woman. The surprised couple stopped short as Deanna blocked their path, glaring icy daggers at the duo. Her nose wrinkled in disgust as it caught the fumes pouring off Willow, and her lips curled upward in a sneer. "The last time I saw you, you were a sniveling wreck, so distraught over the loss of Mal, but it seems you've recovered nicely Willow." Taking her eyes off the teetering woman, whose face, if possible, paled even further at the sight of Deanna, the shifter eyed the latest boy toy coldly briefly before turning her focus back to Willow.

"Oh! Deanna! I, uh, didn't expect to see you here," Willow hiccuped delicately as she gripped her companion's arm. She licked her lips nervously, her eyes darting in all directions, any just to avoid Deanna's accusing gaze. "This is William, my um, my...", Willow's eyes were large as saucers and for a moment Deanna thought she was going to have a stroke. The shifter waved her hand dismissively, completely fed up with the useless female. She inched closer despite the foul stench of alcohol, her dark brows raised at the other woman.

"You are a whore. Whom you find to fill the empty space in your bed isn't my concern, though truthfully, whore or not, I figured you might have mourned the man you sure as hell didn't deserve a bit more properly, and longer." There was no mistaking the icy contempt in Deanna's voice as she spoke to Willow. The brainless meat package called William was about to open his mouth to defend his lady-love, when Deanna whipped her head in his direction and growled, effectively shutting him up. "Don't be a hero, pretty boy. Just stand there and keep your mouth shut lest I rip your tongue out and ruin you forever for our dear Willow here."

Deanna couldn't help the satisfaction she felt seeing the way the two cowered in fear before her. She tilted her head to the side, considering the situation. "I wasn't particularly looking for you, but since you're here, I want you to tell me everything that happened the last few days Mal was alive." She needed something, some lead to push her in the right direction, and unfortunately, had to rely on Willow for assistance.

Deanna frowned deeply upon hearing that she and Mal weren't in the Grand City when he was attacked. Though slurring her words, Deanna managed to decipher that Willow and Mal had paid a visit the continent of Elved, the city of Bariston in fact, which was where they were attacked. Deanna was puzzled, for Mal's body was found in the woods just outside of the City. Why would the weres go through the trouble of bringing him back home? Unable to make sense of this, Deanna waited until Willow had nothing left to offer before nodding once, a sharp turn on her heel indicating she was done with the conversation. As she headed toward the airship to prepare to board, she heard Willow call out to her in her drunken tone. "You think they won't come for you? Your wrong!"

She didn't bother to turn her head to acknowledge Willow's rambling. "I'm counting on it," she murmured softly as she boarded the airship, the first she had even been on. Deanna found a lone seat,waiting impatiently for the ship to take off. It would only be a matter of time before she would arrive at the Port in Bariston, irritated at the idea that Verial was likely already there.

As the last person finally boarded and the airship took off, Deanna reached into her overcoat's pockets and pull out the leather gloves given to her by the Executioner's Block shopkeeper, sliding them onto her hands. Glancing around, she waited until absolutely no one paid her any attention before placing the pistol on her lap along with the pouch of silver bullets. When she was finished loading the gun, the pouch safely tucked away, Deanna settled once more in her seat, the pistol settled once more in her weapons belt, ready for use.

Silver was toxic to weres. If it came in contact with flesh it burned, in the system, depending on the location and length of time inside the body, it could be fatal. Her eyes halfway closed, she let her mind drift as she thought of Verial, knowing the change would fully consume him soon. She rested one gloved hand against the pistol, a comforting gesture to her. For a moment, Quinn came to mind. Would he worry when she didn't come home? Knowing him, he would set out to find her. A stab of guilt hit her heart when she thought that perhaps she was wrong in not asking him to join her.

Mentally she shook her head. Knowing Quinn, he wouldn't approve of her intents. Perhaps even try to stop her. She wouldn't stop until all she felt responsible for Mal's death were held accountable...dealt with by Deanna herself.

First though, the weres and Verial.

Deanna closed her eyes, a ghost of a smile on her lips. Soon. Very soon.

Posted: Sat Oct 29, 2011 9:10 pm

Elijah Bluefield

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Post subject: Re: Thrown to the Wolves

Two weeks ago...

The few children of Shimmer Town were huddled together, pressed against a wall of rock, occasionally their eyes trying to find the sky. The long length of wall, however, hid what time it really was and for a while now, all of them had forgotten if it should be day or night. In fact, most of them couldn't remember how long they had been down in the gorge waiting to be rescued by their parents, friends or fairy tale heroes they lived up to. Most of them at this point were still too terrified and had lost hope.

They were given no food and the small, trickling stream that ran by them was not of the best quality for drinking water. The once bright faces were now caked with dirt and their eyes had been drained of any innocence and youth that their former life in Shimmer Town had given them. Their captors, of which they knew no names, were a bunch of rugged looking types who paid them no mind and ignored them when they were asked for food. The children often wondered why they were kidnapped in the first place; had they done something wrong to be neglected so suddenly?

Every once in a while, the children saw the people who held them - there were about sixty or seventy in the group all camped out in the gorge - change into creatures, the things of nightmares and ghost stories. They tried to tell each other it was just their imaginations, but there was no mistaking the eerie growls and howls that filled the night air. And those people, they constantly smelled of blood. Up until now, the children had never really known what the scent of blood was, but they had gotten quite familiar with it as of late.

The days dwindled on and on. They were left to comfort each other without any recognition from their captors until at long last... something happened. A small boy was suddenly lifted into the air, claws digging easily through the fabric of a tattered shirt, and was left dangling there like a Christmas ornament. The child opened his eyes, and despite the ferocious appearance of the creature that held him, he couldn't help but look.

Before him was a werewolf, and although he'd never seen one before except in books, the child imagined this was the largest one he would ever see. A towering wall ten feet in height and built of nothing but muscle gazed back into the inspecting eyes of the child. The beast, although massive in build, had certain strange qualities about it. For one, it was covered in scars, namely a huge one that ran across its side and a missing left eye, permanently closed. Then there was the skin, which appeared strangely decayed, almost as if the werewolf itself was undead... but how could that be?

The werewolf shook the child a little in the air, like a worm on a hook, and then looked over his shoulder to another man who was standing next to him. Clawed talons came to point at the little boy, and though the beast had one eye, there was a distinct questioning look inside it.

"What is this?" the werewolf asked; the voice was laced with a growl, one that always seemed to be on the edge.

"The children of Shimmer Town," the man replied with a nod, and despite the size of the creature next to him, he seemed confident in his words.

"I ask you to take over Shimmer Town, and you bring me weaklings instead?" the werewolf asked with a gurgling laugh that followed the question. He dropped the child, who although fell from about ten or twelve feet in the air and probably now suffered a broken limb, managed to crawl his way back to the other group of children.

"It is only the first step of course, Elijah," the man said. "There is a pack out right now headed to dispatch the rest of the town."

"Pathetic," Elijah said leaning down to inspect the group of the children. He sniffed the air and his muzzle curled back, baring sharp and elongated teeth. "I am afraid to ask why you didn't just take the town at once and get it done and over with. Have you been able to locate my dearly beloved yet either?"

"We went to The Outlands and couldn't find her. However, we were able to destroy their fortress, that make-shift excuse of Northcross. It seemed that Ainsley left it long ago and after her departure, the whole thing went to shambles. The family started arguing and then killing each other so once we got there... the Redmonts were a sorry lot to finish off. There's nothing left in The Outlands now except death and a few more of our Bluefields who are ready to get rid of anyone else who tries to come through."

"Oh, Ainsley," Elijah said and there was a gravel-like laugh in his voice, "have you abandoned your own family? Too good for them? I suppose I can understand your feelings, however." Elijah cast an almost disappointed eye down at the man next to him. "So, you are telling me all the Redmonts are dead then?"

"At least... any of the ones who were in The Outlands," the man replied, his voice now a bit more cautious. "We did find this though... in Ainsley Redmont's room. We thought you might be able to use it to track her."

Elijah was handed a small ribbon, one that might be used to tie the hair back. He brought it to his nose and inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of the Redmont Witch. There was no mistaking it, even after countless centuries, he still knew her smell. There was, nevertheless, something different about it... something that hinted at a loss of power.

"A job half-finished?" Elijah snarled. "Hunt the rest of them down then and make sure they are all gone. I have waited over 1,000 years to finish the task I started and I do not expect to be held back by you or anyone else. Do not make me do the job myself. Make me... proud of you all." Elijah let a deep laugh bounce off the walls of the cavern as if he couldn't believe that would ever happen.

"We'll make sure the rest of the Redmonts are hunted and exterminated," the man answered.

"In the meantime," Elijah began, finishing the sentence for the man next to him, "get rid of Shimmer Town, then the rest of Elved and then... Aleris."

"And the children?"

Elijah offered a shrug. "Appetizers?"

Posted: Sun Oct 30, 2011 10:11 am

Verial Akilara

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Post subject: Re: Thrown to the Wolves

First thing was first. There was a certain sort of weariness that overwhelmed Verial when he left the airship. He didn't imagine it was air sickness and if it was, he thought such a thing couldn't be good when 90% of his being was capable of flight and quite used to the feeling of being in the air. So, he managed to find a small cafe after leaving the port and heading towards the main city of Bariston. Verial ordered some quick food along with a cup of coffee. Feeling a bit revitalized, he set out on the streets of Bariston to find some information about where to go next. The continent of Eiler had no idea why the werewolf attacks had started surfacing, but being as how the whole thing had originated on Elved, Verial was certain there had to be some news.

Verial noticed, in comparison to Grand City, Bariston seemed more industrialized. Their buildings and houses were closely packed together and smoke spiraled nearly out of every chimney, as if each dwelling was busy. No outdoor markets were found; most businesses were indoors as the streets were rather narrow and when not occupied by horse riders, carts or carriages, they were lined with people walking to each of their own destinations on the spider web like streets. For a moment, Verial felt congested in the large crowd and the dragon inside of him wanted to spread its wings and fly up into the sky.

This urge, however, was resolved when the street Verial was on opened up into a large circle area, three other streets connecting to it as if a cross shape. Verial breathed out and just as he did, a child - a street urchin - ran into him nearly knocking Verial down by hitting the back of his leg. Verial's lips fell into a frown as the kid was still running ahead without so much of an apology.

"Watch where you're going," Verial said.

The little boy, didn't seem to pay Verial's warning any attention and instead continued to rush forward around the circle and stopped next to a group of people who had gathered and were chatting very loudly about something. Verial stopped and tried to listen, utilizing his elvish hearing, but in Bariston, it was a bit more difficult to concentrate on the conversation. With all the noise of machinery, engines whistling and people moving about, there was too much to take in. So moving forward, Verial went to the gaggle of people and stood just a bit outside the circle where he could hear better.

"Shimmer Town has been taken!"

"No, it hasn't been taken, you idiot. Some people just went in there and killed everyone and left it a damn ghost town. The few left who survived headed to Garis Town and are too scared to talk about what happened."

"It's not that they're afraid. They say the survivors are nearly too mutilated to talk..."

"Wonder why they just attacked the town and left?"

"Those poor children."

"My aunt lived in Shimmer Town..."

"Well this is not the first wave attacks; there's been so many... We might be next!"

"Good thing I decided not to move there."

"Layla Victoire's sure got her work cut out for her."

The voices became a blur in Verial's ears so he stepped away from the gathering of people and headed north onto the next street in the cross section. So, Shimmer Town had been attacked and some of the survivors were able to make it to Garis Town. Better they should have died, Verial thought grimly. If the news was true, the refugees of Shimmer Town might be too badly in shape to talk to Verial about what had happened. And even if he could get a word out of them, why would they want to talk about it in the first place?

That was it then. Verial decided to head to Shimmer Town, the now abandoned village on the far north eastern side of Elved. Though ghosts lingered in its territories, there had to be something there - a hint or a clue. Verial was of the notion that some of these therianthropes were nothing but scavengers. Although the town had been clearly destroyed and ravaged, one of them might come back with a plan to score an easy kill. At least, Verial hoped that is what he would run into.

Being as how Shimmer Town was far away, Verial purchased a horse from one of Bariston's stables with what gold he had left. There was still caution over using his wings to fly; he didn't want to waste any energy he might need for later. Besides, with all the attacks recently, he wouldn't have been surprised if people would be terrified seeing a dragon flying around in the sky and in return, shoot it down. It really wasn't worth the risk.

On horseback and with a few days of travel ahead of him, Verial headed away from Bariston and out towards Shimmer Town.

Posted: Sun Oct 30, 2011 10:22 am

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Post subject: Re: Thrown to the Wolves

Post originally by Character_Kyrian

"The average pack consists of 5–11 animals; 1–2 adults, 3–6 juveniles and 1–3 yearlings, though exceptionally large packs consisting of 42 wolves are known. Wolf packs rarely adopt other wolves into their fold, and typically kill them. In the rare cases where strange wolves are adopted, the adoptee is almost invariably a young animal of 1–3 years of age, while killed wolves are mostly fully grown. The adoption of a new member can be a lengthy process, and can consist of weeks of exploratory, non-fatal attacks in order to establish whether or not the newcomer is trustworthy. During times of ungulate abundance (migration, calving etc.), different wolf packs may temporarily join forces."

Kyrian sat there and re-read the passage for the fifth time. Anywhere between 5-42 possible members in a wolf pack? His father was looking for the one wolf that bit him. What if it was part of a bigger pack? Even if it was a small 5 member pack, his father was only one man.

"He needs help."

"But what can I do? I can't even control that dragon."

"It's not about what you can do, but what we can do together."

-----

The white dragon spread it's wings and took off from the front of the steps. This dragon wasn't as large as the black dragon had been, in fact it was about the same size as a large orc. It was the first time Kyrian had never flown before. At least, not when he'd been somewhat in control.

"I'm sorry dear one, but you're not the one in control. We're just in harmony. Unlike when the black dragon took control. It -took- the control. You were in an emotionally stressful state. And it realized that, and used that against you."

"Didn't you just do the same thing?" Kyrian asked.

The dragon chuckled. "No dear one. I spoke to you, convinced you that working together was the best way to help Verial."

"Okay, but how are we going to find him? I have no idea where he went."

"You think I've spent this whole time with you and haven't memorized the scent of your father? I am a dragon, Kyrian. Wise beyond your years."

With that, the ground before them lit up like a Beltane festival. Then, the strings of lights faded until only one remained. That was his father. How he knew he wasn't sure but it was. Being with this dragon felt completely different than the other one. This one was caring, and nice. It was focused on protecting the ones he cared about.

The other one was self centered and carefree. It only wanted to do what would make it happy. It was a much simpler way of looking at things. Whatever made you happy was what that dragon did. It was about freedom and looking out for itself.

There was something about the white one that almost felt...maternal. Like she was watching out for him, more out of love than any desire to protect herself.

"Oh dear, It seems Verial has gotten himself very far indeed. That poor dear." the dragon sighed. "I think this is going to be a long trip Dear One. Why don't you rest and I'll wake you when we're closer to your father."

The dragon made sense. He'd need to be rested when they got to where-ever his father was. He closed himself off from the dragon and slid into blissful darkness.

Posted: Mon Oct 31, 2011 10:41 am

Deanna

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Post subject: Re: Thrown to the Wolves

By the time the airship landed in Bariston, Deanna felt worse for the wear. She was starving, exhausted, and her body stiff. The scent of salty air hit her as she roamed the Port, brine and fish reminding her of her homeland. She felt a pang of homesickness that lasted briefly as she weaved her way throughout the port city into the heart of Bariston. Priorities-find food.

Which was exactly what Deanna managed to do once entering Bariston. As she sat and ate what she could assume was some sort of fish stew coupled with hard bread, Deanna listened in to conversation around her between bites. The words 'Shimmer Town' and 'carnage' came up quite a bit, and those that spoke of the events that took place there seemed quite fearful as the gossip flowed freely in hushed, nervous tones.

Deanna frowned as she sipped the sad excuse for wine, more vinegar than anything else, and pondered the information she took in. A stranger to this continent, she had no clue where this Shimmer Town was in proximity to Bariston, nor how long it would take to get there. For all she knew, Verial had caught the same bits of stories as she had and was either already at that location or close to it. Time to get moving.

She left the remains of her meal behind, for in truth it was disgusting, and strode through Bariston. She would require far more intelligence if she were to continue on her journey. Deanna couldn't help but note that Bariston was in fact, dirty. Nothing at all like the Grand City on Eiler, Bariston lacked the natural beauty and culture. The air was dingy and smoke-filled, the filth lined streets were littered with overcrowded buildings packed tightly together like sardines in a can. All in all, not particularly pleasing to Deanna. She was at a loss at where to go, whom to ask for assistance when the scent of jerky hit her.

When in doubt, follow your nose. The dried beef was rich and smoky, causing her mouth to water as she found herself led in the direction of the rich aroma. She stopped in her tracks when she saw the appealing food held in the hand of a middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair leaning against a hose-pulled cart tear into the jerky with even white teeth. His dark bushy brows rose as he watched her approach and finally stop, mild curiosity in his blue eyed gaze. He offered her a wary smile as he swallowed. "Help you, miss?"

Deanna said nothing for a moment, her nostrils flared briefly as she scented him. A change in body temperature, it rose actually, and interestingly enough he smelled of old worn leather, sweat and of course, the beef. Not bad, actually. It didn't hurt that she noted he found her physically appealing, for it would make her job far easier than previously intended.

She leaned over and with deft skilled fingers, plucked remainder of the jerky from his callused hand and popped it in her mouth. Um...delicious. Anyone else would be utterly disgusted by her act, or at the very least quite pissed, but the man simply chuckled, shaking his head in amusement as he reached into a pouch and pulled more of the tantalizing smoked beef out and handed it to her. "Here. Never could refuse a pretty lady." His smile widened when Deanna snatched the offering from his hand and began to chew, uttering a 'thanks' through a mouthful of food. "Anything else I can do for you, just ask. Name's Donovan." He tilted his head and Deanna caught his eyes sweep over her form in what he thought was an inconspicuous move. "And you are...?"

Deanna wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and mustered up a smile to her new friend, rewarding him for his generosity. The man called Donovan nearly lit up by the small gesture, thoroughly appreciating the younger woman's form clad in form fitting leather partially obscured by her black calf-length coat and the dishevel of her auburn hair. Ah, time to put old Donovan in his place. Casually, she swept her hand inside her coat flap and brushed it aside, a quick reveal of the pistol sheathed in her weapons belt before the material obscured the weapon once more. Her sword lay hidden in its sheath against the her back, a comforting weight against her body. "I'm the woman you're going to help," she smiled sweetly as he straightened suddenly, his features hardening.

"Look lady, if you're here to rob me, forget it. I don't have anything worth value, 'cept me" and true to human nature, Donovan waggled his eyebrows suggestively to her. Deanna rolled her eyes at his lame attempt to seduce. "Please. I just ate." She stepped closer to him, and that gesture sent his previously calm horse into a frenzy, the poor beast stomping his feet wildly, eyes wide with fright as he whinnied. Donovan jumped to attention, trying to soothe the fearful animal while glaring at Deanna. "What did you do to him?" The man murmured soft words to his horse while gently caressing the animal's mane.

Deanna stared impassively at the duo. "I did nothing. Horses do not like me." She left it at that before briskly continuing on. "I heard rumors about this place, Shimmer Town. Something about people getting killed there? Can you elaborate?" Donovan shrugged as he continued his quest in calming his horse. "You know about as much as I do, lady. Whole town was nearly cleaned out, and those who did manage to survive, well, from what I heard are in the town south called Garis. Damndest thing ever." Donovan scowled as he gestured for Deanna to move further back, grunting as she complied. "Don't know who's responsible, but there's rumors and all. Wild tales of crazy people, cannibals and the sort. Even beasties who live in the north looking for food." Once more he shrugged as his horse finally settled. "That's all I know." Suddenly suspicious of this strange woman and her weapon, he asked. "Why are you wanting to know? I wouldn't go there if I were you, lady, not even with that fancy pistol of yours. I heard what they did to those people...no one should die like that. No one."

Deanna regarded Donovan for a moment before continuing. She tried to anticipate where Verial would have gone, Shimmer or Garis? Shimmer had already been wasted, so that left Garis for next; on the other hand, Verial might have gone to Shimmer to investigate and see if any would return. Damn it all. "You're right. No one should, but you're in luck. You're not taking me to Shimmer Town. You're taking me to Garis Town." She gestured with a nod of her head. "We're leaving now, in your cart. How long will it take to get there?" Deanna made her way to the passenger side of the cart and climbed in, much to the dismay of the poor horse who protested. "Enough horse! I'm not planning on eating you..." she lowered her voice then, "unless you give me a reason to," before settling back against the seat, idly glancing at the open-mouthed Donovan. "Well? Let's go."

"Lady are you crazy? Get the hell out of my cart, you're spooking my horse! Go rent one! You just show up and start bossing me around, demanding I take you places? I don't even know you! I'm not going anywhere!" The older man yelled wildly, arms flailing at the incredulous acts of this woman. Deanna waited until he was finished, for truly he deserved his little outburst, before calmly drawing her pistol and aiming it at him.

"Get in the cart or I'll shoot you in the foot. You can still drive the cart if you lose a few toes, I think." Deadly serious, Deanna stared coldly at Donovan, feeling bad for threatening him, but her mission came first. Without a word, pale faced and shaking a bit, Donovan climbed in the cart and grabbing the reigns, ordered his horse to go.

He stared straight ahead, not saying a word to Deanna who at that point, slid the pistol back in her holder. "Don't take it personally, and for the record, I really don't want to hurt you, but I'm looking for someone and I need your help." Donovan grunted but still didn't say anything which prompted Deanna to continue in a soft voice, "Whoever attacked Shimmer Town will most likely head over to Garis, and then eventually Bariston."

"And you want me to take you to Garis so what, those things can kill you too, maybe even me?" Donovan sneered. "You looking to die, lady?" Deanna shook her head, sighing heavily. "No. I told you. I'm looking for my friend, and if he's in either the ghost town or the town soon to be, he's going to need my help." Donovan said not another word as they set off toward Garis town. It would be an uncomfortable couple of days ride for the two of them, one unwilling, the other far too eager.

I'm coming Verial. Don't do anything stupid without me.

Posted: Mon Oct 31, 2011 5:53 pm

Deanna

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Post subject: Re: Thrown to the Wolves

She dreamed of death, of charring bodies, blood everywhere, and somewhere in the midst was Verial among the wolves. Only he was not fighting against them, but joining in the carnage with his brothers. Somewhere in her nightmare, her name was called, a summoning to follow her family in the bloodshed, tempting her.

She woke startled, the sound of an owl screeching nearby.

Cursing to herself, she rubbed sleep from her eyes and sat up. It took seconds for her eyes to adjust to the darkness, and even longer for her to realize where she was. She had camped just west of Garis Town on the opposite side of what seemed to be a river, and she was alone. Donovan and his horse were nowhere in sight.

Coward, she thought to herself. He had been watching her far too closely than she gave him credit, for he could see her exhaustion and waited for her to sleep before creeping away with his damned animal like thieves in the night. It didn't matter. She would continue the rest on foot, figuring she couldn't be more than a day's journey away.

Now that she was awake, what to do? The sun wouldn't rise for another few hours by her calculations. The river, from what she could see in the moonlight, wasn't particularly wide in this area. She could cross it, save herself some trouble. Once that was over and done with, she could hunt for in truth she was a bit peckish.

Feeling better with a plan of action, she spread out her overcoat onto the grass and laid her weapons on the material. Figuring it best not to travel with wet clothing, she began to strip down to bare skin, and after piling her clothing and boots on top of her weapons, folded the coat over to fashion a makeshift sack. She hoisted her belongings over her shoulder and began her trek across the river.

Goosebumps broke out over her flesh and her teeth chattered as she waded in the cold water. She had misjudged the depth, for at its deepest point the water covered her chest and she had to lift her belongings over her head to keep them dry. She was shivering uncontrollably by the time she made it to the tall grassy flatland on the opposite side. She set her things on the ground, grumbling to herself as she wondered if Verial was having as much difficulty in his travels as she.

She never bothered to answer herself as she ran into the woods to hunt, figuring the chase would warm her blood. The naked wet woman zipped through trees, having already picked up the scent of a male elk. Dawn was just breaking over the horizon by the time she returned to her campsite covered in blood, her belly full. Hunting was always messy, and Deanna dreaded the fact she would have to bathe in the freezing water once more before continuing on her journey.

A few minutes of yelling and cursing as she dunked herself in the river before she declared herself clean and stomped back to her stuff, combing her fingers through her wet hair to untangle the snarls. She let herself air dry, and when she was finished reached for her camisole and underwear to slip on with great distaste. She didn't relish the idea of putting less than fresh clothing on her clean body, but there were no other options.

She had just finished buttoning her shirt and was reaching for her pants when she heard the noise. A simple snapping of a twig on the forest floor, but still it was enough to startle her into alertness. She dropped into a crouch and reached for her pistol, assuming the worst that it was the weres. As quiet as possible, trying to mask her form in the tall grass (though honestly, if something or someone was out there, they already knew her position, still Deanna was a creature of habit), she pulled the hammer of the pistol back and kept her sight on the treeline, sharp eyes scanning for movement.

Forcing herself to breathe even slow breaths, she waited patiently, the sound of her heart thudding in her ears. Pale pink and gold light was beginning to fill the sky, chasing away the darkness. She remained motionless, listening for any movement to indicate who or what was out there. It could very well be an animal foraging for breakfast, or at least Deanna hoped. Though no coward herself, Deanna was far from stupid. She could handle one were on her own, maybe, with a simple shot of silver. However if there were more than one in the area, which was likely, well then, her proverbial goose was cooked.

"Come on", she whispered softly to herself, impatient with waiting, her adrenaline rushing. "Come on and show yourself." Her finger was on the trigger. All she had to do was point and shoot.

Posted: Fri Nov 04, 2011 3:47 pm

Quinn Redmont

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Post subject: Re: Thrown to the Wolves

He'd been watching her since she left. He paused for a moment and realized how that sounded. Quinn sighed. Deanna had left days ago and he'd been following her ever since. He'd stuck to the shadows and stayed down wind. Of course that last part wasn't as necessary as it might have been for others. She'd told him on multiple occasions that his lack of scent was troubling to her. And he used this shamelessly several times in the past.

Deanna had taken the effort not to wake him. He wasn’t sure if that meant she really didn’t want him with her or if she thought that just she and Verial were enough to take of a werewolf plus it’s pack. Either way Quinn was going. The first leg of the trip had been fairly uneventful. Admittedly on the ship there had been a couple of close calls, but she never saw him.

And then there was the jerky man. For a moment he wondered if he should step in, but she handled the situation very smoothly. He smiled to himself thinking that he’d over-reacted, maybe Deanna didn’t need his help after all. As he was about to turn away he noticed another man watching her leave. It wasn’t uncommon for people, men especially, to stare at her, however this man was different. He was watching her like a wolf studying it’s prey.

Oh there was no way he was leaving her on her own now. He waited until the man left after Deanna and the merchant before following the trio. At some point he actually lost the sight of the man, luckily the cart was noisy enough that he was able to follow Deanna without much problem. He was able to spend time looking for the man again; all he could find were some animal tracks leading away from the road. If the man he was tracking had been a lycanthrope then he could have scented Deanna and ran off to get back up.

Quinn sighed and went back to keeping an eye on Deanna and her traveling partner. They camped for the night and almost as soon as she fell asleep the slime was leaving her. Not that he was surprised, but he still found himself bristling against the man’s cowardly behavior. He let her sleep though. She was exhausted, between the confrontation with Willow, the travel here, forcing the merchant to bring her this far, she was tired.

Deanna got up and noticed her ride’s absence, then went on with her journey. He kept following her until she came to the river. Then, she did something he wasn’t expecting, she stripped down to the barest of undergarments. His cheeks flushed as he was torn between keeping an eye on her and giving her the privacy she thought she had. He turned his head from the view presented.

“What are you doing? She’s hot, she’s naked, and she’s right there!”

“And she’s my friend. I respect her.”

“You know we could have her as more than just a friend. And she’d beg for more.” the demon laughed.

Quinn’s attention kept going back and forth from the tree-line to Deanna. She was making good progress through the river, and if he didn’t hurry he’d lose her on the other side. He started wading through the river, not even doing as much as De had done in removing his clothes. He’d dry them once he got to the other shore.

It was hard for him not to stare. He kept looking to make sure she wasn’t being attacked, but then he’d turn his eyes off to the opposite direction so that he could convince himself that he wasn’t a pervert. Which gave his demon a good laugh. It continued to taunt him as well; telling him all the things they could do to Deanna and how she’d love every minute of it. Then again, this wasn’t anything new for him. He’d been listening to it all his life, and it’d only gotten worse as his friendship with Deanna had developed.

She went out hunting, and oddly enough he felt more comfortable with her out like that than normal. When she was hunting she was at the height of her senses. She was paying attention to every noise, motion, scent. If there was anyone hunting for her, she would know it probably before he did. Quinn took a moment to relax. He hadn’t rested since she left the house. He stayed still, and quiet unwilling to let Deanna know he was there.

He perked up a bit when he heard movement from her campsite. He looked out and there she was completely naked. His mouth dropped. He hadn’t intended to stare, but…damn! She turned and walked away from the camp, back to the river. And still he couldn’t stop staring.

“Its just as nice from the back side as the front. Isn’t it?”

“Shut up.”

Before he knew it, she was back and dressing. He was in better control this time and turned his head to look away. As he did he saw a pair of glowing eyes looking at the same place he’d just been looking. He looked closer, and could make out the outline of a wolf, waiting and ready to pounce. He stood quickly and as he did a branch snapped.

Deanna’s head snapped in his direction and she pulled her pistol out, and pointed it at him. Well, at the bushes he’d been hiding in. He noticed all of this from the corner of his eye, however he didn’t take his eyes off of the giant wolf about to attack.

“Come on and show yourself.” She said.

Just as he jumped from the bushes, the wolf attacked as well. His hand was on the hilt of his sword when he heard the crack of the pistol. The bullet hit him in the shoulder, but instead of stopping he allowed the momentum of the impact to spin him around, and as he did he drew his sword. He used the spinning motion to add a bit more power to the blow he brought down on the wolf’s neck.

Unfortunately, the wolf seemed to anticipate an attack of some kind and dodged. He didn’t miss completely, but it wasn’t the killing blow he’d intended. A flash of anger in the wolf’s eyes made him wonder for a moment. This had to be the man he’d followed here. As the wolf turned on him, Quinn pulled his arm up and jammed the armored forearm into the beast’s mouth. It bit down several times unable to get through. As the wolf wasted it’s time biting, the half-breed jammed the sword into its gut and pulled up.

Werewolves were damn hard to kill. Even a gut shot like the one he’d just delivered may not kill it if it was old enough. But it sure hurt like hell. Quinn pulled the blade out of the surprised beast, and slashed it at the thing’s neck, finishing what his first hit started. Werewolves were hard to kill…but not impossible.

Inhaling deeply, he turned and looked at Deanna. A sheepish smile on his face, “Hi.”

Posted: Sat Nov 05, 2011 8:10 pm

Where you used to be,
There is a hole in the world,
Which I find myself constantly

Walking around in the daytime,
And falling in at night.
I miss you like hell.

Deanna

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Post subject: Re: Thrown to the Wolves

The heady scent of werewolf caught her full in those flared nostrils, musky and earthy, and for a moment she was both terrified and excited. Terrified because really, how had she not noticed it before? Excited because it had been a very long time since another of her kind was so close, the sensation of being near another such as she stirred her beast into life as the hand clutching the pistol shook with uncertainty.

You would truly kill one of your own? He is your brother, your family, to do so would be traitorous.

Her beast's reasoning gave her time to pause, to consider her actions with doubt. Was it right what she was doing? Was it right for her to protect the humans who hated her, condemned her simply for being what she was? Was it right for her to pass judgement on creatures who were simply slaves to their animalistic sides, hunting and killing as their beasts would out in the wild?

A twinge of pity, but that lasted briefly for when she thought of Mal, all doubts when out the window.

Suddenly there was another figure in the picture, another wolf? A blur of movement in the distance and frightened, Deanna squeezed the trigger. The backlash of the weapon didn't surprise her, but the enhanced sound the pistol made when fired, caused Deanna to become disoriented. She dropped the weapon and tried to stand, the ringing in her ears distorting her sense of balance. As she stood there trying to right herself, her eyes fastened on the two who fought not particularly far away.

She had hit one of them she knew for the scent of blood found its way to her. She could hear the snarling of the werewolf and...what in hell? She recognized the sound of those grunts, those curses. Quinn? What was he doing here?

Deanna rushed forward, albeit too late for Quinn had finished the werewolf off with a killing blow, a lucky blow if you asked Deanna. When the wolf lay motionless on the forest floor and the fool turned to face her, smiling stupidly with his sad little "Hi" as a way of greeting, it was all Deanna could do to not kill him for his stupidity.

Amber orbs flashed her rage as she reached toward him, grabbing him by the front of his coat and yanking him to her. Her gaze flickered to his shoulder, noting the bullet wound made by her (Well who told him to get in the way? If he hadn't been there, the bullet would have found its way into the were!). She snarled a curse as she dragged Quinn back to where her belongings were.

“Strip to your waist.” If he was a wise man, and presently she had her doubts, he would simply comply without saying a word. "Sit," she commanded to him through gritted teeth when he was finished undressing. She was beyond pissed at him for following her, and even more so that he caught her off guard, again. When he finally sat down on the grass, she knelt beside him to examine the wound.

She poked and prodded at the bleeding hole a bit, grunting to herself as she noted the bullet wasn’t particularly deep, and had in fact imbedded itself in a muscle. She nodded, satisfied that it hadn’t hit bone. Either he was a lucky fellow or she was a terrible shot, right now it was a toss up. “Don’t move.“ Without looking at him, she began to cut into his flesh around the bullet hole with her thumb nail which was as sharp as any bladed weapon. She made a simple cross shape just enough to make digging the bullet out much easier. Privately, she praised him for not flinching when she knew her actions had to be painful.

“This might hurt,” she murmured as she focused at the task at hand. She dug her forefinger into the bloody gap, hissing as her own skin touched the silver of the bullet. As she probed deeper, she glanced at him, rather proud that he was keeping silent despite the tightness around his eyes and clenched jaw. She cursed as it took longer than expected, but finally the bullet popped out of his skin. Ignoring her own minor injury, she wiped at the blood with the sleeve of her shirt and finally turned to look at him.

She reached her free hand to grip the lower half of his face to turn his head sharply to the side. “If you look at me while I do this, I’ll put another bullet in you,” she growled before bending her head to press her mouth to his wounded shoulder. Ignoring the sharp inhale of breath she heard from Quinn, she shoved aside her embarrassment and humiliation as she began to lap at the wound. Though the silver hadn’t hurt him, he was still bleeding and despite his half demon self, there was a chance for infection to set in, however minor it was. Considering it was her fault he had been shot (though again if he hadn’t been skulking about in the first place this wouldn’t have happened), she swallowed her pride, knowing whatever was in her saliva would heal him.

Not long after she had begun, the bleeding began to slow then finally stop, and shortly after that his flesh began to pucker and seal. Not completely healed, for that would take a few hours, but at least he wasn’t bleeding anymore. She swallowed hard, her breathing labored as she closed her eyes, quietly struggling for control over herself.

It took great effort for her to concentrate on healing him when her beast nudged her from within, tempting her with all sorts of possibilities. Why not? There was no one around, and it was doubtful he wouldn’t be willing. For a moment she almost gave in to her beast’s urges, if not a constant reminder that she was here to help and to heal, not to cause more hurt. Besides, she had a mission to complete, and though Quinn was a persuasive distraction, now was not the time to steer off track. She gathered her strength, a shudder running through her body as she fought against her bestial half. Aware that Quinn was watching her, she lifted her head and wiped at her mouth after releasing her hold on him, glaring daggers at him as she dared to say one word concerning her reaction.

She pointedly ignored the ridiculous expression he had on his face. She couldn’t tell if it was surprise or repulsion or even if he was mocking the sudden flush in her cheeks. It didn’t matter. The deed was done, his wound would heal. Back to business. Turning her back on him, she angrily finished dressing, snatching up her weapons as he continued to stare at her with the most peculiar look on his face. “You cost me time,” she snapped at him as she stalked by. “Just another distraction I don’t need. If you insist upon being here, you’d best keep up or I’m leaving you behind,” and just like that Deanna left him behind, allowing him to decide whether to catch up to her, or return home.

She was more angry and disgusted with herself than with Quinn, and she knew the reason why. She just prayed her resolve would remain firmly intact before she arrived at Garis Town and eventually located Verial.

Posted: Sun Nov 06, 2011 3:51 pm

Verial Akilara

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Post subject: Re: Thrown to the Wolves

Naturally, having left before Deanna and Quinn, Verial made it to Shimmer Town a few days before the duo would make it to Garis Town. Unlike Deanna who had travelled most of the way across Elved's continent by Donovan's horse drawn cart, making her journey somewhat slower, Verial was by himself on horseback. For the most part, the trip was quiet and his elvish hearing picked up no sounds that were out of the ordinary. No beasties growling in the night, no people crying out for help, no nothing. He supposed in a way that was a good thing, though it also made him think maybe the trail had gone cold. Maybe the journey to Shimmer Town would be a waste?

At least travelling through Elved was easy. The continent was largely populated by grasslands and marshes that seemed to pose no threat for the horse Verial rode on. Verial went through forests and long lengths of plains as well where the wind swept by him in gentle pushes. Despite the ease of making it to Shimmer Town, by the time he got there, Verial was worn out. Not by the ride, but by the beast inside of him that wanted to be unleashed.

His stomach, in knots, made him lean downward resting against his horse's neck for a moment. The horse clapped its hoof against the ground a few times, its tail swishing behind it almost impatiently. Still with his head against the animal's skin, Verial lifted his odd colored eyes to stare at the gates of Shimmer Town. It was night out and the town was devoid of any light whether from lanterns or fires. Verial, however, did not need the light to know that Shimmer Town was but a memory; his sensitive hearing picked up the dead silence in the little village and knew no one was present.

Hoping to find some sort of leftover clue, he finally pushed himself away from the horse's neck and sat up, only to swing one leg over the saddle and slide both feet down towards the grass outside Shimmer Town. He gave the horse a soft pat near the shoulder blades and tied the reigns around a nearby post. The horse gave an uneasy shake of its head as Verial stepped booted foot past the town's gates.

The town had been left as ransacked as the werewolves made it. Shutters and doors were ripped from their hinges, barrels and carts strewn about, windows broken and if he wasn't mistaken, roofs had been caught on fire. Though it had been about two weeks ago since the attack here, as he knelt down for a moment and ran his fingertips across the ground, Verial could tell that there was still dried blood soaked into the dirt paths that ran through Shimmer Town.

For a while, nothing was pointing in him the direction of a clue; for the most part, everything he saw was just a town that had been ravaged by beasts. Then, next to the pub, he spotted something peculiar and moved towards it. Hanging against a piece of wood near a window sill was shredded fabric of navy blue and on it was an embroidered crest that Verial was somehow able to recall. He remembered seeing this same crest hanging from flags that decorated many of Bariston's buildings. So if the Bariston troops had been sent to Shimmer Town, where were those soldiers now?

As his thumb ran over the crest, his question had been answered. Suddenly, there was a frenzied cry that broke through the night air and made Verial turn his head in the direction towards Shimmer Town's entrance. Verial knew what that sound was; it was his horse he had left out there and to his slight surprise, there was a desperate werewolf trying to sink its teeth into the horse's side and rip a chunk out of the animal. Before the beast could do that however, Verial opened his mouth and called out.

"Hey!" he shouted, diverting the therianthrope's attention. The werewolf turned its head up, delighted to see something a bit more human it could munch on. Just before it could manage a toothy grin, Verial had already drawn back his bow string loaded with a silver tipped arrow and fired it at the werewolf. In the past, Verial did not use a bow as much for fighting, so it did not anger him when the creature was able to evade the arrow that soared through the air. Verial placed his bow securely behind his shoulder and unsheathed his sword in response.

Part of him wondered, as the werewolf came charging in his direction, if he would even be able to make a stand because of his exhaustion. Thankfully, this beast was not as big as the one that had attacked at the Villa and as it clashed with Verial, he was able to block it with his sword. It was with frenzied slashes and swipes that the werewolf engaged him, snarling and growling through its muzzle the whole time. Still, Verial was able to parry those haphazard attacks with his sword, fending off razor sharp talons, until an overwhelming wave of nausea came over him and he stumbled.

This simple falter had left him with three long cuts across his forearm and as the werewolf swung at him hard, his body flew back towards the wall of one of the empty stone buildings. Verial hit the building and lay on the ground, his hand wrapped around his sword. It wasn't that he couldn't get up, but that he wanted his opponent to believe he couldn't get up. And so when the werewolf was hungrily looming over him, Verial thrust his sword up at the beast, letting the blade slice through its chest.

The werewolf swung around and howled in pain with Verial's sword in its chest. Verial took this brief moment to get on his feet and move away, gaining some ground between him and the were. Raven feathered wings spread out and Verial lifted himself onto the closest roof possible. He took his bow back off his shoulder and was getting it ready to fire again when the werewolf, somewhat recovered, noticed and leapt up onto a different roof not far from Verial. It took another jump, intent on tearing Verial to shreds anyway it could now. Verial looked behind him for the quickest second and then flew to the next roof and the next after that. The werewolf, who hadn't been paying attention to Verial's patterns, took another leap and fell through one of the roofs that had been burned.

As the were came rampaging out of the door of that house, a silver tipped arrow finally made a mark right through the beast's shoulder. The werewolf easily fell over, having a sword stuck in it still and let out a great number of agonizing howls. Verial jumped from the roof he was on, using his wings to land safely on the ground. As he stepped towards the beast, it stilled, though breathed heavily through its muzzle. When Verial got to it, he stared into the were's eyes noticing that the thing looked strangely amused for some reason.

"You're going to tell me where your pack is," Verial said rather calmly.

The werewolf's weighted breathing turned into a gurgling laugh and it managed to cackle a response, though one Verial did not want to hear, "You're going to go fuck yourself."

Verial narrowed his eyebrows and before the werewolf could reply with another snappy reply, Verial drew back another arrow on the string of his bow and shot it right down into the gut of the werewolf. This was followed by Verial grabbing the hilt of the sword that was still stuck in the wolf's chest and twisting it harshly. This seemed to trigger some seriousness in the therianthrope in that it didn't seem to be laughing anymore; instead it was wailing in even more pain now.

Kneeling down next to the werewolf, Verial ripped his sword free, slicing through flesh as the blade went and used that same sword to pry open the beast's fanged mouth. Verial looked at the teeth that adorned those strong jaws and as though he appeared interested, reached a hand towards one of those fangs, wrapping strong fingers around it. He knew he wasn't going to get the venom he needed to cure his virus from this wolf; that wasn't the point.

"Now, I'm going to ask you again, where is your pack?" Verial said his head tilting in question. There was a long silence with no answers and following that, the ripping of two teeth from the beast's mouth. Verial was not usually one for torture, but it seemed his patience had worn rather thin and he could make an exception.

"The gorge... Tezzra's Gorge," the werewolf managed to spew from behind now bruised and bloodied gums. "Few days... slightly south west..."

This seemed to satisfy Verial and he finally stood, pushing himself to his feet with the use of his sword. On his feet, he looked down for a moment at the therianthrope that was wounded by two silver arrows and now drowning in its own blood. He thought to leave the werewolf dying in its own misery, but not wanting to risk it somehow healing, Verial brought his sword down across the beast's throat, severing the neck from the head.

His feet brought him back to the horse that was still waiting at the gate. Despite the attack it suffered, it was still there, although trying to yank the reigns free from the post it was tied to. Verial lifted a hand towards the animal to steady it, stopping for a moment to realize how much his hand and arm were shaking. It wasn't due to the slashes across his forearm either, but to the amount he had pushed himself.

Verial inspected the horse where the therianthrope had bitten it. The wound wasn't deep at all, but it wouldn't heal without a certain sort of proper care. So, Verial found his lips against the animal's flesh and he sucked out blood and any werewolf venom that might have infected the wound. He drew this crimson liquid into his mouth then spit it out. He was never one for blood drinking, even when he was part vampire, but it was necessary as he did not want the horse to turn feral on him.

Content the animal would heal properly now, Verial dressed the wounds on his own arm and then finished applying herbs and to the horse's open injury as well. The horse, a bit calmer, seemed to toss its head appreciative. Verial now had a new destination - Tezzra's Gorge - but he wasn't convinced he'd make it with all his strength sapped like this. Somewhere between Shimmer Town and the gorge he'd set up camp, preferably with a stream nearby. Verial desperately wanted to wash himself of the blood and to finally be able to get a bit of rest before tackling a pack of rabid werewolves.

Posted: Mon Nov 28, 2011 10:53 pm

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