06-08-2008, 03:31 PM
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  There we go, story completed!  The bronze wolf was given pause at Lubomir's outburst, but then a faint trace of a smile appeared. He had a good argument, he understood why, without explanation, that would seem a little out of place. Still, he thought it made sense given the master-apprentice system. "You would have to know Gronnor," he said after a moment. "He didn't think that Autumn Leaf was the only place in need of protection. He taught me a lot more than how to fight, and those other things were probably more important. He gave me a new honor code, part of which entailed how to be responsible with my abilities, which he identified to be the major flaw with my form of berserk fighting. He told me that fighting like that would get me killed someday, and that I would kill a lot of people who didn't deserve it in the meantime. So, when he told me I had learned everything, he began talking to me about where I planned to take my skills. I remembered the traveling life I had put on hold to stay there and learn from him...and resumed it, but as a better warrior and as a better man." His smile was full blown now. He remembered those days fondly. The work had been hard, extremely hard, but he had used those skills countless times since then, and Gronnor had been one of the most memorable people he had ever met. "As for HawkWind, his story evolved as I traveled. He had allegedly been killed by a wolf named Malros, who had been made into a king by his countrymen for slaying the 'Wraith Wolf.' Apparently, HawkWind's mind had turned itself toward a long-term predation of lycanthropes, and someone had once heard him proclaim that he would 'destroy the seed of lycanthropy.' Malros lured him out of hiding in a nearby bog where he had dwelt to avoid the eyes and noses of the masses, and slew him with a sword. "By the time I heard this much of the story, I had taken on a student of my own, a young man named Art. I was only two and a half years old, experiencing my third winter. Art was a little younger than me, but had chosen to travel and learn from me, rather than live as a hunter in his home...a position he had been ill-suited to. We learned of a brewing conflict between four nearby groups of wolves...packs belonging to each of the four sons of Malros, the king who had been murdered two years prior, five years or so after he had slain the Wraith Wolf. We got involved, and joined the pack that seemed most in the right: a pack which had named itself BloodScar, for the crime committed against its leader, one of Malros' sons who had been killed by two of his brothers in a heated argument over territory." He paused a moment, his appearance thoughtful. "I would spare you most of the details of the conflict, though it could serve as a story unto itself if you wish to hear it at a later date. I found love there, I found friendship, I found betrayal, and I found weaknesses within myself that I am to this day ashamed of. BloodScar won the conflict, and Art and I still lived at the end of it, but battle had not been what he had expected, hadn't been as grand as I had made it sound, I suppose. He did not leave the war the same as he had gone in, and I have not seen him since." There was regret here...the things that had happened to Art's mind during that conflict were failings of his...one of his greatest failings, there was no question. Still, the tale was too long to go into as a side-story of the narrative of his life. "I was broken after that. I helped who I could, fought when I felt I needed to, but I had failed to uphold Gronnor's honor. The Four Pack War had involved human weaponry, and human weaponry kills fast and easily. Cleavers of all kinds, piercing weapons...what Gronnor had taught me had been useful, but I had incorporated many new elements, to compensate for fighting in a setting that included steel. When death is that easy...a wolf with a talent for killing finds himself responsible for a lot more than he bargained for." Again, his winsome tone added a depth that his words could not. "I entered another conflict shortly thereafter, and that was a dark time. The Raven Feud included weapons also, but it was on a smaller scale, dozens rather than hundreds were involved over the course of the conflict. In my grief and my anger, I began to slide back into my old habits, HawkWind's gift would take me at times, and it would be all the more devastating for the battle instincts I had learned in my time with Gronnor. I was more than the wolves of this new conflict had bargained for, it was more localized, wolves whose lives had been battle were not expected nor prepared for. I was a celebrated war hero...but I left that place too, for the sake of my honor, as well as my sanity. I would have become something dark indeed had I kept on that path. I determined that I did not know who was right in this battle, and so had no right to participate in it. I left, and healed my mind and body, seeking HawkWind again." He waited a moment, knowing that this statement would raise questions. "You see, Malros did not kill HawkWind. I think it is safe to say that he wounded him grievously, and that he took many years to fully recover from that battle, but recover he did. I learned later that he had returned, after years of hunting easier prey, and been the one to murder Malros in his old age. HawkWind had gone by many names at this point, and somewhere in the middle of his journey, he had begun to refer to himself as VoidFane, a name attributed to an alternate personality, a mechanical and merciless killer responsible for the vast majority of his attacks. I had to begin asking for a different name, and stories of the wolf VoidFane eventually led me to a place called Bleeding Souls." Silence. His story was reaching its end. "I met the old wolf, dying just a short ways over that peak," he pointed up Halcyon Mountain. "There was an abandoned human city beyond that mountain, and it was in that concrete waste that I found him...ancient, dying. His eyes were white as death from sickly growth and his breaths were coming shallow. I learned the end of HawkWind's story from HawkWind himself, and in the precious hours before he died he told me everything that had happened. My great great grandfather had led a tortured and miserable life...driven by guilt and anger. He had fashioned the persona VoidFane long before he had given it a name, and it had sought his vengeance for him while he was paralyzed with grief. Twelve years ago, when his rage had driven his shifted body into frenzy, he had killed his mate with a back-handed blow that sent her careening into a stone outcropping, breaking her back. He had never forgiven himself, and he had never forgiven the curse of lycanthropy that now resided in his blood. He died in Bleeding Souls at fifteen years old, and asked that I repay the Storm pack for their kindness to him in his final days. I did so, and was with Storm for almost three years before it finally dissolved with the onset of the fire. That is my story." ~The lyrics are from the best song ever written. |