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The little blue house sat tucked in line next to the same house in multiple colors, all of which were washed out by years of neglect. The yards were small patches of over grown weeds, gone brown and brittle from winters chill. She had grown fond of sitting on the steps of the house, leaning against the paint-peeled door frame. It was there on the cookie-cutter street in the midst of the fallen city where she played the scenarios of home back through her thoughts over and over again. In the eyes of her mind she formulated excuses for her actions and angry myths of the actions of those two sorry creatures who named themselves alphas...So twisted had she become. Only when she noticed her neck had cramped into one position did she ever really move. It was like she was becoming part of the cityscape, body first, followed by mind and soul.
The alien landscape had taken another strange push into India's mind. Almost daily she was pushing herself through the slow process of shifting, calmly as she thought of darker things. It was like therapy, changing her body while changing her mind. She felt as though the two sides of herself were pulling apart more and more, and she felt better that way. The past in that strange form, the present and future in the comfort of her body. When shifted she took time to rummage through the house, finding little trinkets, papers with writing, photographs of those alien human creatures that stared back at her from beyond their graves. She named them. The little humans in the large photograph above the fireplace was her favorite with eight eyes staring at her. Her seclusion forced her to speak to them to keep herself from always living in silence. There were many beds in the house, and the fabric on them fit together like puzzle pieces. The house was left untouched, as if they merely walked away. The kitchen held those strange metal cylinders, stacked on shelves and tucked away in drawers. She even broke a few, spilling their contents on floor. Some of the cans tasted descent while others weren't appealing at all. She adapted herself to the house in her shifted form. She joked in her mind that the aliens were taking over.
The rest of her days were spent wandering around. Pushing past forgotten pieces of other lives, or delving into the forest around. She walked farther and farther every day until she felt the need to turn and go back the way she came. Always in a new direction, always empty handed. She ran into few, avoided others. Her existence was ghost-like, caught up in itself, and empty. The day she lit out for another walk she was planning on cleaning the house she called hers. Something about the clutter seemed unnecessary, unpleasant, and unneeded. The trees she passed, though unplanned seemed to fit perfect no matter how cluttered they became. The difference was amusing.
She wandered out again. Into the silent wilderness caught in passing hours of every day. Her head was low, eyes foggy in thought, her movements mechanical. She was losing the elegance taught by her parents. It wasn't that it was lost but merely useless. The extra extension of the front legs, the carefully curling of the paw and gentle placement afterwards, she new the movement, gait, and look. No reason anymore. She lashed against the rough bark of the tree with human like hands. She shifted suddenly, leaving her a bit light headed. The memories of the past spilled up right when she thought they were under control. Violent clawing left the tree bruised and bleeding with sap. Her eyes were hyper focused at the ripping of bark. The rough snapping and splintering seemed necessary, good, and in the back of her mind, evil.
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I'm sorry things didn't go like you planned. I'm glad you decided to have a thread with me anyway, though. Oh...and the below passages might be hard to understand if you don't know that HawkWind and VoidFane were the same person.
Cold winds blew across the place of VoidFane's death, and his great great grandson had inhaled deeply of the gusting air. Some feral poison had been in the old wolf's blood, a baleful fire that had seared away his life and burned through his sanity like candlewax. Skoll had that same poison somewhere in his veins, it had been the push that had set him down his path, that had originally suited him to the life of a warrior. It had been diluted, thank Fenrir; with help he had been able to learn to control the downward spiral each battle, which screamed for him to lose his body to that fury. His mortal shell could become a furnace to that all-consuming fire, but Gronnor--his teacher--had been able to analyze and stem the flow of his unquenchable anger. He lost control seldom, now, a blessing for which he was most grateful. I wonder if your inferno could have been doused, old one. Your life and mine may have been the better for it.
That may not have been true, however. Skoll had a singular skill within his family line, he was the only wolf from StoneTree to have ever pursued battle as a profession, even as a career, to have accrued martial skill to a great degree. Alphas past had depended on HawkWind's fury, his gift, to protect their home, StoneTree. The place he had grown up was rife with competition and violence, hunger and rigid codes and rituals that need be followed if the pack were to survive. His mother was the one who had passed the berserker's rage onto him, though he had never seen her descend into the beast that he knew sometimes possessed him. He was grateful that his father, Freyr, had taken the defense of the land upon himself. Her presence was ever in the minds of the neighbors, though, for it was rumored that there once had been a time when she had called upon the blood rage; it had been enough to convince would-be invaders that HawkWind's terrible gift still existed within StoneTree.
Deep in thought, unused to exploring his memories of home, he was somewhat startled by the vision he saw next. A tree, set upon by the claws of an apparently aggitated feminine form. A werewolf like him, with her keen hearing and sense of smell, she was probably already aware of him. The eight-foot bronze werewolf stopped, hands at his sides, as he studied what she was doing. He was adorned in scars, tales of his life wandering from battle to battle, a soldier of fortune he had been called once, and his deerskin satchel hung from his hip, carrying two axes, his war-knife, his whittling knife, and his latest carving project. Amber eyes looked to her, wondering if any sort of explanation would be forthcoming, or if she would prefer that he simply leave.
"Tree should have thought twice before messing with you, I think. The snarky little bastards never think about the consequences, though. It's how trees get themselves into this kinda trouble." Maybe some casual humor would set this odd scene at ease.
~The lyrics are from the best song ever written.
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Makes sense now. And thank you or rp'ing with me, haha. What I had planned can happen after everyone finishes finals though. S'ok.
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Humor seemed strangely foreign. Her mind was so torn between the flinging of splinters and the ghost like apparitions of her past. The brown eyes with the circles of red along the outside stared almost confused at the other wolf. Speech seemed lost in the static of her mind, so noiseless and loud at the same time. The need to gore the tree seemed to slip away as the more primitive parts of her mind slowly crawled back into the far reaches of that shadow inside her skull. With the retreating need to kill came forth her senses. Her eyes went from too wide to lax, heavy with grief, and weariness. The mental change didn't invoke the change of her outward form this time. She presumed it was from being startled. She had allowed all her thoughts into the carnage... The tree bled in front of her. Her eyes shifted from wolf to tree, watching the amber molasses drip in heavy beads down the stark white slashes. She hadn't burst out like that in so long that she felt embarrassed. Her face showed it. She looked down at the strangely human claws, soaked with sap. The pads of her paws had been ripped in areas, large splinters stuck in the skin: the trees revenge.
I hadn't even realized that I...I mean I was just... No excuse could be told to the stranger. He looked bemused enough to her. She let her lungs heave out a heavy sigh that released any tension she was feeling. Void of the last bit of anger she let herself give a smile that didn't reach her eyes. Eh, the tree had it coming.
What else could she say? She put herself into her stranger's position. Walking through the forest and you come upon a crazy, snarling, she-wolf in shifted form ravaging a tree who had done nothing but sit there. Her embarrassment grew in the pit of her stomach. With her thoughts calming and her body aching, she could only hope that her stranger would understand. She felt her body slipping out of the two legged form. It took so much time to go in and out for her that he probably wouldn't notice right away. It took hours. How had she jumped from one form to the other just moments before so quickly? The whole thing seemed puzzling. She let her body stand for a second before leaning against the decimated tree. It was thin and a few more minutes of ripping would have sent it toppling over. She almost felt bad for it. Her form seemed to be melting down, she was slowly shrinking. Her eyes locked on her stranger watching him silently.
You'll have to excuse me. I'm not use to this... Damn the old pack far away for giving her this wretched disease. This strange shifting that she didn't understand. Wolves weren't suppose to stand on two legs. It had seemed that most of the wolves here preferred their two legged form, claws to paws. She hadn't been living in the strange form but for a few hours every day. It was long enough since she preferred sulking in her smaller frame out on the porch. Her mood shifted in her like a snake, the confused look on her face moved to something close to utter depression. She lowered her head and stared at the ground, letting her body slip down to slump against the tree while sitting. She felt tears well up in her eyes and she wiped one away, growling as the salty tears burned the open wounds on her hands. Don't mind me. Just been a rough few months. Hey, what do you have there in the satchel? She longed to make him take his eyes off of her, change the topic, speak of other things. Just don't leave...I can't stand to be left alone! Her thoughts betrayed her eyes.
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This was way longer than I thought it was! Gonna trim it some. Edit: There, trimming done.
He felt a lump form in his own stomach...he suffered her discomfort as if it were his own. He feared the day he should descend into bestial ferocity and return to lucidity to the horrified or disapproving stares of peers. He had done his best to not come off the wrong way, but she was terribly embarrassed all the same, and it shamed him to have seen her this way. As she began reverting to her original form, he decided that he should probably say something nice, and then leave.
He noted that he had been staring, wrapped up in her pain. Her hands were bloodied, bits of wood had lodged into the pads, he felt sure. His heart hurt for her as she shed her first tears, and somehow he doubted it happened because of the pain in her hands. There was a story here, and it wasn't a happy one...he had heard many sad tales in his six years of life, not the least of which his own. Still, they could become more beautiful in their telling, if the timing was right. She regarded his deerskin bag, and his right hand slid into it in earnest, hoping to stem her tears and her shame.
"I am a warrior by profession, so I carry weapons in it mostly. Not that I like to use them, mind you. Carrying them is sort of a matter of necessity, but I prefer to go without. Teeth and claws can mark you up pretty badly, look at me! But steel...well, a lot more killing happens a lot faster when steel is involved." His voice fell for a moment, perturbed at how badly this meeting was going. He had embarrassed her already, and now it turned out that he fought and killed for living.
"Not everything I carry is as vulgar as a weapon, though," he produced his latest work from the satchel, a carving, smoothed down through great effort, it held the likeness of a fish sweeping its tail through the water. He lacked the skill to do the fine detail of a wolven face yet, so some of his previous works still required attention. He did simpler shapes fairly well, however, and had been working on improving his carving skill since his return from the first War of Shadows, almost a year ago. He held it out for her to study, before remembering that her hands were in such bad condition, and withdrawing his hand, wincing at his stupidity.
"If it's any consolation, there's no need to feel shame for what I saw you do. I've taken part in conflict greater in scale than most can fathom. I have seen wolves do crazy things, terrible things. Watching a she-wolf scratch up a tree really isn't such a big deal to these eyes." He did his best to give her a smile, hoping that she wouldn't feel so ill at ease in his presence.
~The lyrics are from the best song ever written.
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Haha. :>
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He read her thoughts easily enough. To her surprise he seemed to sympathize and understand her quarrel with inner demons and annoying self involved issues. Her chest rose and fell letting her heart slow down from the entire situation. He wasn't pointing a finger, nor denying what he saw. Somehow he managed to put ease to the embarrassment easy enough. She smiled genuinely when he tried to hand her the little whittled object, resembling a fish or some aquatic thing, and immediately began plucking the tiny daggers of wood out. They slid out with little effort and once the lot of them were removed she began licking away the blood, cleaning her pads, and hoping they wouldn't get too sore.
Every wolf I've met here is always in that two legged form. They do so many things that humans did, use their weapons, learn their skills. I haven't seen such things. I guess we're more primitive where I'm from. I like that piece you are working on though. Her old self filled her body. She stood shakily, the slow transition halted as she moved closer to the other wolf. Her dark red fur was falling in her eyes, extended past her shoulders and down her back in curly tendrils. She scratched her nose with a claw, smiling Thanks for not acting like what you saw didn't happen. I think I would have darted for the hills. She let a throaty laugh escape her mouth just before reaching out and hugging the male tightly, smelling his scent, and drawing away. My name is India. Sorry you had to see that though. I was remembering how my parents use to make me walk so as to get a mate and because it was tradition. It was just funny how all that I use to know doesn't apply now. It's why I went after the tree, that and I've been, well, alone for about three months or so now. A gusty wind blew up and tossed snow into the air. It reminded her of how much she hated the cold. It did make her paws go numb which made them ache less. Her fur was longer on two legs. It fell thick around her head and neck, down her back. She didn't understand other parts of the change, the breasts that formed, or how she even kept her balance. The white fur that went down her stomach was catching the snow and causing her to have to shake it out. She didn't want to be wet and cold. She grumbled to herself, continuing to wipe off the snow until she felt it was sufficiently done.
So you're a warrior. Is there a war going on? If not I guess you're on a break, huh? She smiled again, letting it go up to her eyes this time. She noted the scars down his frame. Mostly along his face, chest, and forearms. Some where thick and others long, just deep enough to scar. She let her claw run over the hidden scar under fur, on her right flank. The scar went deep and snaked around her leg. Her fur was long enough to cover it. She didn't like the idea of her beautiful coat being torn apart. The shadowy part of her mind beame eager at the sight of his scars, as if drawn to them. The shadow peered out of her eyes, calmly making her run claws over his scars. She pulled away letting the shadow tumbling back. It belong in nightmares and myths. She smiled nervously, hoping he didn't mind a bit of contact. She had been neglected it that the idea of personal bubble didn't really apply. She knew he probably noticed the shadow in her eyes. He was a warrior after all, and understood the fury only moments before. She feared he might take offense at that wild side peeking out and admiring such wounds of war.
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Lol, I'm doing my best to have him handle the situation better than I would*is totally awkward with physical contact*
Skoll was about to say something when the small red wolf embraced him. His brows furrowed a moment when she was too close to him to see, but softened somewhat before she broke away. She had just come out of a very emotional state, he didn't want to upset her anymore, no more than he wanted her to think that she had stepped over the line. He made contact with canines eager to kill him quite often being a fighter, contact wasn't alien to him, and friendly contact was infinitely better(and safer) than the norm.
Her story was peculiar, and he couldn't understand it well without the details. What he did pick up was that she had been alone for some time, and that she was apparently glad to be talking to someone. He didn't know how someone could 'walk to get a mate', but he assumed from the rest of her words that it was some sort of custom back where she came from. He had come from a comparatively 'primitive' pack as well, though he preferred to think of it as simply tougher. The luxury of an overabundance of food and peaceful neighbors was not present there as it was in Bleeding Souls...though even here they were learning what it meant to have real competitors, namely Inferni.
"Lack of lycanthropy isn't something to be ashamed of. My birthpack, in the far north, has only had werewolves for the past few generations. It's first appearance there was anything but civilized, if the tales are true." He knew they were true, had heard from the HawkWind's own mouth the horrors that lynanthropy had wrought upon the pack StoneTree, confirmation of the legends of the old wolf's folly and his epic clash with GaleCrow.
The scarred male snapped to attention as her claws ran lightly over three lines of marred flesh on his chest, and he lifted a hand as she withdrew hers, feeling the forgotten hurts himself. His life choices were written clearly across the marred flesh of his body. Any other wolf needn't take blame for a scar left by another, but this lifestyle hadn't been forced upon the bronze wolf, he had chosen it. As such, some share of responsibility for every mark and dated injury was his.
"Yes, you could say that I'm on a break, of sorts. I have no pack to protect, currently, and those who have joined me in past pursuits have brought no news of new conflict to my ears. I have just returned from a campaign, though, so the temporary peace is welcome." He saw it in her eyes, but her behavior before was evidence enough that something other than this polite and affectionate young girl existed within the redwolf. "You want to know about some of these, eh?" he said, wondering what else was inside there with her.
~The lyrics are from the best song ever written.
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She's a southern wolf! She loves to hug! Haha..
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The scars that ran over the bronze fur seemed to speak to those dark masses that floated around in her head. The places where evil lurked and toyed with the ideas of blood and gore. She seemed to understand them, almost see the scenes that played out. She could almost smell the blood and taste the adrineline on her tongue. She had tasted flesh, found skin under thick fur, but when it came down to it she was no match for several larger wolves. She committed crime and payed for it. Being in front a warrior put those events into focus. For some reason she understood for the first time what she had really done and exactly because in front of her was a wolf who accepted killing. Her eyes seemed to flood with to much emotion like little portals to her soul. India's eyes glazed over in that fog she had been living in the past few months. Her mouth went dry and she spoke in such a strange voice that she sounded as she was going to cry or start yelling.
I was barely a year old. My packs aufpasser, and my alphas were neglectful. They had a litter of pups that they abused and tortured. We didn't have a lot to eat at one point, and the pups were dying. My parents, the rest of the red wolves, and the coyotes that were part of our pack left to find a better life. I was forced to stay by my alphas with the other shifted wolves that pledged allegiance to them. I was angry that they hurt their children the way they did, and I wanted to go to my family. I ate their pups. Horror...She spoke the truth for the first time. She looked to the other wolf for some sort of direction as to how she was suppose to feel. Her own feelings were jumbled and scared her. Part of her liked it. Liked the tearing of flesh and devouring those helpless pups; it gave her pleasure. Hurt ran across her face because she realized there was a monster inside of her. How it developed she was unsure, but there it was stretching its clutches over her mind now. That shadow was the need to kill and eat things that shouldn't be killed. She was a murderer. I've never said that to anyone. Not even myself. She paused running claws over her long scar and forced a smile as if to ease the other wolf or herself from what she had just said. Tell me about your scars. Tell me about anything. Just, let's not talk about what I just told you.
Was she embarrassed? No, shameful? Perhaps, but she was truthfully scared of herself. The feeling when she licked Arkham made perfect sense now. That evil liked innocents. She could never be around pups again. The thought crossed her mind that she may never have pups of her own since the monster might want to eat them. She ran her claws through her lengthened main, pushing hair out of her eyes, sighing heavily, and the first sounds of a fit slipping out. She felt like she was going to explode or collapse. Frantic eyes looked around and another sigh took it out of her. The need to panic dripped away slowly, leaving mere puddles inside of fear instead of the torrent that she felt moments before. She felt like she was going crazy.
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Wow. That was certainly unexpected!
The story that she told to share with him was the stuff of nightmare. She had eaten children. Surrounded by people who preferred to push pressure off of themselves and onto her shoulders, she had been pushed to some kind of breaking point, where she had either snapped, or whatever good in her was finally put under enough stress for something darker to emerge. In that moment, as she sobbed, he acquired a better understanding of the thing that had looked out at him from behind her eyes; the thing that, like her, longed to see another wolf, and had found it in him.
For a moment, he remained quiet. Her display of emotions made it clear that conflict raged within her mind, that she too was disgusted by what she had done. She had recoiled from this for long, it would seem, and finally confronted in in front of him, the first wolf she'd seen in months. He had a brief recollection of Fly, whose inner demon had slain his mate and child. He had learned later that it had in fact been another spirit alive inside him, unlike VoidFane who had suffered true insanity. What was he looking at now? His eyes were open a fraction wider than they had been before.
"Why are you telling me this? I can't drop it just like that. If everything you said was true, why would you eat them?" His voice was still low, he was not yelling at her, but there was obvious incredulousness in his words. It didn't make sense. He had seen mercy killing, had performed it. He had slain fallen foes as they sought to rise and killed from behind in the heat of battle; nothing but a duel had any room for honor or rules once the fighting had begun. But...consuming children? There was no mercy in that death. There was no sympathy. Something didn't add up.
"You did this to revenge yourself upon the alphas for their crimes?" He understood how someone could be driven to the brink by such terrible leadership...he himself did not tolerate handing his own fate and honor to the hands of an irresponsible or honorless leader. Forced away from your family by bigger wolves, forced to do the dirty work that they did not wish to do. He could understand had she tried to escape. The act she described, though, spoke of insanity.
~The lyrics are from the best song ever written.
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Yup. She has a long, bloody back story.
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Thinking back on everything that happened, the reasons why she ate the little ones avoided her thoughts. The situation was bleak, she was starving, and the little pups were festering with cuts and bite marks. She attempted through thick and thin to keep them separated from their abusive parents, to let their wounds heal, but it was all in vain. The little creatures were husks of meat that strove to be released. She had thought to sneak them out unseen but once the others left she had no support to aid her in the moving of the pups. The longer she stayed with them, licking their wounds, the strange taste for puppy flesh began to take over her mind. Looking at the wolf in front of her she seemed to visit the birth of the shadow, that moment where it tore away from the sane. He was right. She had sought the worst revenge possible. The aching she felt for the pups turned to the blackest form of rage possible, so dark that it consumed them to merely prove a point.
The knowledge of the shadow seemed to taunt it inside her skull. It slithered around, happy that she knew it was there. It seemed to respond to the idea that if it was known it could pull power and consume the delicate mind. India felt that the he-wolf was trying to make sense of her actions, but how could she really explain them and allow sense and reason to be applied. It couldn't. The shadow was as much a part of her than the shame she felt was, and the only real comfort came from the fact that this other wolf had heard and didn't walk away or turn her away in disgust. She looked to the snow soaked ground as if for confidence to speak again. At least, the ground would never move or hate her. It was revenge...It was a mix of things. The pups had open wounds and I tended them often, it was like...the shadow in me rose from the taste of them. It wanted to be free and wanted to appeal to my better senses. It wanted to eat them, make them go away, and scorn those unjust parents. It is me. That shadow is me, but I don't want to eat wolves...It does though. It likes the idea of it. If it is me then why don't I like it! Why am I sitting here in front of a warrior who slays for purpose where I murder for a taste! That two legged form rippled with shakes and energy. The angrier she got the larger the shadow seemed to grow. The body that shrunk began to bulk into that shifted body where it seemed to grant it power. The shadow wanted a taste.
Hands flung over her face, claws digging into the skin to the point of puncture. She saw it right behind her eyelids. A darkness that breathed and saturated her entire being. It liked what was happening. The dainty body of India grew savage looking, claws to long, muscles to jittery that slithered under the skin. She was struggling to hold it back, hold the sanity in her eyes so that it couldn't be seen. Vomit and colors proceeded. She was making herself crazy and the realization slowed everything down. She realized she had let the world around her fog over and become less important. She was stuck in the past. It haunted her present. She seemed to calm down, her body still savagely built, holding back that demon inside. She had control over it, pinned it in the back of her mind where it lashed about unhappy that it didn't release itself.
When I shift it has power. You see it don't you. That disease is their curse on me. That putrid disease sits in the back of my mind waiting to come out and consume things! She let the claws fall away from her face, fur hiding the little bloody spots. She wanted someone to understand her but how could they really? Even the warrior in front of her would probably not understand that shadow. She swore it came from the disease. The shadow was inherited from the wretched alphas, eased by the flesh of their pups. She looked at the golden furred wolf, looking for a bit of her madness in him maybe. Hoping that somewhere inside that creature was a similar shadow, something she could relate to, and make her feel less like a monster.
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Sorry for the delay. I hope that you aren't too troubled by Skoll's reaction, hearing what she's done, he would need to warn Phoenix to be wary of her, their friends and Phoenix has kids >.<
Her words were troubling to the old male, who had seen psychosis many times in the past, and sometimes wondered if HawkWind's gift, the berserker's rage, wasn't just a divergent form of the mental disease or malfunction that was insanity. The very thought was grotesque, a caring mother-figure, licking the wounds of the children with love and care, while a hunger for the taste built within her. If he hadn't seen so much already, the very thought would have been enough to retch.
"I don't know why you would be telling me all this, unless..." He remembered the offer he had made Fly, the one which he had ultimately failed to deliver on. BloodBane had been fast, there had been no slow progression into madness that might have tipped him off, there had been no warning. That alternate person had slain his mate and child, leaving Ember, and Ember only. The memory of it still twisted in his gut. The fact, was though, that in a place like this, there was no where to go but Skoll, for what he had offered Fly. The Inferni coyotes would kill a wolf, but they were unpredictable, and would take pleasure in it, possibly make it slow, or deny the wolf the mercy just to watch them suffer. "Unless you were hoping for insurance." He looked at her long and hard, wondering what was going on in her head.
"If this shadow of yours took over, all I could offer you is a quick death. My best friend was overtaken by a shadow, much as you describe. The final battle with it wracked his body unto death; the process was slow, painful, and violent. I would offer to spare you that, should the day come when your body is not your own. This is the only reason I can think of to tell me such things, the thought that I might be able to protect people from you." He shrugged.
"Or perhaps that is not your reason at all, just that you felt the need to tell someone. Know, though, that I will not suffer a menace such as you describe to go unheralded into the lands that are my home. You must remain as you are, alone, lest you become a threat to someone's children." He didn't like saying the words, but his voice was stern and unyielding as he said them.
The physical reflection of the battle raging in her mind was unsettling, as though she could not control her shifting. As she retched on the ground, the tale of VoidFane was brought back to him, how HawkWind's rage had become so much more dangerous when he had been touched by lycanthropy. He would fight the shift, able only to stop certain parts of the shift, resulting in the ripping of his flesh, the twisting of bone. As he watched her fight herself, he was reminded of the imagery of the old wolf's tale as he died.
A terrible fate likely awaited her. He felt tempted to end it all now, but there might yet be salvation. Fly's story had ended with despair, but VoidFane's...though there had never been any atonement, there had been solace near the end. Perhaps this was achievable for her, as well. Now, while her crimes were limited to one set of puppies, not a trail hundreds of miles long of dead. Still...VoidFane, HawkWind, had found solace in Storm. Phoenix was his friend, and the warrior would not allow her threat to be presented to his children. Phoenix would need to be told of her, regardless. The other packs were not Skoll's concern, they had made it abundantly clear that they did not appreciate his efforts. Inferni and Jaded Shadows especially, would not heed him, anyway.
"Lycanthropy doesn't do this to wolves. It may give power to your demon, but it did not create it." The enemy was inside her, but without understanding it, she could not fight it. Spirits, inner-demons, shadows...there were so many evils in life that his martial skill could not combat. All he was good for was killing people...the people who these evils worked through. In the end, he wasn't striking at the source. He wondered if there had not been a path open to him where he could have succeeded in doing more good than he had as a traveling thane.
~The lyrics are from the best song ever written.
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S'ok. It's nearing Christmas, haha. I know you'll get to it. I almost have your picture complete.
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If flesh were present, the lack of facial color would have been noticeable. Her eyes went wide at the hint of her own destruction. The shadow in her mind seemed to vanish and fall away, retreating so far to the back of her mind that it's presence fell unnoticed. Her thoughts flashed that it would be fitting for another to slay her for her injustice, but the need for self preservation over ruled her sense of justice. The ember colored eyes took on a desperate look. She didn't want death, but therapy, freedom from the blasphemous creature in her mind. I don't wished to be slain. I hope I can stop it. Insurance would be nice, but I wouldn't dare get around anyones pups like this. I don't want a repeat of what happened. Her voice cracked, and it took great effort to swallow back the sincerity. She felt as if at any moment the wolf in front of her would reach out and choke the life out of her.
It seemed so sudden to her, but the reversal into her quadruped form took only mere minutes. Her head sunk low to the ground, tail tucked tightly beneath her. She had no real reason to become so submissive to the male, but all instincts said so. In her mind, she searched for the evil again. It was barely noticeable sitting there, scared in the back of her skull. It wanted to live. How do you fix this problem? How can I slay this creature that is so alive? Do I fight it? Push it so far back it falls out the back of my mind? Or do I do to it the thing it loves to do? Her questions were unlikely unanswerable puzzles that the other just wouldn't know. The would likely fall against the snow and vanish. She knew that the only safe place for now was her little blue house in the city. She didn't have the guarantee, though, of any type of company other than the occasional run in. She hadn't attacked Arkham, so her mind hadn't rotted away. Company seemed to be a part of cleansing herself since being left to her own devices had wrought her mind with the shadow, and the developments of the split personality. The sad thing was she knew it was there, and knew it was only part of herself. She couldn't control it though. Seeking a pack wouldn't be wise, not with her in the condition she was in. It was nearly a catch twenty-two with her having to keep away from others, but needing the company.
She looked down, breathing in a heavy breath, letting it calm her nerves. She curled around the lycanthrop's legs, almost lovingly. If you don't mind, could you visit every now and then? I think the company can help me get over this...
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Yes! Success! And awesome about the picture! If I had any artistic equipment/computer skills, I would offer to return the favor somehow...I've only ever successfully scanned two pictures, and now my scanner's broken =(
The sudden recoil of both her and her demon were stunning. The mention of death seemed to have sobered her dramatically, and she began to recede into four-legged form with dramatic speed. It takes time to learn to shift that quickly on demand...somehow her shifting really had linked itself into all this, into her subconscious and the monster lurking there. The desperation in her eyes would have touched many, but Skoll had seen it before...seen it far too often. 'No, please! Wait!' an ever-nameless wolf cried in his mind, joining the chorus of almost a dozen others who had pleaded with him before his axe found them. The world was cruel, and to live through as much as he did, it did not pay to have a change of heart halfway through a fight. Even malicious bastards often appeared as helpless victims as he loomed over them, meeting their fear-steeped expressions with clinical professionalism, or heated rage.
He nodded as she spoke, glad to hear that she had no intention of trying to slip between the cracks, become a part of a family again who would not know what she had done. HawkWind had been wrong to do so, though he had wrested enough control from his VoidFane at that point to prevent himself from murdering anyone, thankfully. She had retained a concept of right and wrong, which was good, whatever this thing was, it appeared to be just out of infancy, it had not taken control of her but just once, it sounded like, and he had come upon her as she struggled with it. Tearing up that tree...he wondered if it wasn't her way of circumventing the thing's dark desires. Better a tree than a wolf pup...he doubted even Konane would disagree with that.
"I'm not certain it can be slain, young one. BloodBane and VoidFane, the two shadows that I have encountered before, existed only in the minds of their hosts. BloodBane belonged to my best friend, and did terrible things, so terrible that it finally gave him the power to confront it fully, and in so doing, destroyed them both." That wasn't completely true, but he had deprived the evil spirit of its body, which was saying something. He only wished he could have gotten there a little earlier, to have saved Fly's family from their fate.
"The other, VoidFane, belonged to my great-great-grandfather. Unlike you or my friend, though, he was it's creator. It only had what power he gave it...but in its ignorance, he gave it everything, and spent his entire life struggling to regain control, and running from people it could hurt." He looked at her searchingly, wondering what could be done about this.
"Yes, I'll come to see you. Without a pack, I welcome any company I can get. It just occurred to me, though, that I may know someone who can help you. I don't know that he's ever fought with a belligerent mental force, but I suspect that he will at least be able to contest it on its own territory, strike it where it lives. I have a friend who says that he is a psychic. I will ask him what he can do." Looking down at her as she curled around his legs, he wasn't sure what to make of her. She had feared death by his hands a moment ago. A very strange child, indeed.
~The lyrics are from the best song ever written.
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Sorry the response took so long. I had christmas stuff, packing, traveling, and going back to college on my hands. I think we're about done if you want to drop one more post or close it with this one, tis fine. Thank you hun! Oh, sorry it's so short XD!
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His offer was like a ribbon of hope, and she had doubts in her mind if it could withstand the shadow. A ribbon was so fragile. Her eyes showed the hope, and she uncurled herself from him, padding a few feet away from him, turning to throw him a smile. I would love that offer. I'm not sure if it would work or not, but I would try anything. Send him word if you can. I'll be in the city near the park. Thank you for coming to visit me when you can. I have a nice house with a lot of interesting things in. Welcome to come check it out whenever you can. With that she began to turn to go, letting her anxieties go again. The idea of help was welcomed. She felt refreshed that someone knew of her here, that there was hope, and she had what she considered as close to friend she had ever had. It was only the first time she had ever met him, but he at least showed compassion. With some luck and a good deal of mental work, she could possibly be part of a pack again. The thought traveled with her as she turned and began her journey back into the heat of the city. Thank you! It was said with her back to him, but she knew he didn't need to see her face to know that it was honest and heartfelt.
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