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Grandfather’s Tears
500+
IT IS INEVITABLE
This place—it was sickening. That empty soul of darkness was trapped within this place—but he must get Cwmfen. There was simply that, and then he could leave. They—the things that lived here—were not fit to live. They were weak, incompetent. And yet they persisted, as if the earth were in need of punishment. The crow-wolf had been a wolf before he had been turned, and he hated the things humans had done to the earth. But the wolves, these things that called themselves wolves, continued the legacy that the humans had left behind. Indeed, he too had become a luperci, but that had been a necessity. In the next life, there would be none of that shit. The next time, he would achieve what it was that he sought. And that was why he was here. It was a circle he had brought upon himself, a step that he knew was necessary. But this place was not above him—he could not be conquered. He could conquer this place. If only they—the things that lived here—were blessed enough to be worth his time. But they failed to grasp him attention. And he—he who was so close to the gods, who should have been a god himself—did not help them. The darkness sought to destroy them. To destroy life.
The world was mounted by the night, raped once more as it was every night. And the Darkness sneered. Corvus sneered. He walked silently, sensing that soon the Darkness would be done satisfying himself. And then the light would come weeping back into the world (did they not see the power of the Dark? The helplessness of the Light?). The black claws tore the earth beneath them even as he traveled with that silent, wraithlike fluidity. The blackness clung to his fur, those tendrils tugging at him, requiring something and yet wordlessly unable to say. But he ignored them, with each stride shaking them off only to have them return. It was like a sent, and yet rather than carry a sent they carried a feeling. Those black orbs looked up at the dark world, seeing the trees passing by him, but they no longer spoke, not in these lands. Above him, the pied Raven called, whispering things to his passing form before it turned away, heading north once more. Corvus sneered.
The large secui paused in a clearing, a pool beyond him. The half-light of night sought the whiteness of his fur, flashing it like a serpent’s warning of death. And in his country, white was the colour of death, not black. He stood as he was accustom to, his posture erected as if to display his dominance over these lands. His raised tail carved a sinuous path in the air, his black fur like the down of a nighttime mist. It was as if he expected someone, and yet he did not. His mind called out to Cwmfen, that cold, grating laughter echoing mercilessly in his head. It is inevitable. The cold, emotionless façade twitched with that sinister intent but did not move as he stood like the effigy of some demon god.
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ooc: Wow, handsome table~! ^-^ Here we go again!WC: 392
I've got soul but I'm not a soldier
It was night, and once more he could not sleep. During the days, he was so unshakably tired, exhausted for no reason other than having to live. And then, when he made it to the end of the day, he found no rest; laying his head down with eyes wide open, listening to his mate and five pups quietly exhaling in their slumber. This night he could not take his insomnia placidly, and silently slipped out of the church, running freely beneath the moon. If he could tire himself out, maybe do a little nocturnal hunting, he could fall asleep like a regular luperci and wake up when the sun did. That was the plan, anyway.
The broad-chested arctic wolf had been loping aimlessly for some time now, and had absentmindedly crossed over the scent-borders of their pack, bounding into no-man's-land without a thought in his mind. His white paws flashed in the moonlight, landing neatly on the ground before springing off again. He was panting heavily, his chest rising and falling with each gasping breath. He had the ghost of a smile flitting about his black lips as he finally drew to a halt, feeling his heartbeat thundering against his ribs. It felt good.
Slay trotted lightly to the edge of a pool, lowering his muzzle with a sigh into the cold, clear depths of the springwater. He slurped noisily at the refreshing water, pale eyes half-shut with satisfaction. It was when he opened them again that he saw the reflection... him.
Slowly, warily, Slay raised his dripping head, ice-pale eyes wide as he saw the imposing man on the other side of the pool. For one horrible, gut-wrenching moment, Slay thought he was seeing the ghost of his own father, rippling with masculinity beneath his midnight-black fur. But that couldn't be... This wolf had a rich collar of white, the same duality of colours that Slay himself sported. And this unearthly fellow had eyes as black as coals.
"Wh... Who...?" Slay breathed softly, eyes narrowed in suspicion. His hackles were beginning to prickle upright already, intuition telling him that this was one male he did not want to mess with. This was what he got for wandering into a haunted forest in the dead of night - he had come across a spirit he did not want to tangle with...
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Haha, thanks~ ^=^ Do you want Corvus to attack Slay or the other way around?
500+
IT IS INEVITABLE
For a time the male was a lone. And time moved silently, slow and contemplative—or had it stopped? For a moment, the wind had become still, the world holding its breath in fear of the night. The pied brute remained alone, as solitary in this world as he was in his soul. The world was an empty place, filled with those inferior things that deserved not life and not death but to exist no more. Very few creatures had the power to unmake another—only the gods knew. But silently the male contemplated the means by which such a thing would be achieved. For a moment, that dark mind considered it, but in the end there was nothing for him to know. The Korean understood that, for now, he was not permitted to know. But soon, he thought, soon it would be time. And the world would see. There were some creatures that were meant to exist and some who simply were not meant to exist. And the world would thrive, and it would thrive for him.
The black aurals, raised above his head like the horns of some demon, heard it. It approached, nosily, heavily, without discretion. The pied wolf sneered, or so the lips twitched in vain for the effort. But the emotionless façade remained unmoved, and the wolf remained unmoved. He stood as he was accustom, as lithic as the effigy of some long forgotten god. The other was black and white, but the markings were less threatening than his own, though he did not disregard the fact that some snakes carried the mark of diamonds. It drank noisily in his presence, the maw dipped in the pool to take in the waters cooled by shadows. And it did not see him. Not until the lighter eyes were opened to see what the water would allow him to see. A sneer was allowed to flicker over those lips as he laughed quietly, almost inaudibly, a horrible, mirthless grating that clawed the air. “Who am I?” that suave, tenor voice invited, completing the unfinished words of this thing. But he did not answer that query.
It was wary, its hackles rising. But the male was smaller, unshifted. The sneer that had flickered silently upon that cruel maw ceased to exist, that cold façade growing hard. The wind began to move once more, a quiet, weak whisper that whimpered in his ears. And the scent that was brought to him carried that unmistakable mark. “You are Dahlian.” That empty tenor stated with sounds that dripped with that sinister intent. His head tilted slightly, a movement so eerily fluid, so sudden for his stillness, that one might expect the grating of stone to sound, a shifting of two slabs of rock against one another. But there was nothing but silence. The erected tail carved a single sinuous path in the air, the fathomless orbs cutting the space between them as the Korean made a silent challenge. Those biologically narrow eyes mocked the other. It was as if the time were approaching. This game he played would soon end. Soon Cwmfen would be moved to come to him.
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WC: 379
ooc: Corvus can make the first move, if he wants to have some fun tonight!  I have no specific wounds or anything in mind, so you can go wild.
I've got soul but I'm not a soldier
Slay did not often wish he could shift, but this was a night for uncommon occurrences, it seemed. He rarely felt small, even compared to werewolves, and never threatened. But the motionless figure before him invoked all of that, and more, and Slay found himself wondering if it would not have been better to have remained at home with his loved ones, and just dealt with the insomnia by counting sheep... It spoke, its voice flat and terrible, mocking him with a quiet laugh. The arctic wolf's ears were flat against his skull, tail whipping in a low, agitated circle. What incantation would make this apparition vanish?
Dahlian. Yes, that was true. He had been with the pack from the very beginning, and felt more like a real home than any other he'd known. But somehow, hearing the title spoken in that smooth, insidious voice, it sounded like an insult. And how did the white-collared man know the name, anyway? Surely Slay would have known if this shadow-beast had crossed their borders before. Like a spider knows when prey brushes its web, only in reverse, because the arctic wolf certainly didn't feel like the predator in this situation. He tried to remain still, his ruff fully erect, fur bristling all the way down his spine to his tail. He had not felt this threatened since... Honestly, not since he was a small child, cowering from his maniacal sire. It was as though this black ghost could snuff out his life with his glittering ebony eyes, and it took all of his obstinacy to not look away from the challenge.
"You're... Cwmfen's, aren't you," he said slowly, realization dawning slowly. His Adonis had never outright explained the story, but the eerie feeling he got from her feathered companion was the same distasteful superstition he felt emanating from this Secui. The same rich dark fur, the same flat colourless eyes... A growl rumbled from his broad chest, an involuntary response to the dangerous Korean. This was her father. Might as well be his own, for all he wanted to reject the man's existence. "What do you want?" he spat, ice-pale eyes cold with defensive anger and undeniable fear. He had seen enough nightmares to recognize one standing in front of him...
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Cool; he’ll just beat on him for a bit before sending him back to Dahlia for Cwmfen to see—would you be up for a follow up with her?
500+
IT IS INEVITABLE
It seemed as if this diamond marked thing could recognize the darkness when it found it. The corners of the brutes lips twitched in that uncompleted sneer. The pied brute was silent, unmoving, as he watched those hackles rise upon the other’s body. There was fear in the air—it came willingly to his open arms upon the cool night wind. He breathed it in, drank it from the air—ah, that familiar perfume, inviting his jaws to partake. But that emotionless façade was adamant, leering at the Dahlian thing with those empty, fathomless eyes as if in mockery as those lighter eyes struggled to hold his black gaze. This thing...it amused him. But it was silent, and that silence was simply a confirmation to his soothed words. He had known the smell of that pack, had stored, had lurked beyond their reach until that scent was as familiar as his own—and to what purpose? Those black lips twitched again. Perhaps there was no purpose to all of this save to create that unease, to provoke his daughter into action. He would not relinquish the game—he knew how to play it.
The cold amusement that had flickered within the male’s eyes faded at the sound of his daughter’s name. Cwmfen’s. There was a sudden harsh silence within that emotionless façade. That name was disgusting on the other’s tongue—such disrespect. But there was also an error to his words, and his jaws split in a silent, mocking, sneer. “I belong to no one—it is Cwmfen nic Graine mac Corvus that belongs to me.” That soothing tenor dripped with that perilous blackness as his voice broke into that mirthless laughter grating upon the air. Her full name was wrapped about his treacherous tongue, and the darkness of his voice held clearly the right to his possession, to his daughter. As his laughter faded, that oppressive silence was allowed to persist, as heavy as the fear of nightmares. The emotionless façade was once more in place, its presence so sudden as to be startling. There was that dangerous stillness once more, and the world held its breath as if signaled by a single, struck bell. The shadows sighed.
Then the diamond thing growled, speaking to him with seething sounds. The pied brute raised a single eyebrow in cold calculation, the image of the Dahlian reflected in that hollow gaze. The Korean clicked his tongue as if scolding a mere boy. And in the stillness he stood as if he believed that he were a god, immortal and free of the rules that bound the living. “Such disrespect—it’s unbecoming, even of you.” And abruptly, silently, the crow wolf was moving with such celerity as to cause the air before him to part in his coming. He leapt, devouring the distance between them with the speed and precision of the killer that he was, merciless, unforgiving. The waters did not hold him back, nor the air or earth. He aimed to come down upon the chest of the diamond wolf, those black talons and cruel jaws hungry for that thing.
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WC: 361
ooc: Most certainly!
I've got soul but I'm not a soldier
The cold-hearted loner seemed to regard him with those soulless black eyes, and then its jaws parted to speak again. To correct him; he was not Cwmfen's, but rather, Cwmfen belonged to him. Slay's snarls grew louder instinctually, as the spirit's intentions seemed to flicker from amusement to malevolence. The warrior-woman was his packmate, his leader, and his friend. He did not know whether or not she was aware of this brute's presence, whether her Dream had warned her, but if anything spoke of darkness approaching, it was this man. He embodied the tendrils of shadow that chased about his paws. Slay would stand between him and his beloved pack, as long as he could. He had promised to protect them...
Without warning, the creature vanished.
No, not gone, just melted into the darkness as it leapt for him, the eerie halo of white streaking towards his chest the only precursor he got. Slay tried to react, but something within him had frozen. It had been too long since his last fight - his instincts had rusted over, become sluggish and unresponsive. He had gone soft. The raven-demon slammed into him, tumbling him brutally to the ground. His skull smacked painfully against the hard earth, droplets of water from his wet fur flying into the night air. Pain crashed behind his eyes, exploding all over his body as the otherworldly beast's claws raked across his sternum, spattering the hungry earth with his dark blood.
Then, with the coppery scent burning his nostrils, then he could move. The Lupus rolled onto his back, flashing jaws snapping shut on air. He lashed out with his legs - kick kick kick kick - pummeling the heavyweight atop him with his blunt claws, trying to break his assailant with the rapid strokes. It was not a fair fight - the Secui was taller, stronger, faster, bigger. Had every advantage. And while he did not know this, Corvus's colorblindness gave him a clearer view of Slay's black-and-white form. This would not last long, unless he could force his panicking mind to invent a strategy, or force his adrenaline-pumped body to try shifting for the first time...
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300+
IT IS INEVITABLE
The black and white thing snarled, but it was to no avail. It was apparent to the empty souled creature that the Dahlian thing sought to protect his daughter from him. The cold laughter echoed in his mind. They did not understand that they could not stop him. She would come willingly, and he would provoke her to do so. This diamond marked thing was only a pawn in his game, doing precisely what was meant to be prevented. And it went down easily, collapsing beneath his paws with a satisfying ease. It was weaker than had been expected, so vulnerable beneath him. The blood came willingly to his claws, spilling upon the earth with that luscious scent. The pied wolf’s jaws snapped mercilessly at the other’s face, seeking to cut and tear and to make the blood spill. That treacherous tone flickered out, pushing into the flesh that had been torn by the teeth, pushing the wound deeper and wider. He wanted the throat, but he was careful not to kill him. Those jaws were hungry, and their cruel hunger was undiscriminating even in this game.
Then the squirming thing had moved beneath him like the worm that it was. A kick caught him in the stomach, but the snapping jaws, seeking now the shoulders, did not relent. He was kicked again and the brute leapt back with a silent precision, that silent, snarling sneer splitting his maw as a flickering tongue came to clean his maw of the thing’s blood. That mirthless laughter grated once more upon the air, clawing mercilessly the ears of that diamond male as the shadows slithered by, cutting sinuous patterns in the night air. And then he was moving to him once more, each serpent-like strike swift and deadly. The jaws sought his shoulders and chest as he attempted to push the other upon his back once more, seeking that forced submission and the satisfaction of a bared belly and throat. The black talons tore into the Dahlian’s shoulder as he rose up to push the lupus over, the form of the secui far superior to this creature. He wanted to spill enough blood to render him a red beacon of his presence, one that his daughter would not be able to dismiss.
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WC: 622
OoC: He is too old to win, methinks. A year of lazy living did him no favors. :O
I've got soul but I'm not a soldier
Slay could not have known that he was not the final opponent that Corvus Vendetta would battle. The chess pieces were never aware of the overall plan; only that they needed to be in certain places at certain times, and everything would work out as long as they followed their instructions. His intentions were good, his heart valiant, but ultimately, the Hunter lacked the conviction to face true Darkness head on. It was too close to him. He met it in his dreams, had fled it from his childhood, even harbored small shadows of it within himself. The stubborn male refused to submit to the flashing fangs, but he could not see his opponent through the streams of blood plastering his eyelids together, dyeing his white markings a violent crimson. He felt his thrashing legs connect with something soft - the Secui's stomach? - and suddenly cool air rushed over him, his assailant dropping back to regroup.
Anger, anger was what lent him strength, he needed to get angry! Was he really getting too old to fight? That couldn't be; he just had to focus on what this ugly brute had in mind for Cwmfen, what he could try to prevent. But all he could feel was his superstitious fear, telling him to do whatever he had to do to run away. Plunge into the lake; perhaps the creature would give up if it could not smell the blood on him. Howl for help; maybe it wanted to remain in hiding. He could not beg for his life - that was something he was far too bull-headed to ever give in to. He'd rather die. As much as Cercelee meant to him, as much as he wanted to protect their little wards from violent predators like this, he would rather them find his bloodied corpse than have to explain that his male ego had given in to cowardice. Frustrated at the lack of help his exhausted mind provided, the large Lupus struggled to his paws, bracing himself for the next flurry of pain.
He did not have to wait long. Blinded by gore, he was knocked to the ground again by slashing claws, brutal in their accuracy. His thick arctic pelt deflected the worst of it, but still he grunted in pain, whirling to snap at the larger man, whatever he could sink his teeth into. He could hear his own heartbeat roaring in his ears, feel his pulse speeding erratically, faster and faster. Slay had never been so outmatched, and if not for the meticulous targeting the crow-wolf chose, he would have truly feared for his life. Growling deep in his chest, the arctic wolf let out a feral snarl, digging his claws into the ragged ground to keep himself from being turned over. Adrenaline was taking over, fueling his muscles with a desperate strength - one he was not accustomed to feeling. It was a different power - one of his birthright, that he had denied all of his life.
Without a conscious effort, Slaying the Dreamer had begun to shift to his Secui form.
His flagging muscles felt suddenly refreshed, rippling dangerously beneath his wildly shaggy fur. The blunt claws of his arctic heritage extended into veritable talons, sinking into the ground. Bulkier than before, he could now feel some give as he forced his weight against his pied mauler, refusing to be tossed about like his prey. His pelt was already plastered flat with blood, glinting sleek in the moonlight, but none of the wounds had been serious. "Stop fucking around," he snarled, struggling to open his eyes through the sticky clots. Now they could fight fair. Now size would not be a contest. Better late than never.
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Aww, he shifted~ ^=^ Yay for Slay~
Oh, and if you don’t want a million scars on him, we could just say that many of them were superficial just to induce bleeding and blood loss so that he would last longer and carry the message to Cwmfen?
500+
IT IS INEVITABLE
There was anger and fear. It filled the air about the Dahlian thing, permeating the space like blood in the water. And the crow wolf drank it in with that sadistic amusement. Emotion. A single snarl of amusement clawed the air. Emotion, that malevolent mind sneered once more. It was the bane of existence. These creatures—the allowed their feelings to rule them. It made them weak, gave them infinite weaknesses. And weakness brought mistakes and death. The Korean had understood that early in life, even as a pup. He had learned to control those emotions so that the emotions did not control him. And he held them in such check that eventually there was nothing. His soul grew hollow as he pushed out the weakness in the world. And so empty and dark was that soul that he could no longer recognize it within another. And yet, he could recognize anger, fear, hate. These things, these weaknesses, made the mind susceptible to accepting the darkness, and he used these things to instill such tenebrous tendencies within the hearts and souls of his victims. And now, this opponent carried these things within him. But the crow wolf did not waste his time upon this wretched thing—it was simply an indicator.
The diamond thing fell beneath his crushing paws, but he did not become overturned. The creatures blood nonetheless spilled for him, coming to him as if bid. The crimson liquid drenched his maw and paws as it spread over the body of the thing beneath him, darkening the white of the fur until, in the brute’s colourless vision, he would simply become a dark mass. And the pied wolf worked with brutally controlled attacks, allowing his jaws to cut the male with shallow but potent strokes. He chose pressure points and tender areas. And every time he attacked the male, it was in that deadly, eerie silence. That silence was unnatural. And that silence that emanated from him was broken only by the snarls of the thing beneath his paws that slowly grew in intensity. And suddenly he could feel beneath him the shape of this thing changing. It grew to match his stature, its efforts renewed by the strength and power of that secui form. With that thrust he was given, the pied brute relinquished his position, that sneer upon his maw mocking.
The quiet laughter murmured indiscernibly in his silence. That eyebrow raised again in response to those words. “As you wish,” that tenor voice granted. Be careful of what you wish for, those fathomless orbs mocked. And suddenly that pied brute broke his own silence, a terrible, thundering snarl exploding in the air as he rushed that diamond marked thing. He was not weighed down by loss of blood nor was he weighed down by age. And the brute took the offensive, lunging with that precise celerity and power that seemed to surpass his shadowed form. Those cruel jaws parted as he rammed into the other’s chest, seeing the shoulder and the neck of the other, those pied hackles raised upon him like the poisoned thorns of some forsaken plant. He would ‘stop fucking around’.
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ooc: =^-^= Okay! Um, did Corvus want to dump him on the borders? Or Slay would wake in the morning, and limp home to warn them. Either way. If Corvus has a specific message for his daughter, Slay will still hear it if he whispers in his ear.
I've got soul but I'm not a soldier
As you wish...
In an odd, detached sort of way, Slay thought that was an uncharacteristically subservient thing for the creature to say. Had their roles reversed so soon? Or was it simpler than that - the crow-wolf would honor any request to inflict more pain...? As the monstrous brute roared a battle cry, finally breaking his own silence to lunge at the Head Hunter, Slay felt time slowing around him, his senses honing in to the perilous situation he found himself entangled. He dug his heels into the slick ground, bracing himself for Corvus's wicked-fast tackle. The antagonist cracked against his chest like a stone wall, skidding him backwards on the grass until his hindpaws touched water. He was losing ground, with the springwater at his back. He heard his own rippling snarls and cries from afar, as though it were another wolf being torn to shreds in front of him. Felt the hot blood spattering the grass as those trained jaws snapped again and again into his shoulders, his back, the thick mane around his neck. If he had been more lucid, he would have marveled at how wildly shaggy his pelt had grown in this new form, at how his rich arctic coat deflected the showering blows raining from all sides. But the violent night was drawing to a close, so soon, his mind noted in that floating, trance-like state. He would lose consciousness soon. At least he would get some rest.
"D-dammit," he gasped, newfound optimism sunken into despair. He still did not sense the intent to kill from Corvus - if he passed out before him, the predator would probably not tear his throat out. Probably. But he hated to fail - from the beginning, he had promised others that he would protect them if the need arose. He had never lacked faith in his size or strength, although it was inevitable that someone bigger, someone stronger, would come along. It would be shameful for Cwmfen nic Graine mac Corvus to see him now, trying to stop her sire from his cruel machinations, and in the end becoming another problem for her to take care of. At least he could warn her, that she was not safe any longer... That she would need to gather several warriors to put this brute down for good. Slay gritted his teeth, gathering the last of his strength to wrench himself away from the Korean's slashing embrace, tumbling backwards into the cool water. Blood streamed away from him in an undulating ribbon pattern through the dark water, the countless rips and tears in his skin soothed by the haunted pool's kiss. He struggled to stand, the water dragging on his fur, sanguine-stained legs trembling from exhaustion. It was too little, too late. His ice-pale eyes grew dull from the effort, rolling backwards into his skull as his haunches buckled. He lay limp in the shallows, jaws parted as his lifeblood ebbed into the pool of darkness, drifting into his dreams.
I'm sorry...
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