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Set in Arachnea’s Revenge. I’ll start him out in Lupus form. Backdate this to the 1st, before Ril’o’s death or after to the 4th?
IT IS INEVITABLE
Satisfied. If that was what it could be called, the body of the male was satisfied. But it was not the act of penetrating a female’s body that brought such satisfaction upon him. It was his seed had been deposited within the shell of another to grow slowly within that woman’s womb. But that was all. He had not done it for that physical pleasure, nor for the pleasure of the woman beneath him. He did not do it out of necessity of nature, nor with that simplistic of purposes. The pleasures of the body could not control him, could not demand anything of him. It was curious—did he even feel such a thing? Even when he had tried to take that girl in Halifax, it had not been her body but her fear that excited him. Her innocent blood had been sweet, satisfying. He sneered. But that had not been the purpose of that night. The purpose had been to bring that coyote to him—Onus, she said his name was. And she had made him come. So she had been spared. It was a warning.
He lingered in the lands not far from the Dahlian territories, his silent steps tearing at the earth with those black claws. The pied wolf strode slowly as if with purpose, unhurried by the necessities of time. There was a brooding darkness about him as those fathomless eyes watched the dim forest about him. Already the light of dawn crept fearfully back into the world. The night, with those white teeth that left holes in the heavens, watched quietly, mockingly, awaiting for the return of dusky. And the wolf—he strode through that forest as if he were a shard of that night, given to the day as a warning. The white of his pied coat was warning enough, like the coloured scales of a snake’s hide. And he was silent, that erected posture commanding submission, commanding that the forest relinquish its right to the lands and present it to him. The trees shuddered in the breeze and was silent.
There was a thicker part of the woods in which the shadows had gathered, fleeing the light of the coming day. They shuddered there as the trees did and moved as the brute passed by. But he ceased his fluid movements, lowering that form of sinew upon the muted earth. And he lay there as the symbols of monarchy, a terrible regality wreathing his tenebrous form. And those fathomless eyes passed through the trees as if searching, waiting, as if knowing that another would approach him. Those cruel lips twitched with that cold, mocking sneer. The Korean lowered his head to those merciless paws and closed his eyes, becoming a part of the darkness, for he was the darkness, a quiet, unmistakable presence that required no procession, no adornments. And he lay there like a fallen Raven. Waiting.
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After Ril’o’s death is good. Going to assume some stuff about that thread in this though.
The image of the bloodied corpse of her friend was still fresh. It was imprinted upon her brain, when she shut her eyes the thick sticky liquid was running scarlet and when she opened them the scene was a back drop to what she really saw before her. Sometimes it was if all her sense had been traumatized. The rich metallic scent, Cwmfen’s voice, the feel of the ground beneath her four paws as she sped away. All of this rushing at her made her sick to her stomach, and already she knew she wouldn’t be home for any sort of burial the pack would have for the male. It didn’t matter, Ril’o probably knew how she felt, or maybe it hadn’t been meant to be.
Adelaida knew that if she needed a shoulder Sankor or Alexey would have obliged, the two of them might be wondering where she had gone now, but she left them far behind. Left the corpse far behind. The masked female just needed to get away. Dahlia had finally become home. Alexey had forgiven her, she had settled in, found a routine of avoiding the other pack mates and only seeing her siblings and Ril’o. Adelaida knew the truth, her father in a particularly foul mood had said it well “One must always wake from a good dream.” Of course he retracted his words when he found his daughter listening, but Adelaida had taken it to heart. Adelaida knew that good dreams were far and few in between and the rest of the time one lived in nightmares.
Adelaida was nearing it again, the woods where she hid so often. The shack she and Alexey had taken shelter in. The same place Sankor had found her half dead only months before. Sooner she’d be in her haven again, ready to shut the world out. Her pace slowed and slowed, her whole body ached from weeping and finally she halted to catch her breath. Perfectly still she took a large swallow of air, and then her nose twitched. It was only a feeling, there was no sound, no scent, but she didn’t think she was alone. She didn’t think that her woods, her woods, were vacant. Like a fearful rabbit she tried to make for her hole in the ground, if she could make it to the shack then all would be well, otherwise the big bad wolf might just gobble her up.
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Cool~ Then let’s set it to the 4th ^=^
IT IS INEVITABLE
The blood of the killed was still upon his cruel jaws. A tongue flickered out to clean his maw of that wretched thing’s blood. Like a snake he tasted the air before he rid himself of the disgusting blood. His maw lowered to his front paws that had been spattered by the pulsing spray of the neck. Mirthless laughter rang mockingly in his hollow soul. It had been easy to kill. And the Dahlian thing deserved much worse, but he had been merciful for his daughter. He should have suffered for marking his face. The lighter male had shown great insolence, and such a thing desired to be responded with violence. The dead thing had brought it upon himself, and the ground had been showered with his blood. The pied brute sneered. The raged call of that his daughter had expelled into the air had not been missed. Finally he had provoked her, brought forth the rage and fear. The brute’s lips twitched. It would not be long from now—he knew it as surely as the Fates did. The causality of the world was already throwing her at him. It was inevitable.
Corvus raised his head from his paws. The wind knelt before him, bringing to him the scent of another. It was unfamiliar, but the recognizable stench of Dahlia de Mai was imbedded within it. That sneer tugged at his black lips. How foolish. Fluidly he rose and passed into the night, his silent steps trailed by the sniveling shadows that tugged fearfully at his fur. And he disregarded them. His erected posture was as if he ruled this place, as if these were his woods. And for that night, in his presence, the woods bowed before him and betrayed the presence of that other. These creatures—their trust was placed in all things. Their foolishness would be made manifest, just as the Dahlian’s had been made. He was dead. That was what weakness did. It called Death to the heels, and those jaws, like the jaws of the crow wolf, were merciless.
He paused, the black ears erected. There—he could hear it moving, running, could smell the fear infesting the air, the sorrow raining upon the earth. Then he through himself into motion, suddenly at break-neck speed, flitting through the forest like a black comet. He sought to intercept her—he would stop her. She would not reach her destination. With that terrible strength, with that insurmountable control, the brute stopped, a wall of stone raised in her path as an inescapable obstacle. Perhaps she would see him, perhaps she wouldn’t. But in the end she would be made to stop. He simply stood there, that sinewed body perpendicular to her path. His head turned slowly to watch her, those fathomless eyes seeking hers, seeking to pierce her soul, to ensnare it. To taint it. “Going somewhere?” That emotionless tenor soothed her, his sharp, dangerous words wrapped in a shroud of that black, comforting darkness.
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So intent on reaching her goal Adelaida was sucked into a sort of tunnel vision. It was nearly too late when she realized the block in her path, directly before her, and four legs flayed out in an attempt to stop her body from moving forward another inch. The result was a messy scramble to stop, and when she finally did come to a halt she was merely inches away from the creature, for she wasn’t even sure if he was a wolf just yet, her legs intertwined with another and her body crouched low to the ground. The voice was heard, clearly, and she hated the tone, but the words didn’t register. Too comforting to come from that darkness, for when she looked at the male that was all she saw. His eyes were soulless, just bottomless pits, and the white of his pelt only served to make the raven face more sinister.
“E-excuse me.” Apologetic and soft, as if she had gotten into his way. Her own voice had already taken on the pitiful sound that it developed when she was scared, though she kept trying to reason with herself that he hadn’t given her any reason to be scared. Except that he was there, in her way, and that was enough. Slowly she brought herself up to her standing height and even more slowly she took two steps back, perhaps if she moved slowly enough he wouldn’t notice. Her blue eyes, a blue so sharp it literally shined, peered about him, trying to discern what he was blocking her way for. “I was just p-passing through.” So innocent and naive were her words, but truly she did not understand.
Once again her mind when to the strange meeting with that first monster, the shifter who had threatened her with a knife. Then too a creature had stopped her passage for no reason at all, at least none that Adelaida was concerned with. Why now he was before her she didn’t even want the answer for, she only knew that grief had been replaced by dread and that she wanted to get away, as quickly as possible, and as painlessly too.
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IT IS INEVITABLE
The running thing stopped just short of him. It was too close to him—he could smell it without the serving hand of the wind. The male had not flinched, had not even moved. The pied brute knew how to make an impact upon the mind, and he possessed the control necessary for such a thing. He believed himself higher than the things here, closer to a god than a mortal. And this god of darkness could withstand all things. He did not fear the impact, should it have occurred. It had barely escaped touching him when he had not given it permission. No calamity would befall this thing for a mistake not yet having been made, though he felt that it would lose its footing soon. Without a doubt it would. The black lips twitched, a sneer of mocking amusement threatening upon that cruel maw. Pitiful creature.
The things eyes lifted to look up at him. In his colourless world, they appeared only as grey masses, the same as the other wretched life forms that existed upon this place. He saw only the glint of its eye, like a cheap trinket, that distinguished them from another. Its words caused those lips to twitch. “Why in such a hurry?” that quiet tenor inquired, the sharp edges of that dangerous question dulled by the blackness that dripped from them. Despite his appearance, despite the danger of those words, his words were almost gentle, almost assuaging her fear and discomfort. Silently those words invited her to linger, invited her to stay, as if, with him, she would be safer than she would be. The tendrils of shadow reached out for her, drawing her into the dark lair of some monster. And like a snake, lay coiled in the dark, poised to strike with poisonous, deadly fangs.
“Do not weep,” that dangerous tenor soothed, those fathomless, emotionless black eyes crawling over her distraught features. He took a step forward, those unforgiving claws tearing the earth upon which he tread. And yet that step had not been menacing—he had moved gently, with that eerie, unnatural grace. Like a wraith, he floated near her, his maw dangerously close to her own. The narrow, black eyes of the Korean were almost half lidded as he looked down his long, strait nose, considering her as if she were something worth considering. “Why not remain here in my comfort and protection?” He offered his company to her as if she were worth his time, as if, like a gentleman, his honor was with a lady. And indeed he held himself as some aristocrat, some higher gentleman that had the option of protecting a lady in distress. “The light will come soon—it’s not safe in the dark for you to be alone.” Nor was it safe for her to be alone with him. But he kept that to himself, holding the danger that should be emanating from his being against his empty soul. He offered to her only the darkness and that false security.
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He was lulling, almost hypnotic and Adeladia nearly forgot to be afraid, but it was in her nature. Shadows scared her, and so of course meeting a stranger in the dark was a scary situation indeed. Had his voice not been soothing, had not caused her to hesitate, she would have been slipped away in time. Yet against her will she was drawn in, forgetting herself for only a few moments as she contemplated his offer. It was those lost moments that caused her to become stuck, to get sucked in.
His voice drew her near but like a child awaking from a bad dream, those eyes startled her out of her haze. Pulling away abruptly she turned sharply, to face the way she had come. Should she get back into Dahlia borders she would be safe, but she had come a long way and her escape depended on the male letting her go peacefully.
Poorly acting, Adelaida tried to be casual, but her words were hurried and pained, her movements jerky and frantic. “I have to go back home. There’s been an accident you see… my f-friend.” She took a few hurried steps, hoping he wasn’t following but too afraid to turn and see least he was still there. “They got him, the luperci. He wasn’t shifted, h-he didn’t have a ch-chance.” Mostly she spoke to herself now, hoping that the male was just a memory she could now blot out. Strangers didn’t care about dead friends or where one had to be, and Adelaida just wanted to fill the silence with something, either her worried voice or her running footsteps.
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I was thinking that maybe he could try and make her blame Cwmfen for Ril’o’s death, since she’s supposed to be protector? And then we could have a thread together sometime in the future?
Also, sorry for the crappiness, OnO
IT IS INEVITABLE
“Do not be afraid of the dark,” the tenor voice said, that sound softened by the quiet tones with which he spoke. And yet, his words were spoken almost as a threat that should not be refused. “It is the night and the dark that is real.” The pied brute watched the frightened wolf with those hollow eyes, unmoved by her fears and pleas. She turned suddenly away from him, and although the crow wolf was not willing to relinquish the prey of this game, he did not yet move, remaining where he was with that patience unburdened by the time of mortals. He was confident that he could catch her should she chose to flee from him. She would not be allowed to leave until this game was completed. But she did not leave, sparing herself the crueler game of his jaws.
“I heard the howl of your packmate,” the quiet tenor soothed with mock sympathy, and indeed he had heard the call of his daughter rise with anger upon the winds. But she had been alone. And she would know now the cost of her passivity with him. “A call of Death.” The black eyes watched the frightened thing carefully, deciding which place would best be tread to provoke the proper response. “Was there no one to fight for him, to protect the boarders?” Those empty tones held very well their mock concern, able to blend the sardonic amusement with the quiet tones of the night.
“The luperci?” A black fire flickered within those colourless eyes, the emotionless façade blank and unadorned by direct displays of his cruelty. “I was born a wolf, you know,” the quiet tenors tested, his voice only partially marred by his Korean tongue. “They turned me when I was young—they are not to be trusted.” And it was not as if this were far from the truth—he had been born a wolf. But he could use the truths and twist them, distort them to tell a completely different tale, one that she would be more liable to believe, to comply to his will. But that was what the villain did in the stories, and in this story, in this game, the crow wolf was the villain. These wretched creatures. They could not understand. But he would destroy them for their ignorance.
The black eyes shifted to look down the path that she had looked back upon. He took a step closer, closing the distance dangerously. The brute’s head lowered so that he was level with her smaller muzzle. “Are you sure that you’d rather continue alone?” He said it as if he were going to allow her to leave. Once more, he presented the victim with that illusion of choice, and she would accept that illusion just as they had because they believed that choice existed. Slowly, he worked himself about her, softening the intensity of his presence, shrouding the edges of honed obsidian with a black, brooding cloud. “I will stay with you.” And she should be thankful of his attention and of his mercy.
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Adelaida shook at the words, it wasn't the male that made her tremble now, it was his story. So closely did it match up to her own, sometimes that haunted her daily but she rarely let herself think about. Suddenly all the images came back to her, the three of them, coyotes of varying shades of brown, hovering above her, kicking her, taunting her, changing her. The fragile creature closed her eyes to the images, yet they persisted as one can not truly shut out something so ingrained into the soul. “They are h-horrible.” It was hard to image that he, who seemed to realize what so many others didn't have an inkling of understanding, was untrustworthy. Once she had thought she found a kindred soul, Umbra, but he had vanished from her life. Truly she wouldn't count this male among her friends, but nor did she have the heart to turn him away or run from him anymore.
Turning back she tried to smile at the male, still finding it hard to look into his empty eyes. She didn't really want to continue on alone, but nor did she want to stay here anymore. Dahlia de Mai was home, at least in the literal sense. She lived there now and would until Alexey or Sankor or both had moved on. Ril'o, her only non relative friend in, had just died and she needed to be there. Why had she run in the first place? Adelaida couldn't recall but she was all of a sudden overcome with the need to return but she couldn't be rude to the male. Not when he seemed to offer sympathy to her plight that so many others scoffed at, believed her biased for.
"We have a lead warrior, but no one beneath her. I don't know wh-why she didn't..." Why she didn't what? Adelaida knew that Cwmfen did her job and did it well, in most respects. She was an able leader and of sound mind, certainly preferable to Haku who seemed crazed. Yet Ril'o had fallen and though the warrior had been present it had not been prevented. Adelaida didn't hold it against her, not quite, but talk of the mysterious female had always left a sour taste in Ade's mouth. Perhaps there were details she missed, reasons why Cwnfen had failed in helping Ril'o, but the masked female wouldn't ask the Adonis herself. Still, she would never know unless she went back and asked someone. "I need to go back, y-you can accompany me?" Adelaida wasn't sure if it was an invitation or she was asking him to protect her, but she was sucked in, it couldn't be helped.
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IT IS INEVITABLE
The female’s fear of the luperci seemed to surpass her fear of him. The pied brute wanted to sneer, but he was unmoving and lithic, the stillness broken only by the sinuous movement of that raised tail. How easily she would form against his words. How easily she could be torn apart. Her words caused a dark flicker to cross over his black eyes. “They are human,” the quiet tenor practically spat. They were disgusting. Like this place, they were slowly in decay, and the stink of their worthless flesh permeated the air of the lands. “They forget that they were ever wolves or coyotes. They are weak.” Those words dripped like a black venom from his words, hot and acidic with the power to cleanse the place of their wretched existence.
“Why she didn’t save him?” the hollow tenor completed for the female, a quiet laughter echoing within the black corridors of his mind. “Why she didn’t pursue the killer?” Perhaps this female could be made to turn against his daughter. He sneered inwardly. How blind she had become. How secure she believed herself to be. She had grown too comfortable with the quiet of pack life. She had paid for it with blood, and soon she would pay for it with her own. There was no safety for her there. Even that lighter male, the first that had come to him upon his arrival upon these lands, did not defend her for long. He was a leader here, evidently, and yet he had not continued in that brief, testing spar. In essence, that leader had relinquished the woad warrior to him. And now this female, so afraid, would be made to forsake the trust that may have existed. Already doubt should be spreading within the pack. Had their warrior not failed to save them upon every attack that he made? It would not be long before trust would no longer exist. She was a fool to have given trust. Had his daughter learned nothing? Trust no one. For the crow wolf, only his own might existed against the sickening world.
A sneer flickered across his maw, breaking the emotionless stone expression, but soon that was gone and once more there was nothing. “I can,” the tenor voice replied, those tones dangerously soothing. Offering protection was not something unfamiliar to the pied Korean. When he had lead the gang in those lands, protection was something that was offered. And in return for such protection, he required loyalty, respect, and goods. Should the second party fail on that part, the protection given was forsaken, and punishment was executed. Some were killed. Others were spared. The black orbs held the smaller female for a moment longer. What would the price to pay? Then he turned, the movement unnaturally and eerily graceful but slow and nonthreatening. The crow wolf could be merciful, he could be gentle. And he allowed her to follow as he turned to face the way in which the pack lay. “You don’t have to be afraid,” the black voice soothed, those black orbs flat like the gaze of a snake. “You don’t have to be afraid of the luperci.”
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"I don’t know." Cwmfen danced before her eyes, and Adelaida had no answers for the creature before her. She didn’t know why Cwmfen did not uphold her duty to the pack and avenge Ril’o’s death. She didn’t know why the death hadn’t been prevented in the first place. Cwmfen of course, in Adelaida’s mind, had already many short-comings. Why Sankor preferred the raven female to his own sister, or why the strange looking and even stranger acting female was made a leader in the pack both eluded Adelaida. Just speaking the name of the female left a bitter taste for Adelaida, it was not hard to form more misgivings about the female as she turned to the piebald male and locked eyes with him. Cwmfen should have done something, but she had failed them, failed Ril’o, and failed Adelaida.
Her steps were slow, keeping pace with the male beside her, the one who agreed to escort her back to the pack lands. Still she was wary, she was ever wary of any and all that crossed her path, but he had snagged her. The only canine in a long time to side with her about the luperci, and furthermore how closely his story matched up with her’s. Ever since Umbra had left she had not met such a kindred soul, nad to Adelaida it seemed impossible to write off this male now. He was one of them, yes, but so was she, and for a long while she left silence envelope them, until the words slipped out almost all on their own. “They turned me too…into a Luperci.” The last time she had admitted this to anyone it had come back to blow up in her face, but she felt safe with him. Her secrets were safe with him.
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Sorry for the crap—the next post will be better, I promise!
IT IS INEVITABLE
Doubt. He could see it moving through her as surely as the shadows moved across the night infested world. He simply watched her in silence, those hollow eyes flickering with that black laughter. Doubt was so easily sewn within the creatures here, even within his own daughter. It was what made these creatures weak. He could spark it—that was all he had to do. The minds of these creatures would conceive their own troubles, and he would simply help them drown in the darkness they themselves had spouted and spewed like the squids of the deep. This game he played...he played it effortlessly it seemed. The only thing that stood in his way was that masked vigilante. The one whose flesh he had tasted. The one who had found interest in his daughter. That masked coyote was like a troublesome pebble within the emptiness of his soul, and the pied brute turned it in his hand with that dark, sinister contemplation. He could break that thing too. He could create doubt within that male. It would be simple, just as it was now with this little female. How easily a few words could make this thing doubt its packmate. It should be the crow wolf himself that should cause doubt within her. Perhaps it did. And yet, she remained with him, sought protection. It was protection that he could give and that he could take. Doubt.
The pied wolf moved silently in the night, those movements eerily fluid, like a black wraith from the netherworlds. She walked in silence, but the silence was enough. There was no need to speak—he had already sewn his seeds. But she broke the silence anyway. The black ears that rose like horns above his head moved, and yet only one swiveled to catch the words that were spoken. “They changed you,” the treacherous tenor repeated with the blackness in his voice. But he did not stop, those black paws continuing to tear the earth with merciless brutality. The black head turned and the black eyes looked down at the little female with that hollow intensity. It was as if he could see through her. “It must have been unbearable,” the hollow voice commented. He wondered how it was that she was changed. Would it be as he had been, with wounds and bloods and violence that only the dark can deliver? Or would it be through something more appropriately violating? The black flames flickered that that sadistic curiosity. Would it be as he had done with his daughter? For, although she must not know, Cwmfen mac Corvus was born a wolf as Graine was. Would this little female have that same story?
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It’s not crap. Mine are crap. And short!
Although they did not touch Adelaida was convinced she could feel him towering over her. Perhaps it was just his shadow that felt tangible—sticky and heavy, it covered her whole being. His existence weighed her down, making it near impossible to move away. Adelaida was sure that even if she could break away, she could wash off his shadow, too strongly did it cling to her. Peering up she found herself locking eyes with the male, realizing suddenly they were no longer walking and she wasn’t quite sure when they had stopped, but her paws felt heavy as lead, unable to be lifted. Her eyes searched for his to lock with, but all she saw was emptiness. It was so easy to get lost in that darkness.
"It was horrific." She was unable to lie, it had perhaps been the most unpleasant moment in her life. Remembering it she could feel the scar on her chest ache again, as if just remembering could tear the wound open again. “Coyotes did it. Three of them. Held me down and opened me up…” She swallowed hard, unable to recount anymore of the memory. It had indeed been horrible, they had left her to die, yet she hadn’t even realized how horrible it was until her body started begging to shift. Able to fight the urges she had still never stood on two legs, and it was as if her mouth worked on it’s own, sharing this information with the terrible being. "I still hate the Luperci. I’ve never really been one of them." And she never intended on it.
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IT IS INEVITABLE
His mind moved with the sinister precision of sharp, black obsidian. The hollow eyes were impassive as he watched the small thing. It was a snake’s cold gaze that watched the female, a snake’s coiled body that rose up to strike. But it was the pied brute that held his poise, that was patient and merciful, the pied brute that laughed silently with a terrible, mirthless laughter that slithered through the gelid corridors of his mind. The smaller thing was afraid. It was weak. It was undeserving and yet he had given his attention, his protection, without a price. No, he would take his price. It but needed to come. He had but to decide what this thing could give to him. The gift he would take would be insignificant, would be worthless to him. But he would take it nonetheless. He would take what she had to give. And he would take it because she was too weak to refuse him and he could overcome her. And because he was kind, because he was merciless.
“The opened you,” the dangerously suave tenor continued to repeat, as if in the repetition he would awaken the memories she visibly tried to contain. The cool façade was unmoving in the following silence that fell heavily like black tar. “The luperci stabbed me with a knife,” that poisonous tenor continued with slow, menacing words. He turned his sinewed form to expose the place in his right rib. Perhaps she would see the deep, heavy scar that rattled like a snake beneath the white fur. Perhaps, in the darkness, she would not be able to see it. A cold sneer played across his lips indiscernibly, like the cold moonlight upon deep, black waters. The Dahlian thing responded to similarity, and she would see their stories to be similar. But the pied brute did not think that they were similar. He did not think that they were alike. He had not cowered in fear. He had not died. Like the Darkness he had persisted even after the flash of day. And like the Darkness, he would continue to persist even when this wretched thing died.
Gradually, he had slowed their pace. Rock rose up at the Dahlian thing’s flank, a place in which now he slowly and easily cornered her. Those unnatural, eerie movements ceased suddenly, although when he had stopped was unnervingly unclear. The larger body of the crow wolf blocked any passage forward or backward. She had only one place to go, and that was to him. “You hate them,” he repeated again, but the cold tenor had grown hard like the obsidian glass spewed from the depths of the earth. “Did you kill them?” The emotionless sound was quiet now, those black orbs holding her with their intensity. “Did you destroy them for having destroyed you?” The sadistic soul echoed with its hollowed body. He knew what he wanted. He wanted her to change, to shift and become what she did not want to become. To become what she already was. And to suffer knowing that.
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