An Early Morning Sacrifice.

[Vanidor]

His lust for blood had been supremely sated by the slaughter committed on nights' past. His desire to see chaos and pain and confusion sown amoungst the people of Myrken had drunk deeply that evening. And while he had been content for the last three evenings, he knew that such stillness was unacceptable. Not to that which he had recently devoted himself too. Peace and contentment were for the weak. An day without tears was something that could not be had. There had to be strife.

There had to be Blood.

And while his new patron would not fully understand the wait, it would enjoy the slaughter. He was still a man that understood men, and thus knew that one could not step into a barracks by themselves (even if the urge was there) and hope to survive. Not that survival was, as he understood it, a goal his deity needed. But one could not further the spilling of blood if one was dead. Besides. He had already decided that he would not go in a simple raid. He would go with heads piled up besides his feet, his armour soaked in gore, and blood filling his belly like a primordial leech.

The wait. He had waited like a ghost, shadowing the patrols that made their way between the walled town of Myrken and its festering pustule of vice, the Broken Dagger. Other than the recent killings, fine work if he could say so, and the... weirdness with the other madman, Myrken was at peace. Peace led to contentment. Lead to a depreciation of skills. A sword was honed in a forge, the ability to wield it in the yard. The will to use it on the field. It was why he had waited so long. A proper gift.

Since his assault in town, the Constable patrol had been increased. That suited him. Four was a better test than two. No. Five. He would grin widely, blood-dirty lips being licked. He waited. Waiting for that slice of sun to spread its wings over the horizon. Wait for the patrol to come across his offering there in the middle of the road. When they stopped, he reached down and hefted his newly acquired axe in one hand.

The first of the Constables would see it. A headless body no longer than an arm, skin flayed from muscle. Small fingers, that still had necrotic flesh attached, held the head of a blood stained teddy bear. The second Constable would step forward, raising his pole lantern as the first vomited at the side of the road. The three militia members who had been drafted for this early excursion hefted their spears uneasily. Myrken bred daemons and broken, shadowy things, but this...

He broke from the nearby bushes as the lantern spilled its golden light over the body in the road. He was amidst the militia before they knew what was going on, his axe burying itself into the torso of the first to turn at the sound of his passing. He left it there. The militia man besides him would find a long iron spike being driven into his thigh as the shadowy figure blew past. The last militia member would lower her spear, trying to crack their killer with the haft of her weapon. It was caught in a bloody hand, the man grunting with the effort. He yanked, causing the woman to become unbalanced and stumble forward, in return that bloody iron spike would be rammed into her face, leaving the militia woman to fall with a cry and whimper.

He took a breath, head twisting and dirty hair flying. There. The Constables. He didn't care about the militiamen, they were just extra blood for the table. He reached down and wrenched his axe free of the chest of his first kill. The one with the pole had tossed it down and hefted a heavy cudgel. Off and behind himself the light had gone. It was a good idea, though it framed the Constable in the light, the glow of the lantern wouldn't spoil his night vision. He had to give it to them. The Constables were not... soft. Well. Except for the one who had just finished retching. He would not allow that one to live.

He had to respect a man who carried a cudgel into battle and did not shirk. So he paused long enough to identify himself. [i]"I am Acras! And I thirst!" [i]With a snarl he than sprang forward, even as the ready Constable prepared himself. They two came together in a clash, the Constable sidestepping the powerful, one handed swing that came from the one who called himself Acras. In response the Constable swept his club about, catching the man in the shoulder as he passed. Acras bellowed and continued on. The second Constable realized to his horror that his companion had not delayed the inevitable, and found himself speared by Acras' iron spike. He felt rage-hot breath on his face, and looked up at hate-filled eyes of muddy green. As blood filled his face, the berzerker would bite on the Constables nose, ripping it off in his teeth before letting him fall.

"I AM SEALGAIR! The Harbinger of Blood!"

With a spin, Acras threw himself bodily at the other Constable. He had been advancing upon the madman whilst he had howled his profane insanity to the heavens, and so was ready. But he was NOT ready for the insane strength behind the wiry frame. With one swing of that axe the cudgel was swept from his grip, the strap that bound the thing to his wrist tearing and scraping his flesh. The Constable jammed his leg up against his attacker's stomach, but the one called Acras was too close. Too... greasy with sweat and blood and dirt. A second swing of the axe saw the Constables arm come free at the elbow, and him falling to the ground. The last thing he saw, before blacking out, was his killer standing above him. Spittle drizzled from his mouth, flecked with blood it seemed. With horror, he realized that he knew who this was.

"Tell Kurt I remember him. Tell Agony that her time will come. Let them know... heh huh crahh." He coughed, then spat upon the ground. "You... you were strong meat. You will live to die later. Or perhaps, you will join me. heh heh... Perhaps..." The last thing Constable Dravin saw was the dirty, blood and snow stained boot of Aeryn Karolinger come crashing down on the side of his head.

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When he came too a short while later, Dravin would find a crude sort of bandage pressed to his shattered elbow, wrapped it seemed with the coat of his unlucky companion. The rest of his company had been beheaded, their heads taken and bodies left in a runic design around him in the crushed and bloody snow. Even the body of the child had been used to make up the design. He had not thrown up the evening before, but seeing this made him spill his guts into the churned turf besides him. Blissfully, he passed out, hoping the next patrol, or anyone really, would find him before the chill claimed him...

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OOC Note: This is the rune in question.

[Dulcie]

The creature that approached the scene sniffing at the soiled snow was far too big to be a wolf, and upon first glance an observer might have thought it to be a bear, it's deep brown fur giving it the appearance of a grizzly until it drew closer and it was more than apparent that whatever this creature was, it was some variety of wolf, despite the grand size of the thing.

The scent of spilled and dead blood assaulted her nose as she padded through the snow. There'd be a pause as she'd life her great head up to look out over the scene, taking in the runic shape that had been created by the mutilated bodies. There was evil in this place and that was enough to draw the werewolf's attention. She circled the scene first, sniffing at each body as she tried to pick up the scent of the person who had inflicted this atrocity on the humans that had been mutilated. Each body, each drop of blood was given careful attention from that sensitive nose before her ears pricked and she heard the tiny sound of pained breathing from the whole body that she had assumed to be dead initially.

The wolf wasted no time in coming to the constable, though once she reached him she found herself in a bit of a quandry. The man was clearly injured, and although she felt reasonably sure that she could drag him to the rememdium from where they were, she wasn't sure that his delicate human body could withstand such a thing. Then there was her other form to consider, and again she worried that with legs she'd never get him to help before the cold would damage him further. It left her with one option only really, and so she settled down beside the man, curling as much of her large, fur covered form about him as she could. She was unnaturally warm and although it wasn't much she could keep him from freezing to death here until others would come across him.

[channe]

She's a little tipsy and on her way home -- it's early morning, after all, and tomorrow she doesn't have to go in, so why should she? And although she doesn't have a shack in town any longer, she does have to go through a bit of it to get to the other gate, beyond where her parents' homestead lies -- so she's tripping her way through the deserted town, when --

-- oh. Oh my God.

Her stomach empties before she can even think, the contents splayed on the ground; and then she picks herself up, surveying the scene, the happy times with her friends at the Dagger completely forgotten. She draws her sword, and surveys --

A child.
A child.

And then the man, breathing --

-- the bear, goddamn it, a bear around him, and could this be the awful thing, please let it not be Aeryn as she's thought --

She stands there, obviously wanting to help the wounded man, but clearly wary of the thing that surrounds him, trying to figure out what happens next. And what will happen next? Wild animals kill the weak -- so she advances, ready to strike --

[Dulcie]

It was the smells that caught her attention first. There was the stench of vomit and the wolf raised her head from where it had been resting near the constable's shoulder. Deep brown eyes took in the sight of the woman that was swaying through the snow and gaping at the sight that she had now set herself amidst. It had taken so much control just laying there beside the constable, the stench of dead blood thick in her nose as she waited for a human to arrive at the scene.

She was careful not to disturb the constable's body as she unwrapped herself from around him, stretching her back and raising her head, her appearance clearly that now of an unnaturally sized wolf. Theere were details for her to figure out, the first that this woman was not the thing that had killed these other humans and the second, was what exactly to do with her. The vomit was perhaps the best indicator that this woman was not a hardened killer and was not here to finish off the poor constable, however as she approached with a clear intent to strike it posed another problem.

She was in control of herself however and as the human female approached her with malice she'd make a soft whining noise, backing up slowly so as not to startle the woman, trying to show that she wasn't going to try to cause her any harm.