The #Broken_Dagger Forum

Disclaimer: Gore; Violence.


In the thrill of the hunt, all things disappeared but that which mattered most. Survival. For prey and hunter alike, life and death balanced precariously on the scales. The prey would die under the teeth of the predator, and the predator would die with lack of prey. A basic, primitive, instinctual undestanding that all creatures of the wild understood. Nothing else mattered, during the hunt. Nothing but predator and prey. Nature following it's harmonious course.

A family of deer was nearby, evidence left by the scent of feces, the smell of thick, unwashed fur. Natural smells, but smells easily tracked by creatues who's noses were crafted with the hunt in mind. Snuffing along the ground, he weaved about, seeking a trail that would show which way they went. Many times old scents crisscrossed. The deer had been here more than once. A favoured parcel of land to graze upon, perhaps.

It was not a muzzle full of deer-scent that lifted his attention from the ground, however. It was the shrieks of noise. Men. Too well he knew the sounds of those screams. Burnished gold eyes glanced into the woods, towards the direction the deer had gone, regretfully. There was still time. Those screams were not his concern...

Weary sorrow filled him, his head lifting back, muzzle raised as he howled mournfully. There would be no hunt, today. No sense of purpose, of reason. No sense of peace even in the violent hunt. There would be pain, today. Pain every day, where men were concerned. Paws left his tracks in the upturned soil, stirred by the hooves of fighting deer, and the shaggy red-blonde wolf was moving away from what had been his prey.

The scent of blood on the wind led him towards the men more than the sounds of combat did. There was no hurry, precisely, as long as there was the clang of metal on metal. It was not for men fighting he had left off, but for the feminine screams that had pierced the tranquility of the forest home. It was while he was thinking these thoughts that the sound of battle ceased, and the drum of horse-hoofs crashed along the rode, their thunder fading as the storms of violence sought other horizons. Quickening his pace, he sprinted towards the last origion of combat.

As he cleared the forest line, he shifted to sit, bronzed gaze running over the wreckage, feeling the sorrow that had driven him to the forest beating within his breast once more. Wagons lay on their sides, horses wandering, lost, amidst the rubble of emptied carts. Almost, he could taste the blood that filled the air, rising from the pools the dry, hard-packed road drank as it oozed from the unmoving bodies. Too many bodies, and some...too small. It was as he stood over one such child, nudging a face covered by ebon locks that glistened too much for water, that he heard her, saw her move. There, seated, leaning against the wheel of one wagon, a blonde woman.

"Get away from her, you filthy scavanger! You will not feast on us while I still live!" Eyes of emerald burned with defiance as the woman glared at him. She hefted a sword threateningly, as if believing she could use in her condition. A condition that was obvious, despite the hand she clutched over her stomach. Blood, rich crimson life, seeped between her fingers in a growing stain. Whatever her defiance, any scavanger would only have to wait to have the feast she sought to deny.

Closer, he moved, picking his way amongst the debris carefully. Closer, until she could almost strike him with her blade. There was no concern, no worry of injury, as she failed the weapon at him. It hit the dirt ineffectively. She obviously knew how to use the blade, but not the art of weilding it effectively. She growled. "You will not have an easy meal, mutt."

With only the briefest hint of amusement, Kaelum watched those green eyes go wide with surprise as his body twisted itself, rearranging itself. Pretty eyes, he thought. Ah would've enjoyed dahncin' with 'er.

"What do you want, monster?" The hand holding her blood in, if ineffectively, was removed to grasp the sword in a wet grip, knuckles on both hands whitening.

"Ah'm sorry. Ah'm sorry Ah didn' get 'ere in time ta 'elp. Ah'm sorry Ah wasn' 'ere ta save ya. Any of ya." Sadness in hard eyes, brows accentuating the unshed tears that glistened. "Ah'm a failure. Ah'm so sorry."

"What are you ta-" She gasped loudly as he moved forward, one hand catching the blade and thrusting it to the side, clearing the path. Arms slipped around her shoulder, pulling her away from the wagon. A quick, sharp jerk, and the fading life was extinguished. Every day, the sorrow grew, a living, breathing thing buried inside him, fed by his every failure. Crows wheeled over head, waiting for this last man to leave. They would have cursed him, for burying the bodies, if they could.

Darkness blanketed the woods, drapped over the forest like a woman nested atop her lover. Songbirds silenced with the glittering of diamonds in the sky gave way to the sounds of other animals, creatures feared by men not for being monstrosities, but for being unseen. Brothers and sisters roamed, as he did, seeking their own prey, just as he sought his. Their prey, however, gave life. That which he hunted, only took it.

Swiftly he moved, nose turned into the strong scent of horse and unwashed man, both competing to overpower the other. The sharp smell of smoke began to touch his nostrils, further aiding him. The men had hidden well, choosing a deep part of the woods. They would be hard to find. For anyone that was not a wolf, that was. For him, they might as well have painted a path. They had, in fact.

The cave flickered with the light of the fire, echoing the boisterous laughing of men celebrating. A grim celebration, considering the deeds they had commited. Paws chose soft ground, stepping carefully. Tha fools woudn' even 'ear me, he thought. Not even 'ad Ah waltzed in whistlin' a lit'le ditty. He did not want to take that risk, however, not on the chance they had sentries. Something he doubted brigands would see to, but sometimes men were unpredictable.

Easing himself into the mouth of the cavern, he let the change take him over, flesh rippling as bones shifted and mutated, fur finding itself becoming the leather of his attire. It took only a second or two for the shaggy red-blonde coated wolf to be come the shaggy blond-haired Kaelum. Of course, that hair was held out of his eyes by the leather hat that was so obviously his, seemingly one of a kind. Fingers were dipped into the folds of his belt, plucking the strange coin that he possesed. A flash of green, and he stood holding the seamless spear he so often called to mind. A weapon of death, and one he fully intended to utilize.

"Do ya gentlemen 'ave room fer one more aht this lit'le pahrty?" Calmly spoken words as he moved into the cave, into the light cast off by their fire. Eight men, he saw, lips pressing tight. He'd never taken on so many at once. This was foolish. What had he been thinking? That he was a -hero-? No...he was a weak failure.

"Who the hell are you?!" The men all rose, reaching for weapons they held close at hand. A few of the bigger ones weilding clubs, the rest swords. Short weapons, easier concealed, and the better to spring an ambush on unexpecting, trusting travellers.

"He's a dead man, that's who." A scrawny fellow with a crooked nose claimed, a grimey hand reaching up to scratch at a patchy beard.

"Right you are, Wyn." One of the larger fellows chuckled, hefting his spear. "So who get's first dibs, once we take that pig-sticker?"

That pig-sticker, as the large man called it, was given freely. Up it came, spinning in proficient hands to bring the spearhead to bear. Surprise and shock flashed on their faces, pain blossoming on one in particular, as the spear was hurled full arm into the big man's chest. "Ah think Ah'll let ya 'ave it fer now."

They rushed forward, then, the crook nosed Wyn coming first. The men had no idea what they were up against, truly, but something of an idea began to trickle into their minds when he moved forwards with frightening speed. Wyn, who held that shortsword over his head in preperation for a cleaving attack, suddenly found his wrist in a tight grip, and his nose breaking and giving way under the quick, hard punching that rocked his head back.

The cudgel that caught him in the between his shoulders, was unexpected. Kaelum grunted as he pitched forward, into the dirt. The men began to laugh, then, taunting him as they unleashed sharp kicks to his ribs. No matter how he twisted, they found a soft spot, pain lancing through him with each breath.

The gutteral roar stilled their tongues, primal fear remembering something of the towering beast that thrust itself to it's feet. Burnished eyes glared, and where gaze met gaze, terror grasped hearts in cold fingers, crushing lungs. A heavy, clawed hand smashed out, catching a fellow in a powerful backhand blow. A blow that sent the man flying. A blow backed by a supernatural gift that made the strike's force exponentially greater. Ribs had cracked under the backhand, but there were nothing compared to the wet crunch as the man smashed into the wall. He fell, never to rise again.

Searing pain flashed through Kaelum's rage-flooded mind, cold metal impaling heated flesh. Roaring again, he spun, wrenching the blade from both his flesh and the hands of it's weilder. Claws dug in just as the sword had, but unlike the metal weapon, these tore the soft belly of their victim, spilling him to the floor.

The shout of battle from behind him alerted him of the cudgel-weilder rushing him, weapon raised over head. The blow the man intend never came, the weapon, and hands, caught in a much stronger, larger paw. A scream, a terror-filled, primal exhalation twisted with pain, tore from the man as he was hoisted into the air, and louder still as the second paw grabbed the man by the ankles. Both arms pulled, but in opposite directions. The scream rose louder and louder, then cut short.

"You monster! Die!" one of the survivors cried, leaping over the body of a fallen comrade. The flames that consumed the end of the log the man had grabbed from the fire flickered and spluttered with the passage of his movement, but did not die. Searing pain flooded his senses, causing Kaelum to whip his head back and howl pain and fury in the same note. The fire was of little concern, now, though. Calming himself despite the rapid palpatations of his maddened heart, he remember what he had been taught.

While the man howled triumphant at the conflagration of the werebeast slaughtering them, it was short lived. It was instead transformed into a scream of horror as arms sheathed in fire wrapped around him, hugging him against burning fur. The shrieks continued even as his flaming body was cast aside, to twitch and writhe madly on the dirt floor, trying to extinguish itself.

Wyn, scrambling backwards, stared wide eyed at the flaming creature that stalked him. It was as he turned to scramble away that it leaped, heavy, heated body crashing down on him. He had only a second to scream before a burning muzzle closed on his head.

Crackling, sizzling blood seeped from his jaws, from the piece of Wyn grasped in his jaws. Maddened, frenzied eyes lifted in time to see the two still alive running out of the cave, into the night. Let'em live, he thought to himself, [I]Let'em tell their tahle of 'orror. Let'em remember it ahll their lifes."

Picking his way over the bodies that littered the ground, he closed a paw about the haft of his spear, tugging it free. "Jus' a lit'le less evil in tha worl'."

The forest was quiet as he moved through it, the creatures shying away from the massive, burning beast. Some knew what he was. Some knew he was a warrior for the Mother. Regardless, none wanted to find themselves too close