Mon Dec 23, 2002 11:29 am
Panic enveloped him. It was his blanket, his true comfort. The dank smell of blood, of intrails strewn across the bedroom. What had happened? He remembered only the smallest pieces of a shattered memoir.
Scythe had come to his lover's house. They were to wed that night, but their lust could not hold back. Lately, he had felt strange. Urges which controlled him. Hunt. Be with the wolf, his mind told him. There was the gentle voice of one he had known as mother, Gaia, the one Goddess which he devoted himself to.
They met in each others others, Scythe and Mariah.
It was all so sudden. They were joined by flesh, and the sounds of complete and utter exstacy were the hint of their enjoyment. Her enjoyment. Her eyes closed, as she could see how well he would be a father. His eyes closed to fight back such images. What had she seen in him? What was there that others ignored, or persecuted him upon?
His eyes were no longer blue. Hungry, predatorial hints replaced merth and pleasure. A circular pupil became oval. Blue become heated red. His nails grew, and formed that of talons. Wicked talons, as his body grew. Every muscle in his bod ached, and was wreckoned by painful tears and agonizing rearrangements. She could not have noticed, until the muzzle. She leant to kiss his sweet, half full lips, and was met by a wolfen snout, which opened to bare wicked canines. Her screams mingled of pleasure, of pain and terror. She kicked. But it was all silenced. The towering creature, which would soon stand twelve feet tall, and bulge with muscle that was not his own, would keep his bride. Forever. Eternally.
His fingers meant to caress, and yet rended flesh instead. Blood poured from her, muscle and tendon exposed. Stop screaming, he would think. Her body thrashed so violently beneath him.
He did not remember what happened after that. Everything was a blur. He awoke to have fallen asleep in a pool of blood. His eyes open, fear within them. His head turned to the bed, where his bride lay. Her mouth open, slightly agap. Her eyes full of terror. Love, perhaps? Her intrails lined the bedside, some half eaten, others untouched. Her heart was missing.
What was this feeling coming over him? Terror, guilt. He knew what had happened, and yet, he did not. His own paradox. He crawled forward, to brush but his knuckle against her cheek. How sweet she was, as he smeared the blood of his fingers across her cheek.
He ran, he ran far. Into the wilderness where he had been born. Into the wild where he belonged. Branches of tree's and bushes scratched his skin, red marks, and sometimes actual scratches appeared. Tears streaked his cheeks, clouded his eyes. His foot caught upon a branch, and he fell hard upon some declining hillside. He rolled, his head snapping this way and that, his body and limbs flailing, trying to grasp hold of something.. anything, and yet never found it. It was as if those plants moved from him, shying away from his human touch. He fell upon a clearing, upon his chest. His face pushed so hard into the ground, mud stained him. But still, he sobbed. And he grieved. His arms moved from their limp state, pushing him up for him to take his first, true breath.
"Why!?" He cried into the night, his voice scratchy, breaking off into sobs. He sat upon his haunches, his legs bent beneath him. His rear upon the heels of his feet. He covered his face in mud stained hands, wiping it across his cheeks as he yelled once more.
"Why am I punished, my Goddess!" He yelled, his voice the mingling of terror, hatred, and yet unconditional love.
"Why do you punish me, why do you make me this way!" Had he known the entire time? Yes. But it had never been that bad. On this night, a full moon was upon the skies. It had never gotten that bad. Not in the half man, half wolf embodiment of the Garou. Werewolves.
"Was it because I loved her, Gaia? Was it because I would've gave me life for her as I would for you!" He screamed, falling forward against the ground. He quieted himself with his own sobs. He did not see the dim light before him. No, he did not notice it until it bathed him. Bathed him in its beauty, and from it, warmth. Such loving devotion, such caring caress the light brought upon his filthy cheeks. He looked upward, blinded.
What stood before him was a woman that defined all women. She was athletically built, five foot eight inches with hip length, flowing honey coloured hair. Her eyes where pure white, and yet, he could see the hint of green within them. She wore nothing, nothing but that light. He knew her. He looked upon her a few moments, before he stumbled to his feet. His arms flailed out, and his legs moved by two feet before they caught upon each other. He fell at her feet, where he curled up.
"Why." Was all he could manage. She was not Gaia. She was Luna, Goddess of the Moon. With but her right hand, she caressed his red locks of hair, as his head curled against her thigh, and his hand stroked the soft skin there. His tears left the corners of his half closed eyes, and ran smoothly down her leg.
"It was not She whom took her. Nor was it I." She said, as she knelt down to take his large body in her arms, and embrace him as a mother would a child. He sobbed against her shoulder, and yet, with their physical contact, she remained clean of his filth.
"I loved her." He could not finish his sentence, as she sighed.
"Yes, I know dear Feral. I know. But now it is time. Now it is time that you join your brethren and sisters. She has been taken. The Wyrm holds Her tightly. And, we need you to fight for Her freedom." She said softly, and yet her voice held commanding. Behind her, several eyes opened. Light reflected within them, in the dozens. He did not notice, until she tipped his head back, and with her hand made it to be as a paw. Her fingers curled half way, her thumb tucked to her palm. And she placed this upon his forehead, and gave him her blessing.
"You are Scythe Earthchild, Ahroun of She. Warrior of the Moon. You will show My fury, and will hold no mercy to It. It which destroys the earth, it which wishes the destruction of All." She spoke, as her image began to fade.
"Fight for Her." Those were her final words, as the pack of wolves approached him from the forest line. The alpha male stepped forward, proudly strutting himself to Scythe, holding his head up high.
"Whoa, horses, whoa." The voice bellowed, awakening Scythe from his slumber. Had it been a dream, to relive what he had been through? As he exitted the horse and carriage, and paid the appropiate amount, his mind remained upon what Luna had said. He looked up into the sky, and sighed exhaustedly.
"I have not forgotten." He stepped forward then, as three men approached him. He could smell the stench of whiskey upon their breath. He stopped to look on at these three fellows, the sack of his belongings which he held over his shoulder pulled tighter.
"'Ey fellar. Wha'cha got 'dere?" The bigger one said, with snickers accompanied from the others. For a moment, Scythe did not answer. He watched as they circled around him
"If you want to live, move on." Scythe responded, accompanied by short grunts and laughter. Two of the men reached for that napsack, and successfully wrenched it from Scythe's grasp. His eyes narrowed. His left hand moved for the second tallest one's throat, gripping it with intensity. He growled, so beastial, that the bigger one took a step back. He brought a fist up, and looked around swiftly. His comrade was dying quickly from asphyxiation. He found a plank, perhaps a broken piece from a two by four, and stalked back wards Scythe. He placed his arms behind him, and swung that board as hard as he could. It shattered over Scythe's back, and he released the man and fell to the ground. His Rage was beyond control, now. As the three men came together to batter Scythe, they failed to notice the change. He had grown a good foot taller, now seven foot three inches, and his clothing strained against the growing muscle. It was not painful this time. Scythe, in the Glabro form of the Garou, crouched upon the ground.
Within the blink of their eyes, he'd stood up and took one, massive back-handing swing. It caught the smallest, the one which he held by the throat, one's chest. He left the ground, was hurtled and forced ten feet into the air, before he fell on the ground fifteen or so feet away. The other two men only blinked, their mouth's hanging open. And then, the bigger one. Scythe's now taloned fingers balled into a tight fist, and he swung that fist quickly. It hit the bigger one's jaw, and sent his neck snapping to the left. He fell to the ground with a loud thump, as the middle man came forward to hit Scythe. He was grabbed by the throat immediately, as Scythe turned to look upon him. His body under went another change. Hair filed from his folicles, his muzzle grew. Red fur covered his body, with a blood red patch upon his chest. He held the man by his throat, standing now twelve feet tall. The muscle of his body was enough to grant the delirium alone. He shifted his grasp, taking hold of the man's wrists. He lifted the man from the ground, as his arms began to be pulled apart.
The man cried out in agony, as his left arm tore, the muscle, bone, tendon and cartillidge ripped apart. Blood poured from the torn limb, as his body was dropped. He meekly tried to crawl away, but with one massive foot placed upon his back, he felt the weight of nine hundred pounds upon his body. With his right hand, he reached down. Again, the second arm was ripped from the man's body, blood coughed from his lips. Holding those arms, he beat down upon the man.