|
|
Post by Ava on Aug 6, 2014 10:07:23 GMT -5
A branch snapped. Wood tumbled and skittered, bouncing over the grass, and the snapped-off branch came to a stop near Bearach’s feet. The great werewolf didn’t seem to give it too much attention as he yanked his greatsword free of the traitor’s fresh corpse.
A rivulet of silver fur shone as it parted the tall grass. Two ears were raised, still on high alert, and the wolf’s tail swished slowly behind her. Beyond the clearing, several pairs of bright copper eyes gleamed in the moonlight. One inquisitive cub left the safety of the shadows, barely daring to bring itself a step closer to the giant.
The approaching figure rose onto its hind legs, lupine shape wavering and warping into that of a woman. White fur retreated into a long braid, limited to the back of her head, and Ava dusted off her form-fitting jumpsuit as she drew to the werewolf’s side.
“Better?”
A quick stroke of the swordsman’s blade flicked off some of the blood left behind, before he removed a cloth to more properly clean each of his swords with methodical practice. The deep exhale of his massive chest was of profound relief and satisfaction. “You have no idea how good that felt.”
“I might.” Ava reached out with a bare foot and gave the still body a careful prod. “Adrian sends his regards too.” When the corpse didn’t react, she followed up with a swift kick below the ribs. “He wanted it formally done, before the pack. A… court martial, he called it.” She wrinkled her nose. “I find this preferable.”
|
|
|
|
Post by Bearach on Aug 6, 2014 13:43:20 GMT -5
One by one, Bearach slipped his weapons back in their proper places, in the sheaths awaiting them within his pack. Blades disappeared entirely inside, the extradimensional space easily large enough to accommodate more than just those three swords. He spoke softly as he did that, “So did I - in case he pulled that backstabbing trick on them.”
His imagination turned to the rest of the pack, with all their various skills and abilities - and how easily the mystic assassin might get around their speed with his own, if they even sensed him at all before it was too late. For all his cowardice and deprecation, Trotsky was far more dangerous than credited. Bearach’s superhuman acuity was the one thing that tipped the scales.
The great white beast huffed in a deeper breath, and quiet moonlight radiated off of his fur as his shape slowly coalesced into the human-like warrior once more. “It was safer this way.”
Two of the wolf cubs had ventured closer from the darkness, sensing just how safe things were now as one nuzzled at Bearach’s heels.
“Your nephews wished to be involved,” Ava stated. The other cub growled at the fallen jackal, crouched low with its tail wagging, and made to pounce at the cooling body.
“They’re a little young for that, Ava... Though I believe I said I wanted to do this alone…” his arms folded over his broad chest as the sentence trailed off, with no further chiding to follow.
Ava looked up to meet his gaze. “And so you did. We did not interfere.” Rolling his eyes would have been a human expression. The rest of the litter emerged from their meager hiding places at last, furtively scanning the open terrain.
“We have a body,” she stated again. “What shall we do with it now?”
Bearach squatted closer to the corpse in question, before he gave it a cursory examination. He took the things out of his pockets that had any worth - which wasn’t much at that - and left behind all the meaningless trash. “I intended to burn it, sis. Why, did you have an idea?”
|
|
|
|
Post by Ava on Aug 6, 2014 20:09:06 GMT -5
The woman gestured at the grass around them. “Preparing a fire might be too slow.” Inhuman eyes made a note of the lights twinkling from a human settlement near the horizon. “The light might attract unwanted notice.” The world around them seemed colder. Darker. The cubs glanced up, some yelping in fear, then huddling close to their mother’s legs.
Silver eyes were distant and frozen. “No funeral pyre. Not for traitors.”
The only noise was the beating of dry wings as the ash-grey creatures descended, black smoke trailing from their eyes. The terrified thoughts of a traveller, alone and dying in the wilderness, plucked from nightmare and bound into form and feathers and hunger.
The carrion birds settled over the jackal, some tussling to land near the open eyes, others flapping aggressively to warn the cubs off from sharing their meal. Ava turned away as beaks ripped into dead flesh. “There.”
|
|
|
|
Post by Bearach on Aug 17, 2014 22:01:45 GMT -5
Bearach watched the proceedings with a similar animalistic detachment, unphased by the carnage or bloodshed of his foe, before determining the job was well in hand. But there were other things that needed to be removed, before the group was to leave. The Wolf of Blades closed in on certain enchanted items, thinking it wasteful to leave such tools behind.
The Fang Daggers, separated in the fight, were gathered up in his hands. He shifted both into his left hand, to grasp them simultaenously and free up his right hand for something else. He then drew the mask out of his backpack, retrieved before the fight, and looked at its face just one more time.
The desire to crush it was building inside him again. That … was so very human, of him.
“Ava. Sis,” he said as he walked closer to her. He held the devices up for her perusal. “These things. His magic tools. Do you want them? I thought I would offer you first pick, before the rest of the pack.”
He could use them himself, of course, but they were far from necessary for his style. A fascination with blades ended at Trotsky’s ownership. The mask, he was aware, could suit another member of their band well - if only they would take it...
|
|
|
|
Post by Ava on Oct 14, 2014 20:17:59 GMT -5
Slender fingers reached for the mask first, almost hesitating to touch it. She took the object, held it by the pointed nose, turned it over and carefully pressed it up against her own face, sensing the magic within, while powerful beaks crunched their way through bone behind her.
“He was fond of this,” Ava mused. “The only recourse he knew, when his victims had any chance of striking back.” Her fingers tightened around the carved wood. “Was it to blame?” She asked, more to herself. The energies in the mask whispered of wings and silence and sight in the dark, and nothing more.
“No.” She lifted the mask away, offered it back to her brother. “I have my own means of retreating. If any of the Pack have no qualms about using something he has touched, it is theirs. Let me see the blades.”
Too long to be daggers. Not quite the size of swords. A wicked curve ending in narrow points, like teeth. Like fangs. None of the were-Jackal’s stench in their magic, either. She aimed the daggers into the dark of the woods, thinking back to the times she had observed them in use. These were simply conduits, waiting for a source to channel power from. Merely tools. Merely teeth. It would be none but the predator’s decision to -
“Bite.”
Power jolted through the blades, an inky shade of violet that seemed to feed on the dim light instead of emitting its own. It lanced through the air - all in a moment - jumping several feet out before detonating.
They watched the trees bend in the shockwave. Several of the birds flapped and hopped, indignant at being interrupted in their tussle over the last scraps of the jackal.
“Useful.” The blades were sheathed and added to her belt. “Thank you, brother.”
|
|
|
|
Post by Bearach on Oct 23, 2014 20:10:08 GMT -5
Bearach gave an acknowledging grunt, then turned back to watch the show as his enemy was devoured piece by piece. Dealing with the traitor himself had brought him a great deal of satisfaction, but the desecration of that body brought him no further pleasure. He only wanted to watch, to make sure there was nothing left to sense or read by the government’s necromancers.
They didn’t need to know any more about them then the traitor had already told them.
“Adrian will want to mount an offensive soon, now that Trotsky is dead,” he said after another moment.
“We are all in agreement,” his sister answered. “That sorceress took a life from us. Blood is owed.”
“I don’t think that’s his reasoning,” Bearach said simply. “We can’t know how much Trotsky told her, on purpose or otherwise. We need to move soon, before she can mount a proper force, designed to undo ours like when she separated us before. It’ll be … more dangerous … without Lori...”
His voice trailed off in silence and anger, eyes moving rapidly as so many memories dug their fingers into his thoughts. Fists clenched at his sides, as the last shreds of Trotsky’s physical form were snapped up and devoured, nary a speck of cloth left behind. “You should leave the pups somewhere safe. We’re killing the Queen of Redcaps tonight.”
|
|
