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Kalanna Rai
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PostPosted: Fri Feb 22, 2013 12:11 am    Post subject: Of Blood and Honor: New Chapter Up Reply with quote

With Leyond due to wrap, as soon as I can put the chapter into words, it's time to roll out the fantasy that will be taking it's place. Ladies and gentlemen I present to you Of Blood and Water. Enjoy.
---------------------------------

Prologue: A Legion Betrayed

And so it was in the 25th year of the reign of His Imperial Majesty Vettis II that the Treaty of High Oak was sundered and the tyrannical rule of the Dunhallow lords ended. For no longer would civilized men treat with beasts.
- Regis Pelgrand, 'Towers of Gold: A Chronicle of the Imperial Age'

---------------------------

They fought on the walls. They fought in the streets of the city. They tore into the legionnaires, in their imperial steel, wielding fang and claw. Massive man beasts with pelts thick as any armor, their howls of fury and cries of anger rending the night. Snapping jaws, sweeping arms delivering powerful blows. Snapping necks, sundering steel, swatting away weapons. Brave but doomed. Men and women, normal in every way, stood side by side with them. These brave souls wielded farm implements in many cases, few warriors among them. The clan Dunhallow had always protected the humans before. But now they all stood together. All fought together.

All died together.

The legion reaped a grim harvest that night. No warrior who stood against them was spared and when no more warriors stood that was when the butchery began. Any of the Dunhallow clan, anyone, human or not, who lived in the castle keep and claimed kinship were slaughtered. From the eldest and infirm to the babes who'd only begun to draw the breath of their lives. All were put to the sword.

Mothers screamed and wept. Men shook impotent fists and hurled insults as bodies that had been friends and neighbors, protectors, were heaped high. Doused in oil and put to the torch. The stench of burning hair and charring meat filled the air for days, the ash leaving an oily stain on buildings that never came off, no matter the scrubbing. In the end, the clan was gone. The noble Dunhallow warriors who'd counted on human honor, as they had for three hundred seasons, had finally been betrayed.

The banners were struck and sundered, all traces of the former occupants of the keep and owners of these most northern of the Empire's holdings were erased. The new occupants, normal and human in every way, took the seat given to them without so much as batting an eye at the still fresh bloodstains. They cast their shadow over the land and for all the wild claims of Dunhallow tyranny, the reign of the new Lyshold family was worse than any in the parts could remember. New laws condemned the old ways under pain of death, to so much as breath the name of the former lords of the Northern Reaches carried penalty of death.

Those who would not obey were flogged, whipped, stripped of possessions. Forced to watch as all that they'd spent their lives obtaining or maintaining was given away to toadies and lackeys. Was it any wonder that so many fled into the wilds? So many took up arms and became rebels, daring the dangers that they no longer felt protected against. Many felt it was better to take their chances with the Wild Ones than it was to wait to be slaughtered in their homes.

Entire villages deserted overnight. Fields raised and salted, wells tainted and befouled. They left nothing behind for the occupying forces, their last act of defiance against the Empire that had betrayed them. The Lyshold family worked hard to cover up the desertions, blaming instead remnants of the Dunhallow clan, claiming that they raided the countryside still. A bounty was posted for any man that could bring the head of a werewolf to a constable. Or better yet the pelt ripped from it's still living back. Nobody ever collected.

The years have passed. The bloody betrayal of the previous generation has become a legend. The Dunhallow clan is a tale used to frighten unruly children. Beware or the werewolves will come from the north and take you away. Propaganda has done it's work, the truth is a buried shame. Few who saw that night still remember the truth, fewer still are willing to speak of it. It's not healthy to do so. If you want to remain alive, you remain silent.

But in the north three pups have reached maturity. Three children of a murdered clan who are not content to watch the Lyshold family push further north. Who will not sit silently as the Old Ways are forgotten and old oaths are broken in the name of progress. Three children who can hear the blood of their murdered father crying to be avenged. The litter of Lord Darius Dunhallow have thrived and grown. And soon the Raslant Empire will regret ever having broken the Treaty of High Oak.
-----------------------

The first chapter will be up soon. Hopefully this has you curious enough to come back for it. Hope you liked!
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Last edited by Kalanna Rai on Sun Aug 31, 2014 1:43 am; edited 3 times in total
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PostPosted: Fri Feb 22, 2013 12:22 am    Post subject: I Think. . . . . . Reply with quote

Love it! This is going to be amazing, I can just tell Razz I like the idea of werewolves as the "Good guys". It's gonna be so much fun! I can't wait to see more Kalanna-chan!
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PostPosted: Fri Feb 22, 2013 3:35 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

While I'm sad to see Leyond come to an end, this is a great beginning to what I'm sure will be another fantastic story!

Can't wait for more, Kalanna! Very Happy
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PostPosted: Sun Feb 24, 2013 6:44 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Wee, I finally get to participate in one of Rai's epic SGs! Very Happy You have no idea how excited I am. As usual, your writing is very strong, and it really shows in this piece.
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PostPosted: Sat Mar 30, 2013 12:15 am    Post subject: Post Reply with quote

*More pokes* I wanna see more Razz *Waits patiently until Kalanna-chan has more time*
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PostPosted: Sat Mar 30, 2013 3:16 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

I know this has been a long time coming but I have to be careful and think out how this story works. But here you are, the first part. Enjoy!
----------------------------

Chapter One Part One: In My Father's Name

The beast men, werewolves, are a curse upon this world. They are men who's hearts are so darkened by wickedness that they have become less than men and the inner beast has taken over them. They are a warning we all should heed lest we succomb to our sins and become as beasts ourselves, servants of the darkness.
- Altius Venirous, High Cleric of the Celestia

----------------------------------------------------

He stood on a rise above the battlefield his fur matted with blood. His talons were caked with gore and the taste of the flesh of man and the bite of iron was heavy on his tongue. Ears flat against his skull his roar rippled out across the blood soaked plain, his vengence, his anguish, lending it the power to carry. A sound of pure fury edged in sorrow. This was only the first battle of many to come, an ambush and honorless. As the humans had come in the night to slaughter his father, his clan, as they had spilled innocent blood and give no mercy so they had in turn been treated. Since he was old enough to understand things he had heard the screams of his ancestors demanding repayment for the loss of their lives. Since he was old enough to know the voices of all those around him had told him that it was his duty to avenge his father and the lost clan. But now Corin Dunhallow had reached his maturity and he had celebrated his ascention to alpha with a bloodbath.

Not what he'd wanted.

Voices now joined him in song, the warriors of the clan lifting their heads in joyous cries. The pack was strong and hale. Nourished in the northlands to which the shattered remnants had fled after that night so long ago. Here they had carved out territory from amid the savage clans that they had once protected the kingdoms of Man from. Amid the mindless ones and the creatures of old terror that stalked the northlands they had grown from pup to adult. The lessons they'd learned had been hard and everything came at a price. And now they would collect their debt from the Oathbreakers, from the Empire, and it started with the 11th Legion.

For months now they'd carefully raided the Lyshold lands, picking way at the territory that had been theirs only a generation before. They'd stolen crops and livestock, they'd sent back the bodies of so called werewolf hunters in gruesome pieces. They drove the mindless ones and the creatures of old terror into those heartless communities. And yet he'd been very clear on one thing, only the guilty were to be punished. Only those who had profited from the downfall of his Father. The terrified, the innocent, the meek, they were spared. Only the usurpers and those they favored were terrorized, the head of every slain hunter delivered in a pretty package to the Lyshold family wrapped in a Dunhallow banner. With such tactics had the 11th Legion been lured into the north, to venture into the wild lands and slay any they could find.

And two nights before they had fallen upon the encamped Legion. With silence had the sentries been dispatched and then had they infiltrated under cover of night. They had cut throats and ripped off limbs. By the time the camp realized they were under attack the bulk of the Dunhallow warriors were amid them. Five thousand men against five hundred werewolves. A ten to one ratio...almost even odds for the men, almost the full fighting bulk of the clan. Strength hard won and cultivated.

But to see them all now, gathering around the base of the outcrop on which he stood, adding their voices to his in a song of glory and grief. Crying their hearts out for the lives lost, both past and present. As his howl faded so to did theirs and Corin turned away from the peak to stride down. On his left side a slim white figure mirrored his actions, a white stag with silvery antlers following in her shadow. On his left a russet wolf of slim build with a voice more glorious than any other. His siblings. The last of his blood.

With a sigh he let go of the beast, resuming his own form, the talisman at his throat glimmering a bit to restore the items bound in it to his figure. His clothing, his sword, his crown. He leaned against a nearby tree for a minutes, feeling itchy as his swiftly healing wounds reached that point of regeneration. "Did I do the right thing? Are they satisfied?"

Pushing her white hair out of her pale eyes, his sister wore a thoughtful expression before speaking. "I no longer hear them crying. Their spirits are satisfied by this payment of blood-"

His brother's eyes blazed as his melodious voice interrupted their sister's words. "This is only the beginning! We crushed a legion of the Empire, next we will retake our lands and then-"

"Lord Dunhallow! We have a prize for you!"

The tromp of many feet and the sound of rattling armor could be heard, a bit of a scuffle as an armored figure did his best to escape the clutches of the two warriors holding him, many others waiting with hungry eyes should the human succeed. Roughly the armored man was shoved to his knees at Corin's feet, his eyes burning with fear and hatred as he stared up into the green eyes of the young Lord Dunhallow.

"What is this? I specifically said to let the survivors flee. Why did you capture this one?" Corin was not happy. They were not monsters. Though the legion had fought well, organizing itself into pockets of resistance that had kept the fighting alive far longer than it should have been, once they'd been broken he'd specifically told his warriors to let those who would flee go and to kill any that offered violence. If this man had raised a sword after the route he should be dead, otherwise he should have been let go.

"Because we found this." Reaching down, the warrior reached down and shoved his hand through the ripped gorget of the the armored human pulling free a gold medallion on a slender chain. "My lord Corin Dunhallow may I introduce you to Aurilus Ven, the youngest son of the Emperor of Man?"

Corin's dark eyebrows rose into his hairline as he stared at the angry eyed man. This was...unexpected. He had no idea a member of the Imperial family had marched with the 11th Legion. For a moment he couldn't understand why and then it dawned on him. "You were sent to die. So that your father would have an excuse to bring his full weight against the northlands..." Which meant that it was likely the survivors who'd been running were already relaying word back to the 'grieving' Emperor.

His blood ran cold, chilled by the ramifications. But why would Vettis II concern himself with the northlands? What game was he playing? First breaking the Oath the Empire had had with Corin's father, now finding an excuse to openly move into war. There was no kingdom here, only leftover bits of ages gone by, the last of the Old Ways.

"Lord what would you have us do with him?"


Corin thought for a moment and then turned. "Bring him home with us. This is no way to treat our guest and I'm sure that his father will want him in perfect health when we send him back." He would not give the Emperor the excuse to further his plans. He would fight for the lands that were rightfully those of his clan and not an acre further. That was all he wanted, justice for past wrongs, payment for oaths broken. Restitution paid.

He wasn't a monster after all.
------------------------------------------

Corin Dunhallow, the black wolf, eldest son of a murdered lord. He walks a fine path between what he has to do and what he wants to do. This is the story he would tell.

I'm hoping to have part two and three up today as well. If not, they'll be up soon.

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PostPosted: Wed Jun 26, 2013 1:20 am    Post subject: I Think. . . . . . Reply with quote

*Bounces around* Giiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I loves it! I love the last little part about the prince, and the ideas that ran through my head at it, and, and. . . . . . . *Waits eagerly for part 2*
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PostPosted: Fri Aug 09, 2013 1:04 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

A long time in coming but hopefully it lives up to the expectations that there may be for it. Enjoy.
-------------------------------

Chapter One Part Two: A Voice Above All Others

There is no weapon greater than courage and no armor better than the terror of our enemies. We shall raise our voices in song and the heavens shall tremble at the might of it.
- Balenth Surcopse, Red Fangs Warleader

-----------------------------

His voice was the one they all heard. Above the cries of man and beast, the ring of steel and the hollow snap of bone on bone as jaws occasionally closed on empty air. The squealing scrape of talon on metal and the wrenching noise as the metal was finally sundered by force. The screams and gurgles of death come visiting. No ear was deaf to the song he sang. Victory to his kin, his clan, his pack, his people. To all others would come only the end.

It was an undulating thing, wordless and yet full of meaning. Sometimes a howl, sometimes a cry, a wordless scream, or a chant who's words were always just a heartbeat from being understood. The voice of a Warsinger, a rare and unusual gift. He needed no music to accompany him about his task though it would have made it easier perhaps. But now the din of battle was fading and with it went the strength of his song, slowly winding down until he was finally silent.

He stood for a moment, the long pink ribbon of his tongue licking at his bloodied muzzle although the fur would always remain of a sanguine hue. He was now, and always had been, a wolf the color of rust and blood. His lean muscled form turned with sinuous grace as his angular head swung this way and that, seeking new targets. But it was not to be, the legion was in flight and the field around him was silent save for the death rattle of his last opponent. Then it came, his brother's voice lifted on high in a howl of victory. Velv waited a brace of heartbeats before throwing back his own skull, his boisterous howl eclipsing that of his brother completely.

He shook himself, shedding still liquid gore like scarlet rain. Somewhere between one shake and the next the bestial half-form he preferred vanished and the man was left behind, clean and clothed as the talisman did it's work. Still, the wolfish grin on his face refused to leave as he strode across the battlefield, taking savage glee with each squelching noise his boots made amid the corpses, each snapping noise as bone gave way under his footsteps. It had been a good day. No doubt the blood that soaked into the soil was slaking the thirst of their murdered ancestors. Some spirits would go to rest tonight.

But not all.

This was only the first battle, the opening volley. Velv knew he had to hurry. If left up to the others, this might be the only battle. They'd resume their usual tactics of terrorizing the usurpers and the chance to reclaim the territory they'd been robbed of would be gone forever. So lost was he in his own plans that he hardly noticed the small group of warriors hurrying up to him, they were nearly upon him before his head snapped around, russet hair falling in his eyes.

"What?!" His voice was a lash, flicking out harshly from the caverns of his mouth to strike against them and he took some cruel satisfaction in watching them flinch back from him. It was then that he noticed the armored human twisting the the grasp of the warrior, gasping and spitting curses like a wet woodcat. "Well well...didn't my brother order that once their lines broke they were to be killed or let flee...why capture one?"

One of the warriors growled a bit, gripping the prisoner tighter with one hand as he reached toward the human's neck, pulling forth a medallion on a glimmering chain. "I caught a glimpse of this before he could hide it away again. Warsinger, I know this mark...this man. This is Aurilus Ven, the youngest son of the Emperor of Man."

Velv blinked his bright eyes, peering closer at the medallion. It certainly looked like the seal that was pressed onto all of the 'official' proclamations that circulated even through the most northern territories of the 'Empire'. A symbol that could only be worn by the Emperor and his direct kin. Under the seal itself was a winding emblem that designated the man a son. He laughed harshly, reaching out and catching hold of the medallion, yanking it free with one simple jerk of his hand and dangling it by the broken chain so that it would catch the light. "What is the spawn of the Oathbreaker doing here? Speak runt."

The man glared at him for a moment before lips parted just long enough to spray spittle that was little more than froth across Velv's shirt front. Without ever taking his eyes from the medallion the Warsinger reached out with fingertips that had become twisted black claws, raking them lightly across the neck of the man. Enough to draw blood, cause pain, but not enough to bring death.

"You know something...you're worthless. Whelp you were sent out here to die to us. A sacrifice. Obviously a runt like you is nothing but inconvenient to your father and so he sent you do the only redeeming thing he could think of. Die. Well I'll oblige, put him on his knees."

At once the two warriors holding the man forced him down. The amulet between his teeth, Velv crouched and took the chin and skull of Aurilus in his hands. With a grunt of effort and a simple twist, he snapped the neck and pulled, slowly separating the head from the flesh. Holding it by the hair in one hand, he held the amulet from it's chain in the other. "Gentlemen, see that this is carefully packaged and sent on it's way. We wouldn't want to keep the 'Emperor' waiting now would we?"

He tossed the objects back at the warriors and walked away, a broader smile than before on his face.
------------------------------------------

Velv Dunhallow, the red wolf, second son of a murdered lord. His Voice holds a power over the minds of others much as madness holds a power over his own. This is the story he would tell.
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PostPosted: Tue Aug 13, 2013 5:52 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Great work, Kalanna! I'm loving the different directions that the story takes depending on the character. Can't wait for more! Very Happy
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PostPosted: Thu Aug 15, 2013 12:06 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

And while it's still kicking around in my skull, here's the last sibling's installment. Enjoy!
-----------------------------

Chapter One Part Three: The Fragile Force

I believed not in the barbarian shamans and their magic. Their superstitions, false prophets, and their teachings surrounding hollow powers. But I cannot explain what I saw that day in any other way. A light beyond all other lights, so brilliant it shamed the sun, and the form within it.
- Captain Amiuis Vetex, 11th Legion

----------------------------------

She was keenly aware of the end of the battle in a way no other could have been. She was stained with red, the only clean skin upon her the tracks upon her cheeks where the tears had worn away the gore. "Don't go, oh please Stag and Hind stay here." But it was no use and she knew it. The Hind had fled the field with the first drop of blood shed and the Stag remained grimly distant from the young warrior who's guts she was desperately trying to push back through the gaping hole in his stomach. His eyes glazed and his final breath rattled free of his lungs. A moment later his spirit shook itself clear of his flesh, standing around dazedly. He stared at his corpse bemusedly a moment before turning his gaze upon her.

Please...tell my mother...I love her... And like that he was gone, his energy cycling upward to be brought before the strange god he worshipped.

She remained there on her knees a moment before rising at Stag's gentle nudging, turning to face it's spectral star-filled form. An astral creature made from a thousand motes of light and the stuff of souls, the avatar of Stag himself. Slowly she stood, wiping at her tears again, taking up her staff from where it had fallen in the gore-soaked ground. "Can I save none of them? What is the lesson in this slaughter then? Why am I viewing it if I can help not a single soul?"

Stag said nothing, standing next to her impassively as blades whirled around them, the screams of man and man-beast filling the air. Her people, fighting and dying to appease the spirits. Yet these deaths were wasteful, senseless. These were not the men who had committed the crimes, these were not the Oathbreakers. It was only more innocent blood, thousands of lost souls. So many of them had cried out to her, last requests in their few final moments. She had tried, so many times, to call upon her powers. To prevent more senseless death. Each time she'd failed.

She stood there, leaning on her staff, glancing around helplessly. Bitterness was waging a war for her heart and she could find precious little to defend herself with in this bleak place. What had once been a meadow, firm of ground and fresh with spring grass, was now a place of slaughter. Though no rain had fallen, enough blood had been shed here to create mud that sucked her feet down, plunging her half-calf into filth. Carefully she moved from her place next to the dead soldier, mindful to not step upon the dead. She didn't care who they were, human or kinfolk, they were all equals to her. Creatures in pain, crying out for her aid. Yet not a single one had she been able to do more than hold their hands, a comforting presence to hold a momentary vigil over them as they crossed the threshold into death.

Then the howl had gone up. First her eldest brother to lead the choir, then her elder brother to eclipse him. She could never pinpoint when the strife between the two of them had broken out. She'd gone away on her quest to gain strength in her powers and when she'd returned it had been like this. One against the other in a rivalry that held no love or friendship in it. She missed the days when they had been almost one, bound by their shared time in the womb. When at last she'd lifted her muzzle, her cry had been one of mourning, not of joy. A note of sorrow that lingered long after all others had fallen silent. Last to sing, last to stop. Heads had turned toward her and she had cast her eyes from them lest they see the shame in them. Let them have their victory, no matter how hollow.

Stag nudged her again to gain her attention before the glowing creature had gracefully moved across the field, heading away from the dead. She hurried afterward, glancing over her shoulder with a sharp pang of loss. The battle for her heart was lost and the first bitter tang seeped in across her tongue. "All of this...I have stood and witnessed all of this death...and you allow me to save not a single life?! Am I to be a Shepard of the slain now?! Why?! Why did you do this to me?!"

From the woods ahead came the sounds of a struggle and Stag paused for a moment to glance back at her before bounding forward, head lowered. Her eyes widened and, her bitter anger checked for a moment, she followed with lowered staff. A young soldier stood in the clearing, his sword desperately dancing in front of him as he sought to stave off the three warriors that were laughingly circling him. This wasn't right, not at all. The battle had been broken off, her brother had called an end to it with the howl. Any opponents who had chosen to flee were to be let flee, only those that had taken up arms were to be engaged. While the young soldier had a grim look about him, he certainly did not look as though he'd been running the warriors down.

Stag moved forward, standing beside the soldier with his skull lowered, his pronged antlers pointing outward at the mocking warriors. She knew what his intent was, clear as day. She wanted to save a life, this was the life she could save. Straightening, pushing her gore-stiffened hair back from her face, she moved into the clearing with her staff held high. "How dare you disobey the commands of the Alpha!"

In unison the three warriors flinched, heads snapping around to face her as they scuttled back, tails flicking between hind legs for a moment. "Lady Iamia, no you misunderstand-"

"Do I? What harm can one human soldier offer three warriors of the Pack? One blade is hardly a threat." She caught sight of the soldier's action just a moment before it completed. Had Stag not been with her, she might well have been wounded or killed when the man had turned and brought his sword against her in a double-handed blow. Instead, Stag lifted his massive head and barred the way with his antlers, turning the blow harmlessly. For a moment the soldier and the warriors stared, unable to see the astral avatar, unknowing of his involvement in the deflection. The sword simply struck thin air and went flying, landing in the ground some feet away. Stag simply snorted and moved to stand behind her.

She turned, gazing at the man, dropping from the half-beastial form as she did so and into her mortal form. Pale grey eyes regarded him for a moment before she slowly shook his head. "I bargain for your life and you seek to strike me down? I can see why so many of the Elders cried for war."

"You see Lady Iamia! He offered us violence and so we-

The first to speak was interrupted by one of his comrades, a thinner wolf with a darker coat "We were only going to bring him before the Alpha. Look!" The thin wolf bolted forward, seizing hold of the soldier with a feral swiftness. He bared the man's neck, drawing forth a golden medallion from under the man's armor. "He wears the Imperial Crest. We saw it during the battle. It slipped clear of his armor as he bent over and did not hide it away fast enough again. We figured that...perhaps the Alpha would take care of him?"

The man struggled for a few moments, twisting, blood running down his plate from his wounds before giving up, sagging in the thin wolf's grip. Iamia walked closer to him, reaching out a hand to touch the medallion. "The Imperial Crest...I've heard stories. Seen drawings. So that would make you..."

The man laughed bitterly as her words trailed off. "Aurilus...Aurilus Ven." He smiled as he spoke, a bitter smile. His blue eyes bored in to hers and he opened his mouth as if to speak again. That was when it happened. Stag gave a bellow, his starry form vanishing into a thousand swirling motes as a new presence stalked in from the battlefield. At once Iamia went to her knees, resisting the urge to roll and expose her belly just barely. One did not trifle with Wolf, the All Father.

She had not seen Wolf since her quest and then only briefly. She'd thought him away in the far North, where the Sky Fires poured the powers of the Heavens into the Earth. Yet here he was, stained with the blood of the fallen, scarred as though he'd come from his own battle. He paused for a moment, glancing at her, chuffing softly. He was not angry with her, his fury, his rage, was elsewhere directed. With three snaps of his jaws did he lay low the warriors, dropping them where they stood and devouring their spirits before her eyes. Then he turned his gaze upon the man, Ven, son of the Oathbreaker.

Iamia knew only a moment before what was about to happen, eyes widening. Then Wolf leaned forward and sunk his spectral teeth into Aurilus. The man screamed as phantom pain overwhelmed his physical hurts, glaring at her for a moment as the source of it. Then, like a pup opening his eyes for the first time, he Saw. His face paled as he saw, for an instant, the bloody form of Wolf before him...then he collapsed.

Wolf stood over him a moment more before turning, nosing Iamia, and then walking past her into the unspoiled woods. She knew, without question, what Wolf wanted. With shaking hands she moved toward Aurilus and began removing his armor. He would have questions when he woke and she would do her best to answer them. After all, she would be his guide in transitioning into this new life he was to live. Iamia didn't even bother to guess at Wolf's purpose, bringing the son of the Oathbreaker into the Pack. But she would follow his instructions.

She was a servant of the spirits and she would do as she was bidden. Aurilus would be one of them or they both would suffer for it.
---------------------------------------

Iamia Dunhallow, the pale wolf, only daughter of a murdered lord. Tasked now to turn the son of the enemy into a worthy member of the Pack. This is the story she would tell.
---------------------------------------------

Well everyone, the time is finally here to make a choice. Which story do you want to hear? Do you wish to hear Corin's path, Velv's path, or Iamia's path? Discuss, theorize, and most importantly voice your reason's why. Poll will be up in two days.

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PostPosted: Sun Aug 18, 2013 9:26 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Yes! I was looking forward to this! True to form, Rai you've splendidly written all the chapters. You've created an impression of a rich world, filled with interconnecting yet separate plots. All the primary characters are very well fleshed out, and they are all nicely distinct from another. The only downside now is we have to choose only one of them!

I haven't yet decided whether I want to see Corin's or Iamia's story. I'll decide once the poll's up! Very Happy


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PostPosted: Tue Aug 27, 2013 11:16 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Poll finally up!
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PostPosted: Wed Sep 04, 2013 10:20 pm    Post subject: I Think. . . . . . Reply with quote

*Bounces around room happily* I really love this, it is quite entertaining and fascinating. I'm glad I've gotten caught up again! Keep up the amazing work.
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PostPosted: Mon Aug 25, 2014 6:37 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Chapter Two: Awaken Reborn

There are few things in this life as important as awakening. If you never open your eyes, you can accomplish nothing
~Bal Frigan, Denmother

-------------------------------------------------------

She'd sat with him for months now. Through fever and now through fugue. She'd come to know his body better than he had as he'd lain, an invalid, in her den. Away from the prying eyes of the Pack and from the grasping talons of her middle brother. The Warsinger's fury had known no bounds and Iamia had been shocked at the depth of his madness. Had the Serpent touched his heart and wound his spirit in her coils? She saw no evidence the most difficult of spirits had approached her middle brother and yet he acted like one who suffered from the Kiss of Venom.

To be fair, Corin had not been pleased either. The Alpha had stood, gazing at her, beyond her, with a deeply pained look on his face as she'd explained that the All Father had come. Unlike their middle brother, Iamia and Corin shared the Sight, he could see Wolf's marks all over Ven's body. While he'd never be a shaman, he could understand the difficulty Iamia now faced, the pressure that the spirits had placed on the pack as a whole. An honor and a curse that Wolf left at their doorstep. His commands to his pack had been absolute and final. Iamia would teach the Oathbreaker's son and the pack would aid and assist...even if all that meant was that they kept the Warsinger away from the newest 'pup'.

For months Ven hadn't woken. He'd sweated as every fiber of his being was assaulted by the power of the spirit. Iamia had labored with all the assistance Stag and Hind had been able to offer, the spirits keeping her abilities bolstered even when her body had wanted to drop, working healing magic into the former human's body to keep him from simply dying mid-transition. Even after the fever had broken and his body had settled he had refused to wake. She'd sponged his body, keeping him clean, replacing the mosses he laid on when he soiled them. She'd carefully spooned broths and gruel down his throat to keep him from wasting away. She'd moved his limbs so that they did not stiffen, that the tendons did not lock in position and cripple him.

Then it had happened. He'd groaned, stirred, and opened eyes as blue and bright as robins' eggs, as unfocused and lost as a newborn. Sitting back Imaia had given him the space to get his bearings. It was a credit to him that he didn't flail about, that he didn't shout or try to jump. Instead he lifted his hand to his shoulder, where Wolf's great jaws had clamped down on him, running his hand over the skin. It was smooth and unbroken but white spots decorated his skin where each of the teeth had gone in, like daubs of paint forever a part of him, color forever leeched away. He'd closed his eyes then and dropped his hand away, his breathing the only betrayal of his outwardly calm demeanor, his racing heartbeat loud in her ears.

He hadn't spoken for another month beyond that wakening. He'd accepted her offers of clothing with mute thanks. Save for the amulet he'd worn. When she'd tried to return that he'd cast it into the fire with all the strength his weakened body had been able to muster, a pitiful amount for the kin he now was but a not inconsiderable amount for the man he had been. She hadn't bothered to retrieve it, leaving it glinting among the ash and embers. When he felt like retrieving it, when reconciling who he was with who he had been, he'd retrieve it himself. That still had not happened and each meal Iamia cooked in her hearth, her eyes were drawn to the winking gold that grew ever more charred with each passing day.

She hadn't needed his words to understand him though, he was an expressive man whether he knew it or not. When he was confused his brows would draw in, the corners of his mouth turning down slightly. When he understood his chin would lift and his eyes narrow slightly. When he was angry every glance and gaze was imbued with a sharpness, the very movements of his eyes like narrow blades of ice. Cool, short, and sharp. His joy was the hardest to detect, perhaps the only indication he was enjoying himself a softening of the muscles at the corner of his eyes. All told Iamia was grateful for his month of silence. If he'd spoken she'd have relied on his words to tell her what she needed to know about him. This way was much better for her, words lied but it was much harder for a body to do so.

Her den wasn't a large one but she'd had time to move a few things out of her spare room to make a space for him. He'd need his privacy, somewhere he could go to come to terms with things. She'd had help moving a bed in for him, nothing fancy, barely better than a legion cot, but he wouldn't be staying with her forever. He was with her long enough to learn, to see, to be taught what he needed to know. Then he'd either move into the warrior's den or he go and find himself a mate and they would build a den together. Or there was always the possibility he'd leave the pack either to try and return to his own people or to go rogue. She'd tried to impress upon him that those were both bad options. Going rogue would only open him to attacks from the mindless ones and the remnants of old horrors that stalked the wilds. Going back to his people...she didn't need to explain that to him.

Still, she hadn't been prepared for the silence to break. It had come yesterday, over the evening meal. Iamia had spent the morning and early afternoon with Ven, continuing the lessons on herblore she'd been giving him. He'd been so unwilling to leave her den that she hadn't been able to begin teaching him about their society...it was hard to explain without examples for her. So instead she'd been teaching him about herbs and how to prepare them, putting him to work making bundles, packets, and powders for her. It had certainly sped up her ability to make remedies for the various ills regeneration didn't cure.

In the late afternoon though, Corin had called for her. She'd left Ven eating his lunch, telling him she'd be back soon enough. Her meeting with her eldest brother had gone well enough, she still didn't have any of the answers to the questions that Corin was most anxious about. She couldn't tell where Ven would fit into the pack yet, be it warrior, shaman, or craftsman. He had a talent with herbs and he learned things swiftly enough, but he'd been a soldier before all this and a soldier he could still be. There was also the question of Ven's strength that she could not answer. She could not tell her brother if the youngest son of the Empire of man was a rival nor could she rule it out. It was the one thing Iamia feared. Corin would be a fool to let another alpha male live in his pack. It could lead only to conflict as one would inevitably seek to depose the other.

Corin had enough trouble with Velv as it was and Velv was only a beta...well perhaps not only. Iamia was uncertain if Velv's madness didn't stem from his failure to be an alpha, or if it was what prevented him from being one. Many of the other qualities were there and there had been alpha males smaller than Velv. But for whatever reason her middle brother fell short of the mark. As for Iamia herself...while she'd tested the limits of her abilities as a shaman the abilities of her self and her wolf had never been pressed. She was comfortable where she was though, a vague grey-area somewhere between beta and delta. She'd rather be respected for abilities other than her physical ones anyway.

Such were the thoughts on her mind as she returned from her meeting with Corin when she was cornered just outside her den by a wild-eyed Velv. He'd been drinking again, which never ended well. There was plenty of liquor in the dens just now, the stores set up from the previous summer having finally become drinkable. He'd barred the entrance, smiling at her, his yellow-green eyes alight. "Dearest sister, come from the lord's own table are we? How fares the Lord Dunhallow? I trust he's in the best of health of course, enjoying the choicest bits of every kill. But is he troubled? Does our unwelcome guest still weigh on his mind?"

"Velv, you need to quit doing this to yourself. Come inside and I'll make you a tea." It hurt her to see her brother like this, a poor image of the kin she knew he was. Not just because of the drink but because of whatever it was affecting his mind. Once again though, he denied her help.

"Oh no thank you. I'd hate to impose. You've got enough to deal with don't you? Wouldn't want to disappoint the All Father now would we?" He gave a mirthless smile and leaned forward. "So tell me dearest sister, how is your charge? Still mute? Or have you found a way to loose his tongue and just not told us yet?"

Iamia bristled, not just at the way he'd said it but where his glance had dropped, the implications of it all. Why was Velv doing this to her? First he'd driven Corin away and now here he was, implying that she'd bed Ven. No. It wasn't her brother...when she was done with this charge laid on her Iamia vowed she'd discover just what had poisoned Velv. Be it a malady of the spirit, a curse of the Old Ones, a sickness, or perhaps he really had just gone mad. "Don't treat me like you treat Corin. Don't be so petty. You know me better than that. Why he doesn't speak is as anchored in his own reasons as why you feel the need to verbally flay your kin is anchored in yours."

For a moment there was a pain in Velv's eyes, whether from the veiled insult or because he actually felt remorse for his words. Then it was gone and the leer grew wider. "I'm not being petty, plenty of males around here question why Iamia Dunhallow is so cold. If it took a little southern sun to thaw you out then-"

He'd emerged from the den then, blue eyes cold and pale blond hair almost washed grey by the purple hues of dusk. He'd looked fragile compared to Velv despite the differences in their build. Velv was a naturally slender wolf, built for speed with his long limbs and sinuous muscles. Aurilus Ven was broader of shoulder and deeper of chest but months of waste had taken their toll. Still he stood there, clearly angry as he looked at Velv. "Apologize."

His speech had taken both of them slightly by surprise. Iamia because it was the first word she'd heard him say since the day the All Father had brought him into the pack. Velv for undecipherable reasons. But when the shock wore off he laughed, raising an eyebrow at the taller man. "Or what, you'll make me?"

"No, but you'll regret not doing so when you start seeing hate in your sister's eyes." With that he moved back inside the den, closing the door behind him.

The silence had stretched between Velv and Iamia then. The Warsinger's face had been a mask, nearly emotionless as his maddened mind grappled with the other man's words. Iamia had wondered if the advice had come from experience and if so who gazed upon Ven with hate?

Finally Velv turned to her, eyes downcast. "I am sorry Iamia. I don't want to hurt you. But I just..." His voice was so low, so raw, lacking the power and elegance that made Velv what he was. He struggled to find words for a moment, then snorted, laughing a little, his whole posture changing as he picked his gaze back from the earth. "That's enough grovelling for one night. Goodnight fair sister. Till next time."

Puzzled by Velv and worried for him, Iamia had tried to engage Ven in conversation but he'd resisted speaking the rest of the evening. He hadn't spoke the next morning, nor afternoon. Iamia sat stirring the stew pot for tonight's dinner, lost in thought as it bubbled. The man was perplexing. Why had he come to her defense only to go silent again? Why ignore all her attempts at conversation? Did it hurt him to speak? If so she could brew a tea that would help, she was sure of it.

"You've gone quiet."

She stopped stirring and turned to look at him, watching as he fed a few more dried crayberries into the mortar, working the pestle gently to grind them into a fine powder soon after. As if sensing her gaze he glanced up, eyebrows raised slightly.

She sighed, stirring the pot again. "You weren't responding."

He shrugged, tapping the crayberry powder into the jar marked for it and stoppering it up. "That hasn't stopped you before."

She sighed. "Before I was concerned that the All Father made you mute, so while I waited for a response I never expected one. It's far harder to talk to someone you know capable of speech and never receive any in return than it to talk to someone who cannot speak. The stew is ready."

He fetched the bowls, holding them steady while she ladled the mixture into them, handing her her preferred bowl when she was ready for it. He then moved back to his usual seat, stirring his dinner to help it cool a little. "I'm sorry. I thought it would be wiser to listen. I tend to stop thinking when I open my mouth and right now the last thing I need to do is stop thinking."

She stared at him, looking for all the visual clues she'd come to rely on to talk to him, to evaluate how he felt. The apology was genuine and right now that was good enough for her. "That was wise. Still, now things must change. I cannot keep you hidden away in my den and my brother has questions he needs answered. You don't need to fear Corin...he's different from Velv. All he wants is your honesty and your respect."

Ven looked up from his bowl. "Velv...that was the one outside last night? The one who thought I was taking advantage of you?"

She laughed a little at that, pressing the back of her hand to her mouth. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have laughed. You were very serious in your defense of me and I think you for that. But he was rather crudely voicing a very different opinion. I am a shaman...you could no more take advantage of me than you could take advantage of a stone."

"Lady Iamia some of the men I've met in my life would gladly take advantage of a stone as long as there was a hole in it." He seemed to suddenly realize what he'd said because despite her bright laughter his neck flushed. "You see what I said about not thinking..."

She reined in her laughter, giving him a few moments to get over his discomfort. "Be that as it may, that was not what Velv was suggesting. Don't worry yourself about it though, my brother is not sound of mind lately but he will not let me examine him. I cannot force him to take my help but I will wait until he does. Still, tomorrow we have much to do. I've told you as much as I can...but there is so much more I cannot explain without showing you. Everything from pack ranking to the change itself. We have to meet my brother, get you fitted for a talisman, everything."

Tomorrow would be busy indeed.
--------------------------------------------

Tomorrow Ven will finally be set free from the den and out into the pack itself. While he's been convalescing, rumor has had plenty of time to spread. How will the pack greet him? How will they treat him? What surprises might be in store for him? I can't wait to hear your suggestions.
-----------------------------------------------

Sorry it took so long everyone, being busy is no excuse. Going to try and be more regular with this one, starting now. Thanks for reading!

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Which path?
Corin's path.
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 0%  [ 0 ]
Velv's path.
0%
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Iamia's path.
100%
 100%  [ 2 ]
Total Votes : 2
Who Voted: PopeAlessandrosXVIII, sagittaeri

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