Author: Shiloh Kyrie, Posted: Wed Dec 19, 2018 7:34 PM, Post Subject: Men Who Cry Wolf [P]

Even without divinity their whispers could be heard loud and clear. So he was going to send for help, was he? They would see about that… Instead of stopping the messenger, Shiloh instead chose to hitch a ride in the man's shadow–letting the elder watch helplessly as the man unknowingly became a harbinger of destruction. With Walter out of immediate danger, it was time to pay a visit to Norre. With a twist of cruel irony, it could be said that they had brought Misfortune upon themselves and had no one else to blame. The messenger ran and ran, over the slopes and hills towards the village. Breathless, he finally arrived at the settlement's edge gasping for air. Those who recognized him came to ask him what was the matter, and while he was unaware terrible things began to emerge from behind. Before he could ask why their faces had paled, thick miasma began to swirl about them, growing larger to envelop the surrounding buildings. The winds began to howl, and dark thunderheads congregated over in the sky.

From outside it looked like a massive supercell storm was brewing, building momentum for a massive deluge. Trees were bending and flailing in the winds, animals screaming in panic. Birds left while they still could, even small vermin like rats took shelter underground. Horses were trying to break out of their stables to escape the incoming disaster. Under the effect of the miasma, all the villagers were beset by horrific nightmares and hallucinations of their worst fears. Cries of fear and terror were drowned out by the wailing gusts sweeping through the streets like banshees. Standing in the midst of it all Shiloh watched unblinking, eyes burning with barely-contained fury. Thunder crashed and lightning flashed above as her emotions were spiraling out of control. Deep-seated misanthropy and resentment were rising to the surface. For a moment she thought of burying them all. They wanted her to do it. They were demanding that she do it! Those half-whispered fragments of broken hearts and slivers of shadow from the darkest parts of man she had swallowed were all crying in unison for retribution.

Norre would not be missed! For their willful ignorance they would pay! They would bear the weight of the sins of their elder, for even allowing such a greedy man to rise to power in the first place! They would suffer! Suffer unto their third and fifth generations! They would beg and grovel in the dirt for the sweet release of death!

'Burn her! Burn the heretic! Hang her and have her tried for treason! Execute her for bringing misfortune and disaster upon our fair country!' 'She's a jinx, a curse on us all!' 

Looking up at the churning storm, she was hearing the old voices of the past. How she hated people like that. People who were too afraid or ignorant to think and too quick to place the blame on someone else. Blaming what they couldn't understand on innocent beings who never had a chance to defend themselves. She had tried being patient with them, educating them, and even giving them a chance to reconsider. But just like the stubborn humans they were, they never listened. No more kindness. No more mercy. If they could not choose for themselves, then she would do it for them. Reversing the flow of fortune, each and every one of the inhabitants of Norre began to relive the experiences of every person they had wronged in their life. Would they be able to survive the crushing weight of others' misfortune?

Within their minds she planted the thought of how their dear elder was cheating them all, forcing a suggestion to depose him and strip him of all his possessions. To those who held loyalty to the man she ignited discontent. Why should one man dictate how they lived their lives? Why did he deserve to live wearing gold and silver on every finger? What good had he brought them, and how much did he take? Wouldn't Norre be better off without him? If they were honest folk, then to Inferos with the wolves. Wolves they couldn't always catch, but the elder was always there in their midst–fleecing them year after year. 'When we see him, we will make him pay what is due.' She said to all of them. 'When we see him we will have justice.' They weren't going to let him have his way anymore.

The storm subsided and the winds abated. Shiloh's boiling rage had fallen to a simmer. No one was physically hurt, but the damage was done. They would forget about the wolves and attend to the leech drinking off their coin purses. And as a last parting thought in their minds, she suggested that he must be kept alive. Once a person was dead, it was all over. If they wanted him to confess to his crimes he had to still be breathing. The miasma fading, Norre fell into silence as the people recovered. With her plain appearance, they were too busy regaining their grip on reality to notice. 

Author: Kraken, Posted: Sun Dec 9, 2018 11:47 AM, Post Subject: Men Who Cry Wolf [P]

Brenna tasted the bitter, rusty taste of blood in her mouth. It was warm and foul, and the mercenary spat it out as she clambered to her feet, bastard sword now used as a crutch on which to steady herself. She hadn't been hit hard so far as she could tell; it transpired that she had bitten her tongue, a result of being jolted by the forces of magic- the Hands Shiloh had summoned. She rubbed the numbness from her arm as Shiloh talked. "You call this 'a little'?" Brenna said sardonically. Looking around, it was hard to imagine what world the deity lived in. Men, those of the hunting party and the elder's posse, were strewn about the place. Most moaned and grumbled, feeling pain in places that no longer showed the marks of Shiloh's judgement. Nearly all of those gathered lay in different states of distress; spread-eagled or curled up, semi-conscious or completely out of it, only a few cowardly -or smart- men remained standing. All of them stood by their Elder, a man who now shook with either fear or rage. Brenna could see madness in his eyes. She ignored him. "Oh, I think you've taught them shame, m'lady." Brenna said, excitedly happy and dauntingly shocked that she hadn't been thrown in with the rest of them. "And they have morals. It's just…they've just…been led astray. These are desperate times, and times like these bring out the worst in people." Brenna didn't know how truthful her words were or whether they'd have any sway on the deity. She suddenly felt nervous, pre-battle shakes setting in, making her curse inwardly. Why am I defending these people? She wondered, the answer already unearthed the moment she locked eyes with the Elder. Because they're not the problem. He is. The missing livestock, the human footprints, the paw prints, the wealth he displays. It's all connected, it has to be. It wasn't difficult to piece everything together. At least, she thought it wasn't. Perhaps delirium had set in or perhaps she had hit the nail on the head. Plenty of silver to be had through cattle rustling, and there are always men of ill-repute ready and willing enough to do the deed, and silence anyone who squeals. Besides, wolf's paws are considered as lucky as tails or rabbit's feet; make for good talismans. Sell well, and it's easy to blame animals that can't defend themselves vocally. In a sudden wave of clarity, Brenna shifted her gaze from the paunchy elder to the wiry frame of Shiloh, bitterness making her voice quiver. "They're good people. It's a shame I can't say the same for a certain few." Implication, plant the seed of suspicion, stoke the flames. The elder watched as the two conversed, suspecting, though, not quite knowing what the two were talking about. Still, he got the jist of it soon enough. 

"They know? How can they know? I haven't let it slip…there's no proof…" "What was that, elder?" A villager asked. "Nothing, nothing, m'boy. Be a good lad, go back to the village and rally those of noble heart. Tell them…'their elder needs them!'" The villager turned to flee, leaving the trio alone save for a handful of incapacitated fools. What happens now? The mercenary wondered, wary of the elder, and whatever new deceit he was stirring up. 

Author: Shiloh Kyrie, Posted: Thu Nov 29, 2018 1:42 PM, Post Subject: Men Who Cry Wolf [P]

She was back in Marhaven again, surrounded by armed guards with pikes and shields. Banners and plumes in the colors of the city watch. No, she was in Whitebarrow. Townsfolk with axes, shovels, and swords were hounding her down as she took flight and she was causing as much destruction of crates and barrels as she could to slow them down. No, she was in the Highlands–but the feeling was still the same. They were trying to hunt down a person she considered as close as family. The sole of her boot rammed into a man's chest, knocking him back flat onto his backside. All senses were open and the sounds of battle became muted. Her shadows caught a few men trying to escape from the side and dragged them back in for another beating. They were going to live, but they'd be in a world of pain while they still breathed. Killing them would be too easy, too cheap for a punishment. If they died they would go straight to Dalanesca, and she wasn't planning on having that happen. They would live and they would learn. It would be an important lesson.

Shiloh saw one man fall unconscious, head bleeding from the impact. Without a second thought she was beside him, and stabbed the bloke with the obsidian-lacriamium sword. He wasn't dead yet, and he wasn't going to be after this was over. They would remember. "You are going to live," She whispered chillingly into a man's ear. "You are going to live and remember for the rest of your life." "Shiloh!" Someone was calling her name. She didn't recognize the voice. Nobody knew who she was. Only Walter did and he was gone. Branches were snapped as they circled to snare the remaining hunters still awake enough to run. "Shiloh." The voice again, closer this time. The face of the Highlander woman came into her sight as the blades went their way. Fear, apprehension, worry, regret, the glance of second thoughts written on the face. Shock, surprise, terror, anxiety as she was pulled into the air by her feet.

"Stop this madness, please!"Stop. They were begging her to stop. Walter's face flashed before her mind, then Nerine's, then the face of her husband. No more bloodshed. No more killing. No more hatred. Those words made all of her attacks come to a sudden halt, the shadowy limbs dropping everything they had in their grasp. She took a good look at the Highlander woman's face. 'Polecat…don't take it all out on everyone. Not all of them wanted to skin me alive.'  It was her. She was the one Walter said took the pendant and wrestled the spear away from the kid before they stuck the tracker with it. If there was one person the deity was willing to listen to it would be Brenna, but only because the lycanthorpe had put in a good word for her. The rest had blood on their hands. "It's funny… When I asked for you to stop, nobody was willing to listen to me. But as soon as I start throwing people around a little everybody screams." Turning to look at the 'survivors', she noticed there were some absent. "It doesn't matter if you know who I am. You'll still try to kill me. After all, I'm not Dalanesca. The insects knew who she was and they still killed her. You are a godless bunch without morals or shame. I understand now–your god is money, and you'll do anything for it. Well let's see how far you're willing to go." 

Did they have enough of pain and suffering, or were they still able to take more? The elder was a lost cause, there was no use talking with him. Physical torture wasn't going to hit him hard the way it did for others. The only way to hurt a man covered in gold was to take a stab at his coinpurse, and make sure he couldn't patch it up. But being a person of power and influence meant she couldn't just raze his possessions to the ground. The greedy boar would just leech off of the rest moaning how pitiful he was and nothing would change. No, she'd kick him off his high horse and then let the rats eat a hole in his pockets. Maybe the people of Norre would then be able to pick up what spilled from his coffers.  

Author: Kraken, Posted: Thu Nov 29, 2018 10:33 AM, Post Subject: Men Who Cry Wolf [P]

Brenna planted herself facefirst in the dirt, her arms failing to catch her as the magic that bound her finally dispersed. Through the shouts and panicked hollering she heard the distinct sound of blades being bared. It made her skin prickle. The mercenary, covered in mud and slightly angry, raised herself up, strained muscles burning their dissent through her body. Gods above! She cursed, inwardly, pale eyes beholding a scene of utter chaos. The huntsmen and villagers -a mass of poorly trained, ill-experienced peasants- rose to the bait of silver like pigs feeding on leftovers. Desperation, greed, fear, pride; strange influences that achieved the same purpose: The Elder's purpose. The group shouted, and charged. Some went straight for Shiloh, others angled towards the forest after the wolf. It was clear what they wanted from the way they ran and whistled- they wanted blood. 

Finding her feet, Brenna aired steel. It wasn't anything special; a bastard sword forged by some blacksmith or 'nother in a far-off land. It's job was simple, and it did it well, Brenna knew, taking off after the latter group planning to track and kill the wolf which had fled. Not on my watch. She promised herself, catching 'the youth' -who was partly responsible for this mess- by his collar. It didn't take much to drag him backwards, and before he could figure out what was going on, Brenna had put a boot to his backside. He stumbled and fell. "What the hell?!" He cursed, rolling to his feet. "What're you doing?!" He bellowed at Brenna. He had misplaced his spear during the fall, and the sight of the bastard sword poised brought him up short. 

"Saving your life," the Highlander replied, "not that it's worth much. Go on. Go!" She said, fending away the youth. "Go back to Norre, and take these men with you." She pointed at the men who'd seen the scuffle and given up the chase, for now. They'd come to help, but now they milled about, aimlessly. Behind the youth's back, the Elder's group was being torn to pieces. Well, not literally. Brenna shot a wary glance over his shoulder, seeing the gleam of swords and hearing the whistle as they split blood. Then the unnatural, hollow whir as the second sword found flesh, and healed those it touched. Men screamed piteously as they were cut or stabbed, going down or reeling away clutching wounds that no longer existed. Near-transparent arms of whirling smoke from the mud and dirt to snatch at passing villagers. Men were hurled with unnatural strength, or slapped aside as they made to blindside the deity. One thug, a man Brenna recognized as Redbeard, hit the ground some feet away from her, the hard landing knocking him unconscious. His head lolled to one side, the scalp split open and bloody. The group cringed away. 

"All of you, get outta here!" Brenna shouted, trying to force them away, beckoning for them to leave. "This is more hassle than it's worth. Forget the wolf. Forget this…stranger, I'll deal with her. Just get back to Norre and don't even consider coming back!" The last was said in warning, one which the group heeded as they disappeared. The elder ranted at them as they passed, calling them cowards and promising retribution for such…selfish acts of self-preservation. Not that anyone was dying. Brenna scoffed, and steeled herself as she approached Shiloh. She wasn't sure why she'd helped the villagers…or the wolf for that matter. But it felt right, and that was good enough for her. 

"Shiloh!" She shouted, calling the deity by her name. Even here men had heard that name, and realized what it implied. That didn't stop their attempts to kill the strange lass, nor did it stop them from being mercilessly and systematically cut down. They attacked, and flinched, and squirmed as invisible wounds made them ball up into fetal positions. Some blacked out from the pain, others endured it, voicing their hatred for feeling such sensations. Brenna flinched too, narrowly avoiding a balled-up fist made of magic. "Shiloh." She said, quieter this time, getting to within arm's reach before the blades turned on her. The Highlander parried one, rushing to meet the other. Her arm went numb as she caught the second, her blade sparking as it met her opponent's. Damn, another repair that needs doing. The thought was so out of place that it surprised her. And that was when the arm snatched her legs out from under her. 

A raised katana made her shield her face, suddenly terrified. "W-wait!" Brenna cried, scrabbling in the dirt for her absent sword, knowing it was too late. "Stop this madness, please!"   

Author: Wilderwald, Posted: Fri Nov 23, 2018 10:09 PM, Post Subject: Men Who Cry Wolf [P]

He was afraid of this. It was the reason why the wolf was so nervous when he was around people or in towns. People hated werewolves because all they knew were horrible monsters that killed without a thought, by a madness brought by the moon. And those who weren't killed were cursed with the same thing that transformed their attackers. Most folk didn't remember the kindly ones who were between man and beast, the ones who kept to themselves and helped those who were lost. Men like his father, and his father's father before him. And the way things were turning, if someone didn't change the path they were going it would only be a matter of time before Shiloh's patience ran out. Shiloh had been holding it in ever since she found him bleeding from his stomach. The Highlanders didn't see it but Shiloh was trying to give them a chance, to learn and think farther than they had before. Sylvain and Auron told him what Shiloh was capable of when pushed to the edge, and he knew the deity didn't enjoy killing people despite the way she acted.

The only reason why she bothered to explain the important role of wolves was because she cared about these people, she wanted them to make themselves better. But her words fell on deaf ears. These weren't the people who cared about books or things scholars knew. If they didn't understand something, they feared it. When the elder set a bounty on their heads, Walter saw disappointment in her eyes behind that stony expression. That small spark of hope that the townsfolk would see reason died when they started taking up arms. They were willing to silence them and cover this up just for a handful of silver. Shiloh was right when she attempted to goad the bystanders to turn on the elder; if Norre was wealthy they wouldn't be this desperate over a loss of a few animals. Twenty silver wasn't a particularly large sum, but a fortune to those who had nothing. 

"I see…" Disappointment crept into her voice as her eyes lowered to the ground. The hint of sympathy faded from the eerie lack of emotion in her voice. "…I guess you all want to die. That can be arranged." Walter began to panic when he heard it, and she was already wielding two swords at the ready. No! NO!

At once the paralysis holding everyone else stopped as the deity began warming up for a fight. "I heard a man was sold out by his blood brother for twenty silvers–looks like he wouldn't be the only one." "Polecat…" The lycanthorpe called to her with a warning in his voice. She looked back at him. "Don't worry, as much as it'd make me feel better I won't wipe Norre off the map." That assurance didn't ease his worries as she was out for blood. No longer holding back, Shiloh likely would beat them all within an inch away from death. In his mind Shiloh's voice spoke to him with a different message: 'Walter, run. You're faster than them–they won't be able to catch you, I won't let them. Greyson and Niall will be alright, stay safe.' Wolves ran faster than any human could without magic. Right away he bolted back through the woods, as fast as his legs could take him. But before he left he told Shiloh something about the people who had been standing around him when he was caught by the net. There was a Highlander woman who had taken the necklace Shiloh had given him; if there was one person who was worth giving a second chance it would be her.

As the clearing disappeared behind, he heard the deity let out a terrible battle cry and brandish metal. The blades she held were the wind-cutting sword and the strange one made from lacriamium fused to obsidian. As the people rushed to chase after him and go for her head, Shiloh blocked them off with a wave of shadowy hands emerging from beneath. The arms grabbed anything that moved and tossed them around like dolls, pulling people close for her to hit with her blades. The first cuts came from the katana drawing blood, the second cuts healed the wounds as the dual-edged sword bit into flesh. None of the wounds she was inflicting were intended to be fatal, but they sure felt just as bad.

Author: Kraken, Posted: Fri Nov 23, 2018 3:30 PM, Post Subject: Men Who Cry Wolf [P]

The Elder looked on, perplexed. "What is she ranting on about?"  He asked in a quiet aside to one of his followers. The villager in question just shrugged, as bewildered by Shiloh's speech as the Elder was. "Everyone knows wolves are evil. Says so in the scriptures, doesn't it?"  The villager asked, never having learnt to read. The Elder nodded. "O' course!" He whispered, answering the man's question as vaguely as possible. The Elder, despite being a man of great wealth and standing, had never learned to read either. He hired scribes for the job. What use were words anyway? 

Unfazed by Shiloh's demeanor -through either sheer ignorance or incomprehensible bravery, I can't decide- the Elder stared at the deity as if she were some sort of fiend that'd crawled it's way out of hell to torment his land. None of what she'd said had made any sense to him, but he nodded along as if such simple thoughts and facts were beneath him. When she was done, he scoffed in derision, beckoning his charges to do the same. There was a halfhearted rumble from the group that faltered and died in a heartbeat. The Elder thrust a fat, sausage-like finger at Shiloh, fire in his voice. And nothing between those big, red ears of his, it seems. "Bah! What nonsense you spew. Listen to the wench, my good people. She presumes to tell us what to do, thinks to be-bestow upon us wisdom we do not already possess. Hmph!" He spat in her general direction. "We know what wolves do, miss. We know how things work. What do you think would happen if we weren't around to keep 'em in check?" He shook his head, acting as if he was too smart for the stranger with the unnatural powers and scary expression. He knew that was not the case, but wasn't willing to cede the point in front of his pea-…his villagers. 

"Y''know what I think, good people?!" He asked, raising his voice so that all present could hear him. "I believe these…strange attacks on our steadfast have been not the workings of wolves, but of this…witch!"  He turned on her in a blind rage, idiocy and pride overriding all his base instincts. How could he not see the power and magic she controlled? The threat she posed? One small act of benevolence and this whole unfortunate affair would be over, Brenna reckoned, struggling against the invisible ties that bound her limbs in place. For a moment, raw strength and willpower helped her to raise her left arm to where the pendant grew hot and heavy over her pounding heart. Then, the magic took hold. Her limb snapped back into place, and the mercenary let out an annoyed huff. 

In the meantime, things proceeded at a pace too quick to follow. The Elder, having jumped a few acts right to the big finale, beseeched the crowd to action. He told them of foul magic and evil deeds, of a strange crone who could make wolves do her bidding. He told them of a vengeful witch who hated them for all they'd achieved, and what they had. He confessed to having knowledge on such beings for quite some time, talking of a vileness and wickedness that put murderers and four-legged beasts to shame. He gestured at Sholih erratically, thinking her to be such a person. The crowd, as always, listened halfheartedly. They knew he'd gotten way ahead of himself, that what he said made some sense, though, not enough to persuade them wholly. And then he mentioned silver…

"Twenty silver pieces to the man- or woman, who brings me that wolf's pelt. Another fifty to whoever brings me the harridan's head!" 

"No!" Brenna tried to shout, to no avail. She tried to free herself of the deity's paralysis. It didn't work. The crowd started forward, hesitantly, and there was nothing she could do but stand and watch. Please, no! 

Author: Shiloh Kyrie, Posted: Thu Nov 22, 2018 3:24 PM, Post Subject: Men Who Cry Wolf [P]

While they waited, Shiloh's initial rage cooled to a simmer. She sat in silence, eyes locked on them all. Hours passed, and to the relief of those trapped in paralysis the clop-clop of a four-legged animal approached. Footsteps added to the sound, and she rose to see a man like a bursting waterskin arrive with more reinforcements. She turned to look at them with a deadpan expression. So this was the Elder of Norre…this filled bladder of a man covered in pounds of jewelry. "Norre must be a very wealthy village if the elder can afford to wear gold on every finger." Her words dripped with sarcasm. "I doubt that Norre even needs to worry about losing a handful of animals." The deity knew the rest likely were barely hanging on, she intentionally said those words to stir up discontent among the man's underlings. The other Highlanders were wearing clothes that were coarse and made to last as long as possible. 

When the corpulent man noticed his men were physically unable to come close to her, he made a very foolish decision. Even cowards knew when to drop the act and beg, but not if they had more pride than fear. Instead of bargaining he decided to bluff. A dumb move when he had nothing to back up that hot air. When he called Walter a vicious cur, an unsettling grin crept across her face as she began to laugh. "Elder, don't you think you've got it backwards? The only vicious cur here, is me." Her face was smiling but her eyes sure weren't. Slowly, she walked towards the one man from the elder's group who was trapped in place. From her sleeve she produced a small dark colored pill. It was a special type of poison, used by some assassins to fake their death so their partners could sneak them out before they were executed. To untrained and uninformed individuals, the user looked as if they were dead. However, after a certain period of time they would revive without serious ill effects. The Karithians called it 'tortoise powder', as it sent the user into a dormant state.

She opened the man's mouth and forced him to swallow. In a matter of minutes, she released the paralysis on him and he started convulsing, falling to the ground like he was dead. Terror swept over everyone as they watched the Highlander's limp body go cold. Shiloh's face was impassive, knowing he'd be 'alive' again come tomorrow morning. Looking up at the crowd, she pointed her sword at each and every one. "That's strike one." She said with a chilling serenity. Going over to Walter, she began untangling him completely ignoring everyone else. Seeing the wound, she fished out a ruby and pearl brooch and put it on the wolf's paws. Whispering a few words in its ear, the paralysis on it was eased and the brooch did its work. The cut was healed, and the large gray wolf was able to stand again.

Having what she wanted, she turned back to the elder. "Oh I'll leave. But if anyone else in this region injures or kills this wolf again, I'll be paying them a visit in the dead of the night…when everything is peaceful and there's not a single person stirring. When nothing in the world could go wrong…I'll be there, waiting." She gave a few long moments to let the words sink in. "Do you know what happens when you kill all the wolves? Do you know what happens when you kill off the one other creature that feeds on the deer and elk? Sure, your herds and animals won't have to worry about getting killed. But you'll still starve, and so will the animals. Why? Because as soon as the wolves stop eating the deer, the deer will eat every plant and green blade of grass from here to the Bohar Plains. They'll strip bare the entire pasture, and move on to your fields. Like four-legged locusts, they will devour you all. The wolves, they only care about eating deer. As long as they can have that they can care less about your cows and sheep."

Walking in a circle, she continued. "You see, wolves are smart. They know if they eat your herds you'll come after them with hounds and weapons and kill every last one of them. They know as long as they stay away from humans, they can live. The only time they'd risk getting slaughtered is if they were absolutely desperate. I saw herds of deer reaching the hundreds on my way up here, so don't try and tell me those wolves were starving!" 

Author: Kraken, Posted: Mon Nov 19, 2018 12:58 PM, Post Subject: Men Who Cry Wolf [P]

The Elder of Norre proved to be quite an extravagant fellow, his garb of linens and silks as colorful as his vocabulary. Pot-bellied, and balding, he rode into the clearing on a donkey that looked -to Brenna, anyway- as if it was requesting the mercy of death through it's tired eyes. The Elder was a bulky man, and it was safe to say that the wolves weren't the only ones threatening Norre's food supply. A mob of folk trailed behind him, twenty or so Highlanders in wool and fur. Some among them carried weapons, but not many. Brenna sighed as she watched the procession come to a halt a few feet from Shiloh. Bound by some paralysis magic or 'nother, she couldn't move from the awkward position she found herself in. She held a dagger in her dominant hand, the razor-edged blade poised to sever a rope that was no longer there. She couldn't even turn her head to look, her gaze locked solely on Shiloh. 

Shiloh…What the hell is going on?!

Confusion and fear reigned supreme in the mercenary's mind; an aura of sheer, violent power radiated from Shiloh, her expression a promise of future pain. Unless we explain ourselves. Brenna tried turning her head to find the wolf, cut down from the branch-high net. She had taken it's necklace, a gift given to it… him by Shiloh, presumably. Fear welled up in her gut, and Brenna's fingers itched to feel steel in her hand. I thought that pendant looked familiar.  She blinked. There was no time for regrets.

"What is the meaning of this?!" The elder boomed, his voice a deep baritone. A ruby-inlaid chain bounced beneath his many pudgy chins as he dismounted. The donkey's legs buckled, and for a moment it seemed as if he would fall on his face. He got a foot down in time, and a trio of men had to steady him before he regained any semblance of composure. His hands were bedecked with rings of gold and silver; greedy didn't do him credit. He was a tight-fisted bastard, and Brenna was probably one of the few people there betting on Shiloh coming out of this… confrontation on top. 

"You there, madam, what do you think you're doing to my peas-…my people?" The Elder demanded, taking in the scene with a scowl. Damn fools, the Elder thought, can't keep themselves out of trouble. I'll give this wench a good hiding first, then deal with them. "My man hear tells me you appeared out of nowhere ranting and raving. Something to do with a wolf, that one there, I assume?" He pointed to the beast lying just behind the wall of paralyzed huntsmen. He clicked his fingers, and a Highlander started forward, but halted when he felt the shimmer of energy coming off of the deity in their midst. He paled. 

"Tell me: who're you to stop these men from doing their jobs? They're here, after all, on official business. Good, law-abiding folk, they are. As for you -some raggedy good-for-nuthin'- you're here to cause trouble. I can see it in your eyes. You're that kind o' person; no better than this vicious cur." He spat at the the wolf, which stirred. Brenna felt nauseous. Did this guy have any idea who he was dealing with? Could he not see the power this… being wielded? Brenna shut her eyes, trying in vain to reach beneath her cuirass and return the pendant to the lycanthrope before all hell broke loose. It was no good.

"Since I am a kind, magnani-…magnateous-…magnanimous," he stumbled over the word, "man, I'll give you a chance to leave these parts of your own freewill. Otherwise, I'll have no choice but to forcibly remove you from my domain, and trust me, I don't want that." He turned up his nose at her, clearly happy to have said his piece. 

Oh, Gods…

Author: Wilderwald, Posted: Mon Nov 19, 2018 12:18 AM, Post Subject: Men Who Cry Wolf [P]

They'd cut off the necklace Shiloh gave him after the first time they met. Still trapped in the ropes, he saw them look it over without much reaction. For a moment the lycanthorpe hoped that one of them would recognize the symbol and maybe let him go. But when the armed woman simply kept it herself that hope crumbled apart. He saw the one who had set up the trap, just a boy–come closer with a spear. The look in all their eyes brought back terrible memories of watching ordinary wolves being cut down when animals died and crops failed. People blamed them for disease, death, anything they couldn't explain. When he himself was a boy he remembered there being a particularly bad year and a few of the rougher town folk had dragged in a red she-wolf. It was scrawny, its fur shaggy with gangly long legs. His father and mother watched silently as it was dragged to Oak Hill by a rope with an injured foreleg. His mother couldn't watch and she turned him around so he wouldn't see. From then on his parents both made him promise to never shapeshift in front of others, no matter what. 

No matter how he braced for the pain, the jab from the spear caused him to yelp. Sharp iron was in his gut and the pain doubled when it was yanked out. Dark blood began matting his fur around the wound and he desperately tried anything to slow the bleeding. In between shallow breaths Walter heard the disappointment  when it wasn't a killing blow, then the high-pitched wail of a fox. His heart pounded in fear—Greyson! Leaving the camp put himself in danger! Then another familiar voice shocked him more than when he sprung the trap…Shiloh. Her voice was wild, screaming. There was terrifying look in her eyes, a look that no man or beast wanted to see because that would be the last time they'd be alive. It was the same look when a mother bear was robbed of her cubs, the same look from a tiger when another male tried to claim its territory, the same look when another beast tried to take an alpha's mate. A rage-induced bloodlust. This was the first time Walter had ever seen Shiloh this angry. Everything about her posture said she was a hair's breadth from being ready to spill blood. It was enough to form a deep-seated fear in the old tracker, stronger than being hunted and skinned like a dog. 

The Highlanders questioned her interrupting their 'hunt', brushing her off like a madwoman. Walter knew this wouldn't go over well and hackles were rising on the back of his neck. With stone-cold eyes she stared them down, slowly taking steps towards them. An intense pressure filled the atmosphere as she radiated killing intent; an oppressive intimidation that made it hard to breathe. "The moment you thought about killing that wolf, you made it my business." With her free hand, the lycanthorpe saw her pull out a huntsman's axe. The way she hefted the weapon meant she was intending to use it. A paralyzing fear overcame everyone present and the tracker felt his body go rigid. The eyes of the men standing around him were wide with terror as they found themselves completely unable to move. The pressure was intensifying and the tension was rising. Unblinking, she suddenly slashed at the air. A sharp wind tore a horizontal gash in the trees, slicing the rope securing the anchor to the net in the process. One part of the slash gouged a portion of the bark just hairs away from a man's neck. The paralysis holding their bodies eased up just enough to let that man turn his head to see just how close he was to losing it.

Walter hit the ground, clenching his teeth to hold back showing his pain. He saw all the color drain from that man's face. Shiloh's voice lowered, but still with the wild light in her eyes. "So that Elder of yours is responsible, is he? Now you all listen up and listen well. You go tell him to get over here before sundown–or else he'll be digging a new grave for every hour he comes late!" One of the Highlanders, the portly one called Redbeard was released from the paralysis. Baring her teeth Shiloh hissed at him, "Now get out of my sight!" The rest were trapped by the deity until the Elder of Norre came to take responsibility. 

Author: Kraken, Posted: Sun Nov 18, 2018 2:46 PM, Post Subject: Men Who Cry Wolf [P]

The wolf howled pitifully as the spear pierced it's belly, doing all it could do to avoid the well-honed point. A strong gust of wind and the wolf's frantic struggling set the net a-swaying, and the youth, expecting a clean kill, huffed as the spear blade pulled free. The wolf still lived. He made ready for another attempt, and Brenna considered stepping in, but decided against it. It wasn't her place to intervene. After all, it was a beast; a killer, just like them. The hunters had all made up their minds regardless of the words they'd shared prior. The wolf must die…and the search must continue. 

A noise sounded behind them, and Brenna turned quickly, a hand drawing her bastard sword halfway free before she checked herself. 

Shiloh Kyrie? Oh shit! 

Brenna recognized the deity almost instantly, even though she'd only laid eyes on her the once. It had been on Apoy Island, a day or so before she'd left to make the journey home. The battlefield had been cleared up, the bugs scattered or killed, and reconstruction had begun. Brenna, her talents no longer needed, had been boarding a ship to take her back to the continent. She had been on deck, and picked the deity out of a crowd onshore. She stands out, the mercenary remembered thinking, watching as the deity drew her sword. Brenna's eyes widened and her breath caught in her throat. What the f-…  "…What did you do to him?? I SAID WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?!!" Brenna took an involuntary step back. So to did the others. Confusion spread like wildfire through their ranks, and the youth, singled out by the deities' blade, paled visibly. The brown-haired Highlander looked on, baffled by the turn of events. 

"We…we was jus' takin' care of business." One of them said, unaware of who they were speaking to. As far as they were concerned, she was an armed stranger, crazed and dangerous. Not someone worthy of their respect…or perhaps, their admiration. "Yeah!" Redbeard piped up, dropping the food in his arms. "We was just killin' this wolf, y'see? He been causin' trouble for us. Killin' our folk." No, he hasn't. Brenna thought, remaining silent. "Besides, what concern is it o' yours, ey?" Oh gods! Brenna took another step back, a rushed glance over her shoulder revealing where the net was anchored to a tree. 

"Y-yeah." The youth chimed in, finally finding an extra reserve of willpower somewhere deep down. "We have permission from th' Elder of Norre to hunt these woods. Beasts have been attacking our people, and this is one of 'em 'ere!" He raised his bloody spear, the wolf in the net still struggling, still bleeding. You fool! Brenna thought, having silently reached the anchor, a drawn dagger drifting up to the rope. She had come to the conclusion that Shiloh knew the wolf in the net. No, not a wolf. A lycanthrope… Brenna tried to catch Shiloh's eye; she waited for the signal that would free the man-beast if it's hempen bonds. 

"So, now that ye know we're 'ere on official business like, you'd best be on your way traveler." Jeez, the stupidity of some people.   

Author: Shiloh Kyrie, Posted: Sat Nov 17, 2018 9:20 PM, Post Subject: Men Who Cry Wolf [P]

Frantically she kept running as Niall gave her directions holding her breath. Where was he? They had been going for miles and still nothing. Her worry was growing by the minute. "Ok make and turn to the right!" Shiloh looked back at her familiar. "That's straight into the wood!" Nevertheless she went ducking through the birch trees. Her pace slowed in the forest. Walking noiselessly the rogue began using the dowsing pendant in her hand. The ferret had his head out smelling the air for the lycanthorpe's scent. Both searched high and low, and they were ready to give up when she stumbled on a well-hidden camp for one. A whimper from below revealed Greyson, Walter's fox. The gray and white fox was nervous and fidgety, anxious. But Walter wasn't here.

"Hey, where's your owner? He hasn't come back?" She couldn't understand the animal's cries but the poor thing was scared. "He was still there with him before he fell asleep. That was…this morning." Shiloh began counting the hours. Hours had already passed so something was definitely wrong. Picking up the fox she put him in the knapsack with Niall. Then she heard it–a scream. Mixed with a howl it sounded almost…human. The next moment she was tumbling through scrub and brush, branches hitting her face and burrs sticking to her clothes. All her senses were on fire, her body moving faster than her mind. Several life signatures appeared in her field of vision with shouts and the sharp scent of blood. 

Bursting out from a brier patch Shiloh braced her fall with both hands before scrambling to her feet. It was a bad sight to see. Her entire being went numb when she saw the blood and a large wolf strung up surrounded by men with weapons. There was a fresh wound gaping from its belly. As soon as Greyson smelled the wolf's scent, he began to cry. Shiloh snapped. Drawing her sword she pointed it at the Highlanders. "…What did you do to him?? I SAID WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?!!" She was livid and screaming, sucking air in ragged breaths. Her eyes fell on a young man holding a bloody spear. That was Walter's blood. It was taking every last bit of restraint in her body to not strangle the sallow-faced sod in front of the others as an example. 

She was grinding her teeth and had a wild look in her eye. Adrenaline and rage were running through her veins. If any of them made another move on the wolf again she'd bury them up to their necks. "Answer me, or it's going to be an eye for an eye."

Author: Kraken, Posted: Sat Nov 17, 2018 2:51 PM, Post Subject: Men Who Cry Wolf [P]

"I told you he was big." The youth said, pride swelling his chest as he looked up at the wolf, the net constricting it's movement to the bare minimum. Brenna had to agree; he was a good size larger than most of his kind. The net swayed from side to side due to the wind and the wolf's vain attempts to free itself. It stilled as it realized all hope was lost. The mercenary felt a pang of pity, which was weird, all things considered. The fear in its eyes reminded her of Apoy, and Endapano. The fruitless struggling reminded her of all the bounties she'd carried out before this one- mostly ones where the mark was required dead rather than alive. She looked up at the beast, her face impassive despite the sudden surge of empathy. If she had been in the wolf's shoes -not that it wore shoes- she would've been feeling the same fear, the same shame at having been caught. 

It wanted to escape. The humans, those around her, wanted to kill it. 

"Shall I?" One of the Highlanders asked, raising his spear to prod the beast; a humiliating gesture that made the others laugh. "No," an older Highlander said, taking a firm hold the man's arm, "the kid has that honor. It's his net the beast is strung up in." The collective turned as one to look at the Youth who, in turn, looked at each of them. "What? Me?!" He pointed to himself. "But I-…but it-" The kid stared at the beast, a gleeful expression lighting his features. "Thanks, lads." He said, forgetting Brenna completely as he angled his own spear so that it would skewer the wolf. "Wait!" Brenna cried, dragging the spear aside as the youth made to lunge. The group sighed, their fun spoiled, and the youth turned on her angrily. "What?" He asked, trying to intimidate the mercenary with gruff tones. It didn't work. She tore the spear from his hands, and the glint in her pale blue eyes made sure he didn't protest.

The spear rose once more, this time angled differently so that it was aimed at the one thing that had captured Brenna's attention. A pendant. It came free, though, she couldn't avoid gouging a shallow cut in the beast's thick neck. She returned the spear having got what she wanted. She held the pendant up for all to see, and they all stared, some bewildered, others hungry. "Ever known a wolf to wear jewelry?"  She asked them. Nobody answered; it was a rhetorical question. "Oh, what does it matter?" The youth interrupted, making a grab for the necklace and failing. Brenna tucked it down the front of her leather cuirass, and the youth didn't press the issue. Instead he pointed his spear at the animal ensnared above their heads. "This here's a wolf, see it? Wolves kill our livestock, hunt the same game we do. Generally make life a misery for all good folk," he gestured about himself, some of the group nodding their agreement. "There's no room in this world for the two o' us. So, you know what we do abou' it?" The youth asked sardonically, staring at Brenna as if she were a child.

She smiled maliciously, which put a dampener on the youth's mockery. He took a step back, and continued. "We kill 'em!" 

"Just so you know, this beast isn't the culprit." Brenna interrupted, halting yet another of the youth's attempts at taking himself a trophy. "I doubt it's even been near your village before, let alone attacked your folk and slaughtered your lambs." The youth looked at her, exasperated. He put a hand on his hip, leaning on his spear like a crutch. "Everything we've found so far doesn't add up." She continued, gazing about herself at the gathered men. "The human footprints that belong to none of us, not even t'other village folk. Multiple tracks belonging to wolves, not just this one. The camp we discovered, the attacks!" She spread her arms wide; a confused gesture. 

"Have you ever known wolves to attack men unless hungry and desperate? Neither have I, and never in large o' numbers as this." In the last month, nearly a dozen men and women, experienced woodsmen all, had gone missing. All signs pointed to the wolf pack. Or bandits. Not a loner. "There's plenty of easier prey in these woods than us. The land teems with game, hells, I thought it was migration season?" 

"It is!" The old graybeard added helpfully. "Thank you." Brenna said equably. "Anyways, there's something at foot that goes way beyond this poor beast." She gazed up at the wolf. "And your village won't be safe until we figure out what."

"Oh, to hell's with this." The youth said, spinning to send his spear flashing upwards. Right at the wolf's belly.   

Author: Wilderwald, Posted: Sat Nov 17, 2018 1:58 PM, Post Subject: Men Who Cry Wolf [P]

Walter was trying not to panic, to not break down in fear. He should've tread more carefully following those rabbit tracks, now the worst had happened. There were many different types of traps hunters used to catch animals, from metal jaws that sprung shut to concealed pits. But one of the most difficult to get out of was a net. He tried to push the skinning knife out so he could reach, but even in his human form he could barely move without the net getting tighter. He was trapped in a bad position too so he wasn't able to use his limbs to prevent the ropes from constricting more. Thoughts were racing as the lycanthorpe tried to find another way out. If the trap was sprung someone would come check on it later, but when that happened which form would be the safest to be in? As a wolf he could be killed, skinned. As a man he might be able to give an excuse of carelessness. Unfortunately he had no time to shift back out of his beast form again when human voices shouted in the distance. If they caught him in the act of shifting they'd kill him for sure.

Greyson was still back at the half-face camp, and the fox wouldn't be able to find him now. He would be able to stay safe if he was hidden, and he had more than enough food for days. The large grey wolf scratched at the ropes with eyes wide in terror as footsteps came closer. There was no way he could call for help. Armed men, old and young surrounded him one by one. Looking up they were talking among themselves and tightening their grip on their weapons. The lycanthorpe's body froze up as his eyes darted back and forth. He could see the looks on their faces and overheard a few words that made his skin crawl. Gods, someone–anyone help him! All of his beast's instincts were screaming to run but didn't dare move. If he knew that help was potentially closer than he thought, maybe he would have had the boldness to howl.

To the hunters, mercenaries, and other Highlanders gathered around they only saw one of the largest wolves they'd ever seen. Those with a sharp eye would notice a metal necklace with some sort of pendant in a strange wheel-like shape in the fur around the wolf's neck. It was a token from the Steward of Antikythera that was given to all who were not her formal employees but had a connection with the deity. That was the only article of clothing that remained as it was in both of his forms. The forest was quiet as the cries of water birds passed in their flight overhead. 

Author: Kraken, Posted: Sat Nov 17, 2018 12:52 PM, Post Subject: Men Who Cry Wolf [P]

The 'Youth' set a staggering pace back through the forest, retracing his steps with an ease only a natural-born hunter could manage. Brenna followed hot on his heels, the other two hunters who she'd taken to calling Redbeard and Bowman jogging behind, their warm breath clouding in the cold. They moved at a jog through a forest of tall pines, fallen needles crunching underfoot. It was a dense forest, full of knee-high grass, brush and coarse bracken. It slowed them somewhat, but the youth led them with a keen eye, avoiding the worst of it. Their legs carried them further and further from the camp. Brenna still wasn't sure who or what that camp had belonged to. Their were too many conflicting facts at work, and way too many questions for this… bounty to be solved with the death of one wolf. In fact, it was safe to assume that the camp hadn't belonged to the captured wolf-man they were going to see. 

Something was off about this whole thing, and Brenna felt lost. 

Sidling up the youth as they ran, Brenna decided to voice a question. "So, is it just the one you've caught?" The youth turned to her, a look of surprise on his face, as if he was just meeting her despite the fact they'd been together for the last five minutes. "Yeah. Just the one," he told her, disappointment flecking his voice. "He's a big one though, right mean-looking too." Brenna nodded as they broke from the trees into a clearing of green grass and colorful mountain flowers. "It's odd…" The youth trailed off. "What is?" Brenna asked, keeping pace. "Well," he started, "over the last few days me and the boys have found quite a few tracks. Y'know, rabbits, deer, wildfowl, and the like." He sidestepped as the ground underfoot grew damp and boggy. Brenna narrowly avoided losing her boot to a patch of clawing mud. She kept on running. "Recently though, we found wolf prints; looks like a pack of them are stalking these woods." 

The mercenary nodded again, silently joining the youth as he led them back into the forest, the canopy of dark pines closing above them. "Yet, we've only caught the one. What happened to his pack? Where're the ones we've been tracking? Surely this lone wolf isn't responsible for what happened to our kinsmen? All alone and dumb as he is." The youth grinned, then his grin faded to solemnity. "I agree." Brenna said. "It is strange. Very strange…" They grew quiet as they ran, each and every one of them lost in their thoughts. Besides maybe Redbeard, who was huffing and puffing, the foodstuffs still cradled in his arms. 

Brenna's companions had had a similar discovery in the last few days. Wolf prints, more than one set, leading them a merry chase through the woods. Brenna suspected the prints were left by their culprits, and ever since she had slept with one eye open and a fire roaring through the cold nights. It was by chance they had discovered the camp and, it seemed, by chance one of them had been caught up in a hunter's trap. She blinked away her jumbled thoughts as they burst from the trees once again to find a group of armed men waiting for them. The youth turned to her.

"Here we are." He smiled brightly, pointing up at the king of wolves. My, he is a big bugger…

Author: Shiloh Kyrie, Posted: Fri Nov 16, 2018 8:39 PM, Post Subject: Men Who Cry Wolf [P]

"Have you seen a hunter about yea high with graying hair and a short beard? Trimmed, not fancy. Hairline scar across his face at a slant running towards the right cheek starting from the nose?" So far nobody had seen hide or hair of him. Shiloh was sure he'd stop by the towns at least somewhere for supplies. If not for food, then for other necessities. The old farmer shook his head, and turned to mind his oxen. She kicked the dirt and walked around again. If not even the gossip hens and busybodies knew then Walter might not even have come down this way. Taking out her arc of want, she watched the pendulum sway gently in another direction. One of these days she'd have to make a more efficient locating device than this old-fashioned method. She might as well try shooting fish from a boat.

When she as far enough away from the settlement Niall poked his head out of the knapsack. "Still nothing?" Shiloh shook her head with a frustrated sigh. "That's the third place I've asked so far." Unlike Auron and Sylvain, she didn't have a contract with the tracker. Now she was beginning to regret that. When it came to Walter she was especially nervous. Back when they first met, she had helped him narrowly avoid a lynching on account of somebody's murder. Later she got to know the man better and understood not all lycanthorpes were rabid monsters controlled by mad impulses and the phases of the moon. He only had two forms: man and beast. And as a beast he was just an ordinary wolf. In neither form did he have any outstanding advantages. While Sylvain had enhanced strength and keen senses after becoming a vampire, Walter's capabilities were limited to a normal animal's. If he was cornered, he would try to run first than fight back. In fact, that was what most animals did in the face of danger.

After visiting a few villages she overheard rumors of cattle being killed and something attacking people. The rogue knew it couldn't be Walter. He wouldn't make himself a target after almost being killed by a fearful mob. If he needed food he'd forage, hunt game, or buy from whoever he could if it came to that. Whatever it was it had to be something else, which was why she needed to find him as soon as possible. If push came to shove, she'd be his alibi. "Niall, I'm going to have to ask you to help me out here. I can't do two things at once, so can you hold that pendulum and tell me which way it's moving? I'll stop and stand still every now and then so you can get a better reading." Her ferret familiar poked his head out. "O-ok. Brr…" His teeth chattered. "I'll treat you to some chocolate and milk when we camp tonight, ok?" The little creature perked up at the promise of warm treats, and went to work right away.

"Let's see….it's moving to your left!" Niall shouted from behind. With her wayfinder's widget, she brought up a visual depiction of their general area with a blinking point as their current location. "Got it. Let's move!" Niall ducked back into the warmth of the bag as Shiloh started running. It might've been her paranoia speaking but she felt something bad could have happened. She hoped she'd be wrong.

Author: Kraken, Posted: Fri Nov 16, 2018 1:22 PM, Post Subject: Men Who Cry Wolf [P]

"Still warm." Brenna announced to the group, squatting down by a campfire, the embers still glowing dutifully despite the cold. Her hand brushed over the ashes and blackened wood, a waning warmth spreading through her doeskin gloves. Can't have been gone long, she thought, a glance around the camp telling her all she needed to know. Across from her, a tall Highlander in fur and wool rifled through some poor sod's tent, disregarding common decency and their man's -or beast's- privacy in the process. For the last few days or so Brenna had been tracking… something. She wasn't sure exactly what her quarry was; the contract only desired an end to a spree of disappearances that had occurred in the past month. No more.  

It had begun with chattel; a sheep here, an ox there. With peoples' livelihoods at stake, the local village elder had put together a bounty on whatever beast it was attacking the animals. Hunters and trackers had had a field day, turning in wolf pelts and, on the odd occasion, lynx pelts for silver. Most thought that would've been the end of it, only… it wasn't. Not long after, hunters started to disappear too, lost to the very woods they'd called home for decades. Brave men and women had been sent in search of the missing persons, but they had found neither hide nor hair of any of the missing hunters. 

Only blood, and wolf prints that, when followed, morphed into human footprints. 

That set the villagers on edge; the more superstitious among them declared that the Gods were punishing them. What for? Who knows?! That didn't matter to Brenna who, by chance, had been walking through the village of Norre mere days ago, heading home to her family a few mountains over. She had been cornered by the village elder and his mob of crones, housewives and scared peasants. The 'contract of utmost importance', as the Elder had aptly named it, had been shoved in her face, and she hadn't dared refuse. Not when a bunch of angsty farmers with pitchforks and torches were watching her with baleful eyes. 

And here I am, she thought meekly, standing up from the campfire, the hunters she accompanied waiting expectantly. "So?" One of them asked, an arrow already resting across his bowstave. "Wolves or bandits?" "Bandits, obviously!" The one rifling through the tent shouted, reappearing with a handful of smoked foodstuffs and jarred offal. "Wolves, definitely wolves!" The other retorted, pointing at a pair of prints that traipsed directly through the hidden camp. "What do you think?" They both turned to her, eager to settle the debate. Brenna's forehead creased, her thoughts returning to a time not long ago, where she'd witnessed familiars and wolfmen sharing company with humans. Hmm…

She regarded the two men, her jaw set. "Both." She replied, immune to the sudden skeptical stares they gave her. A fourth figure burst into the camp, startling the two hunters, but not her. "WE'VE GOT ONE! A LIVE ONE!" He crowed, eyes wide with excitement, chest heaving from exertion. "Where?" Brenna asked, shouldering past two hunters to stare the fourth -a skinny youth with a wispy beard- in the face. He looked back, barely containing his joy. "A mile that way," he hooked a thumb over his shoulder, "no more. The others are keeping it company. A wolf! Big bugger, he is!" 

"Ha! Told you fools-"

"Shut up." Brenna snapped, cutting him off. She turned back to the youth. "Lead us to them, and quickly."

Author: Wilderwald, Posted: Tue Nov 13, 2018 6:38 PM, Post Subject: Men Who Cry Wolf [P]

There was something about the untamed wilderness that helped wash away the pain and sorrows of war. He himself didn't do much of the fighting back in the jungles of Apoy, but the sight of the fort nearly being taken over was more than he'd ever want to see. When it was all over Shiloh let him go wherever he wanted and said he should take some time away from Antikythera. It was probably the right thing. Venti was the time of year that made people reflect on things. Something about the growing chill and yellowing of leaves that had this sort of melancholy. It made him restless, and he let himself stay in his wolf form as he followed the deer and elk across the plains into the mountains. Greyson followed behind him, always a few paces. They'd gotten to know each other by smell so the fox didn't bolt whenever he shifted. With Glaciem coming, this would be the last time people would need furs and pelts before stocking up for the snows. When the temperatures were colder, he'd have to move to warmer climates. 

Finding food was much easier now with the herds making their yearly migration. He could hunt a full-grown buck once every few days and not have to worry. Most of the meat went to making dried jerky. It was tempting to eat more than his fill but the tracker held himself back. The herds would soon be gone, and smaller animals would be less active. The best they'd have would be waterfowl, but they also migrated. Everybody–man and beast–was making preparations for the long haul. Foraging turned up berries and roots that added more flavor to the cornmeal and venison. Fishing sometimes brought back a handful of fish as big as Greyson's tail. Even as a wolf, Walter could feel the cold creep its way through his thickening winter coat. One time he went to wash up in a stream he noticed his fur having a bit more gray than last year. 

Camping out in a makeshift shelter of a few dormant trees, he felt safe. They were too far out from the closest village and other trappers wouldn't venture this way. As long as no one stumbled across his tent and fire pit, he wouldn't be discovered. It was tiring being in human form all the time. The last thing he wanted was for somebody to stumble in and find himself as a wolf snoring away. Even now the thought of staying in town made him uneasy. There was a lot of bad blood between people and wolves, even when both of them usually tried to stay out of each other's way. And unlike the common expectation, lone wolves without a pack were a rare sight. It was much harder to survive as an individual in the wild. Walter would rather run from a mother bear robbed of her cubs than get himself trapped in a corner with a group of townsfolk.

The wolf picked his way through the forest, searching for any remaining edibles the rodents and birds missed. Nose to the ground, his paws silently padded along the ground. His white and gray fox companion was dozing off inside their little half face campsite having burnt himself out chasing down tawny rabbits. A large and tempting cluster of morels stood out against a tree's trunk. Part of him considered taking them, but decided against it. Mushrooms were too dangerous to guess even for an experienced woodsman. There was a thicket near some rodent burrows, and there were fresh tracks outside. With luck, there might be something worth finding. With a leap he dashed into the brush, emerging out the other side. As soon as his feet touched the ground there was a twang–sending him flying up into the air!

Panic took over as Walter was pulled up into a net, dangling from several ropes overhead. He couldn't get out and the net was making it harder for him to move! Frantically he tried chewing through the net but the cords were too tough. Struggling, he attempted to shift back into human form but the space was too tight for him to reach the skinning knife in his pocket. 

Author: Shiloh Kyrie, Posted: Tue Nov 13, 2018 5:29 PM, Post Subject: Men Who Cry Wolf [P]

The Highlands was pretty vast with all the hills and forests. Navigating was a challenge, but thanks to her wayfinder's widget she at least wouldn't double back on herself. Shiloh hadn't seen Walter in a while since the war ended. He had left on his own to travel the wilds, following the herds of deer up the Corval Basin. She wasn't worried; he was a tracker and well into his fifties. He could handle himself just fine against the elements and animals. Pinning down his location was a matter of following the motion of the arc of want, stopping and holding the pendulum every ten paces. The chill of Venti was in full swing and the tips of her feet were feeling cold. With Glaciem around the corner, maybe he was heading towards warmer pastures. The smell of the air was different once she was out of the Bohar Plains. Saying goodbye to the caravan that had taken her along up from the south she continued her search on foot. 

Even now she preferred to walk than take a horse. Horses were easily spooked and had to be fed; she'd rather take more time than potentially lose whatever silver it'd take to purchase one. Niall had tucked himself into her pack keeping himself warm. Before they left the Machinarium Shiloh refreshed the ferret's memory on the tracker's scent so he knew what to look for. Days went by as they picked their way through fields and trees hoping to catch up. Walter would go wherever the animals went, being a trapper and hunter on the side. Their first spot of hope came when a small pack of elk were passing by one morning. Finally, they might be close. "It's c-c-cold!" Her familiar whined, poking out his face briefly to voice his complaint. "Stay in the bag Niall, we'll find a town soon. There's some phoenix feathers in the mess I have in my storage box if it's still too much for you." Just a little longer, she told herself. The sign of smoke in the distance caught her attention and she broke into a sprint. It could be a camp, village, town–someplace with people for sure.