BITE OF THE BLACK WOLF - Printable Version

A silhouette stood against the pale sky of a desert and barren land, its colors dreary and dull, monochrome ashen and shade. He was looking down upon the Empire from a vista atop the Black Tower, named for him, the Black Wolf of Verin. It was his to control, his to oversee, his to do with as he pleased, and this included any captives that found their way into the Wolf's Jaw: his own personal dungeon for savages and others of that ilk. The thought of them curled his lip. That such blights plagued them even yet!

The Wolf was clad in deep black armor that rose into points where it could—from fingers to shoulders, toes to thighs—and a stylized wolf-like helmet with a large grin of fangs. Draped about him was a long cloak with a plush collar of real fur. Beneath the openings of his helmet, one could spy his pale skin and the sharp ice blue eyes that spied back. At present, as he faced the bleak Verinen landscape, his hands were clasped behind his back and he was lost deep in thought. Behind him was a room full of waiting souls, but none dare disrupt their thinking prince.

The Black Wolf of Verin, a man clad in black armor with a long cloak

The Black Wolf of Verin, a man clad in black armor with a long cloak

The Black Wolf of Verin

Finally, he turned to view them, cloak twirling with an exaggerated swoosh. They were at the top of the tower in a circular room, its windows and doors barred by the soapy sheen of magical barriers. In its center shimmered the glowing circle that the witches had painted and enchanted, and now sat kneeled around at sparse intervals with some empty spaces that suggested some had been removed. Now there were seven of them, shivering and waiting and sneering as the Black Wolf stepped toward them. Heavy boots clicked against chiseled obsidian floors, mock claws scraping the shine from its polished surface. He stopped before the lifeless body of a recently culled witch who had dared defy him; a few other bodies lay pushed against the walls.

"Mmm," he hummed after a drawn breath, "Now that we have all taken a moment of reflection, let us begin anew. Your mission is the same: summon a beast for me that may feed my hunger for answers." Though his voice was deep, it did not have the growl of an elder or seasoned man; he was still young, roughly in his early twenties. Despite that, his eyes were empty of the shining wonder many young men held, empty of the life long ahead of them. He had been tempered and beaten into hardened indifference toward his fellows, and searing distaste for all others; but of witches? Their vile and wild nature disgusted him, much in the same way that of animals did, whose fur and leathers he'd sport with all the pride of an accomplished exterminator.

The guards in the room stepped back into the recesses afforded to them within the walls for safety as the circle in the room sparked to life, the remaining witches' hands outstretched over its inner ring. The prince did not fear magic like others did, however, and he remained to stare down the center of the circle through the holes in his helmet. Magic could be controlled because witches could be controlled—and he was good at control.

Clouds of dense magic erupted from the circle with pops of lightning arcing throughout. Its color changed from blue to green to, finally, pink. The bulk of the activity was a spitting aura dead center where a shadow was starting to form.

The prince clenched a fist and stepped forward more, over the body fo the dead, until the claws of his boots dared touch the magic ring. Finally, finally—! As the shape became solidified—indeed, some kind of beast was soon to be standing on the black stone before him—he could feel the rise of adrenaline in his blood, the ambition, often greedy, as was wont of his father, the truth and power of Verin blood! It was here, in the hunt and control of the witches, they would conquer Let!

With all the loudness of thunder directly bursting in one's ears, the magic ceased with a powerful force that tumbled the witches backward, but the Black Wolf remained standing as his cloak billowed back to his ankles. As the glittering smoke cleared, the darkness of a beast was soon to be realized, and for a moment, he waited for its form to clear even more—except it was just that, a cat-sized black shape.

No, it was a cat.

"What..." he began to chide the witches but paused. No. Their magic was undisputed. If his will had been this, then this is what was willed forth. No matter. He would not question it. Indeed, magic was savage and disgusting, so he would not suffer its unknowns or why it might summon itself in the shape of a cat.

"WHERE IS THE PHOENIX KNIGHT?" burst his voice as he stepped forward again, into the circle, towering over the tiny creature who had been thrust forth onto the surface of the moon of which she lived, where the air was thin and smelled of blood and smoke.

Wilder was confused. One moment she'd been drinking from the stream in Pegasus, the next she'd felt dizzy and strange, as if she'd weighed nothing, but was also as heavy as the Spire. Her vision blurred and went out and then, suddenly, she was somewhere else, smoke thick in the air. This was magic - it had to be - but it was unlike any magic she'd ever experienced in her life. And what magic could take her from one place and put her in another, without her consent, without any chance to fight back? There hadn't been anyone around, last she'd checked. This was something new and Wilder didn't know how to be prepared for this. She crouched defensively, waiting for the smoke to clear.

She could see shapes around her. They were tall, and all very similar looking, from just their silhouettes. Except for one, that was taller then the others, towering over her, a cape draped long over his back, reminding her very much of the Collector, but his head was different. Not hooded, but wolf-like. With strange gleaming eyes glaring down at her. Wilder shivered as, finally, the smoke cleared enough to see her surroundings and all she could see was darkness. The dark, enclosed walls of a small room, the air heavy with smoke and blood, and unfamiliar faces staring at her. For a moment, she wondered if this was a dream, but it didn't feel like one. She could feel the cold floor beneath her, she could feel the faint tightness in her chest as she tried to draw in breath and didn't get quite enough air, she could taste the new world on her tongue, so different from the caves with its fairly musty and dusty smells and currents, but oh so familiar and home to her.

Everything was wrong. In a moment of terrified desperation, she tried to reach for answers, but as she pulled at her magic, with a sudden sink in her stomach, she realized the she couldn't feel it like she normally could. It was there, but it was weak and distant and the spell she cast was a sputtering spark of what it could have been.

The man's sudden voice had her flinching hard, purple eyes flicking back up to him. She realized, then, that the thing she'd taken as his head wasn't his head after all, but a mask of some sort. The jaw wasn't moving as he spoke and his voice was muffled. Her ears pulled back and she crouched lower as he towered over her. Her voice started without her brain quite catching up. "Uh...um. Phoenix....Knight? Is that...a name? Sorry I don't...." She swallowed heavily, looking around, brain scrambling, panicking, generally feeling completely lost. "Uh...where am I? Where is this? I was in...Pegasus?"

While some part of him had expected her to speak because he had demanded an answer from her, hearing her voice and realizing that a cat was speaking left him sneering behind the jaws of his helmet. And even worse so, that a cat was speaking to him. It felt vile, as if the existence of this creature somehow violated the laws of nature they were borne to suffer by, worse than even that of the witches. In fact, this may be the first time in his life he felt more disdain for something other than the witches, like both of his greatest displeasures bundled into a single entity. Was this some sort of joke?

It stammered. It could not find the words, or perhaps the courage, to truly speak to him. It compacted itself into the ground and stuttered more. He knew what fear looked like and he felt prideful to see such fear in its body language; had it stood up to him and hissed, he would have felt insulted.

"The Phoenix Knight," he repeated, clenching his hands into fists. He would find this undying thorn in their side and he would be the one to kill them. "You are in the Verinen Empire, scourge. Would you dare admit you know nothing of what I ask?"

Wilder stared at this man, bewildered. He was angry, she could see it in the burn of his eyes, but she didn't know why. Hadn't he pulled her here? Wherever "here" was. Had he not meant to cast some magic? Or...maybe he'd meant to pull someone else? She...kind of hoped that was the case. That this was all just some kind of mistake. After all, she'd done nothing to warrant a bunch of very angry and very dangerous people coming after her. At least, she didn't think she'd done anything recently. I haven't been forgetting again, have I? No...no she would have felt it.

She swallowed heavily as he continued to press her for answers she didn't have. "Uh...what's the...Verinen Empire? Some kind of group? I don't...know any empires." For a moment, a flare of indignation rose up in her chest at the name-calling. Why was he being so mean? She had no idea who this guy was, or who these people around her were, but he was calling her rude names? For a moment, she forgot that her previous spell had been weak and distant and drew herself up a bit, intent on defending herself, even if just through words. "Hey, what do you mean "scourge"? What did I do to you? Who are you anyways?" She frowned, still trying to mentally catch up with...whatever the hell was going on. She felt like she was drowning and nobody was bothering to throw out a rope for her. "No I...I seriously have no idea what you mean. Sorry. Do you need....help finding this guy?"

His question was met with questions of her own. She did not know of the Verinen Empire...? Either she was being honest or she was mocking him with a farce. But her speech further pressed on the former, as she dared speak to him like a child would a bully. Then, he surmised, his armor was unfamiliar to her and she truly did not know him or the Verinen. Much less, probably, the Phoenix Knight. He could feel his patience waning but she admitted she did not know what he was asking, and additionally, asked if they needed help finding his mark. For a moment he did consider enlisting her, tempering her as the other witches had been tempered, breaking her into a dog—or rather, cat—of the empire.

He kneeled, cloak folding at his sides, so that he may be nearer to her.

"Then you are not the one I seek, the one who will bear my answers. No matter. I mistook you for someone else, and for that, I apologize." He stretched out a hand to her, palm open, in a gesture that he hoped would read as welcoming. "And as it seems you do not know who I am, might we see this meeting as a blessing in disguise? It is truly unheard of for me to meet someone who may speak to me so plainly, who does not cower at the shadow of my armor. Normally I would ask to shake hands, but," the nose of his helmet lowered as he looked upon her tiny little feet, and his open palm remained an offering to shake hands, "I have never met one such as you."

Wilder watched him carefully, still reeling from all....this, but his demeanor had changed. He wasn't yelling, wasn't towering anymore, he was kneeling in front of her, holding out his hand, apologizing. She blinked, hesitating for a moment, looking at his clawed fingers stretched in front of her, before hesitantly leaning over to sniff at him. He smelled...weird. Like the old tattered junk that scattered some parts of the tunnels, but as if it were new and not stale beyond years. And he smelled like blood and death - that worried her. He could turn out to be as dangerous as she'd first thought, but she really had no other options then to work with him for now. She could try to escape, bust a hole in the wall or find an exit, but her weak magic came to her mind again. Perhaps it had been a fluke...? But...she didn't want her second test to be a dramatic attempt at escaping. No, she'd just be careful for now.

"That's...okay, I guess. Mistakes happen. But um...I still don't know where I am. I've never seen this part of the caves before and uh...I don't even know how I got here?" Her eyes opened marginally wider at his admission. "...Really? That's strange, I thought there were a lot of cats around. And...I guess your armor is kinda scary looking but I've seen worse. It must be lonely, if everyone cowers from you." It occurred to her, a moment later, that he still wanted something. He glanced from her foot to his hand and she realized Oh, does he want it? Like do we touch paws? 'Shake hands?' So she shifted her balance to her left side and raised a paw to set it in his palm. Hopefully that was right.

"Oh, um," she added on as they shook. "I'm Wilder. Do you have a name?"

It spoke of strange things and dared to call his tower a cave. And still, it spoke, its pink eyes hopeful and forgiving as were its words, even venturing to agree his life must be lonely. Oh, how naive it was. When her paw was placed into his gentle trap, his fingers closed around it carefully, softly.

"A pleasure, Wilder; pray forgive my earlier accusations," he began, but then he locked his hand into a fist and snatched her upward in a single, swift movement as he stood, holding her above the circle by her dainty little paw. "You are not a scourge, you are something worse. Something foul." He drew her in so that he might look her in the eye—how disgusting she truly was!

"Wilder... Wilder! How fitting!" he barked, his words transforming into laughter. "Wilder than the witches, Wilder than the Vaa—oh, is this truly real?" His gaze snapped back to her, eyes as cold as the ice they mirrored. "Know this, Wilder, I am Tunglith Verin, the Black Wolf and prince of the Verinen Empire. And you!" He swung her about regardless if she was fighting, clawing, or simply hanging there; it seemed as if he might not have noticed her as anything more than a sack of flesh. "YOU! Shall I kill you, or keep you like some piece of trashy Tesarill artwork!? Oh! I abhor the thought of seeing you daily, but my, what a wonder! You are horrifically unique!"

He reached out with the opposite hand to touch gently at her cheek and the tiny heart placed upon it. A curious mark, much like that of the witches, hmm? With the swiftness of a snake, he dug the claw of his armored finger beneath her skin to try and wrench the beauty mark free, but it would not budge. Bound to her as the witches' stones were bound to them. Dreadful. A witch... animal?

Unbeknownst to him for he was lost in the folly of lambasting, one of the witches had been conjuring up a spell and finally found herself ready to cast it, thrusting herself forward if only to scarcely touch Wilder's backside as she hung feebly above the circle. The markings underfoot responded, surging with light and sparks of magic as it had before; and then... Wilder was gone.

"NO!" shouted Tunglith, as his now-empty hand bit forth to snatch the witch before him...

As for Wilder, she was cast into the Vaa—the wilds that knew no man, home of the witches—upon the foothill of a snow-capped mountain, and quite literally onto the doorstep of a hermit. Having heard the commotion, he was quick to open his door and glance down at the creature that lay there. For a moment, he was stunned into silence, but it was not ere long he crouched to behold her with the most bewildered expression.

"A gembound...?" he asked, long golden hair framing his kind face, gentle blue eyes soft, but old. And behind him rustled large, white wings that folded around his sides. Quite the contrast to the dark and formidable wolf she had been bitten by only moments earlier. "You are injured," he commented, eyes drifting to the gash beside her stone.

Wilder's magic has returned to her in the presence of Tamulus.

For a moment, she was hopeful. That this was all a misunderstanding. That this man wasn't so horrific or dangerous as her intuition was telling her. She let her paw stay in his hand, and then, of course, things went sideways - almost literally.

She screeched as he snatched her into the air, holding her way way way too far above the ground. His hands...why were they so cold?! Furiously, desperately, she began to claw at the talons gripping around her paw, calling, again, for what magic she could find. And, even though she felt it cast, even though she knew it should have worked, nothing moved along the guide of her mind. No force burst out to move the man's fingers. And as she struggled, instead, with her strength, what little of it she had, she realized how pitiful she truly was. He didn't even react to her claws or the way she writhed about in the air, continuing his ranting that had her stomach flipping.

Horror rose in her chest and her struggles intensified as his hand came up to caress her cheek. She trembled violently for the moment of stillness before he dug those abhorrent claws into her skin. She shrieked and cried, trying to twist away as he, in turn, tried to wrench her gemstone from her cheek. "STOP, NO, DON'T DO THAT NO, PLEASE STOP!" She begged and babbled and clawed and twisted and tried everything in her tiny power to free herself to save herself because she was going to die she was going to die but

She couldn't.

In one horrific moment, she realized I can't do anything! and some part of her mind came to that realization that this was the end - he'd kill her or imprison her or do whatever other twisted thing he wanted with her and she could do nothing to stop him - when...she wasn't there anymore.

It was like before, but with the adrenaline pumping through her veins, she couldn't figure out what had happened and she stared forward blankly, movements freezing as it registered, dimly, that she wasn't in his grasp anymore. Had he dropped her? Had someone attacked? She couldn't hear screams beyond the rushing of blood in her ears. She could see something, distantly...wait no, they were right in front of her, but she didn't react, staring forward bug-eyed and tense, trembling violently, her brain trying to catch up, her body trying to settle. But it was all too much - everything had happened so fast. How could she possibly react?

He could feel the trace sigh of witch magic—his magic—emanating from her and he had felt it earlier but had resigned himself not to venture into the Verinen wasteland. Whatever experiments they had tried with witches, he had hoped they would fail, or that the witches would ultimately betray their catpors. Could she have been summoned during the burst of magic?

Tamulus would not begin to guess the details, anyhow. He frowned at how positively frightened she looked.

"Come now," he whispered, reaching down to cup his hands around her head, letting his magic flow freely into her: warm and safe. Familiar. Would she trust him to pick her up, or was she perhaps too far terrorized to trust anything at the moment?

"Let me bring you inside, hm?" he asked gently. Whether she'd reply or not, he'd attempt to pet her back until he might gently lift her and cradle her—but if she recoiled, which he would not blame her if she did, he would pull back and wait. Though the circumstances were unknown to him, this was one of his, and he would not abandon her to wither away on the surface. He'd heal her up, maybe get her story, and bring her home.

Normally, Wilder would need a while to calm down from such an ordeal - at least ten minutes, maybe an hour. She wouldn't be able to fully settle back to normalcy for a day or so, but to at least get her heart to stop beating out of her chest or to get her brain working back in the present, it wasn't something that ever took a reasonable amount of time. But this time she tried really hard because she wasn't home. She wasn't safe. She couldn't stay in panic mode, she couldn't be losing it because she needed to figure out what the hell is going on.

She didn't trust this new person, because his form was like the others - the "witches" and the man as well. What was his name? The Wolf or something, something Verin. Either way, this one was similar, but...he was warmer. Brighter. With wings. Still, she couldn't think properly. It was all she could do to take in basic sensory data. Everything felt like a blur and when he reached down to her, she flinched violently, fur puffing out and a high pitched warning sound coming from the back of her throat. Don't touch - not yet. Not when she could still feel his claws sinking into her cheek, against her gem, pulling, trying to tear her very soul from her body.

Not when she could still hear him, echoing in her head. Like a razor cutting everything it touched.

But the warmth she felt from him...the familiarity...it was a rope cast out to her and she grabbed onto it tightly - she had no other option. It guided her to the surface so her head could finally breach the waves. She wasn't out of the water yet, but someone was finally giving her a chance to claw her way back to land. And with her first breath of air since being violently pulled out of Pegasus, a small pink wisp sparked to life in front of her.

Eyes widened. She hadn't even realized she'd cast the spell. It wasn't strong - in fact, it was just a little ember, a candlelight flicker, but it was like a break in storming clouds. The existence of this here, stemming from her own magic, which had somehow returned in the presence of this man, calmed a part of her. It wasn't perfect, but it was enough to stop feeling like her head was filled with cotton.

She didn't pull away when Tamulus went to pet her, but she still flinched a bit when his touch connected. She shied away a bit, but the warning sound had died off already and the trembling wasn't so fierce. She gave a shaky nod of her head, permission to lift her and bring her inside.

In his arms, she felt warm, and safe. His touch was gentle, far gentler then the Wolf's had been, and the familiar warmth of magic in her chest, emanating from him, somehow, helped her calm herself a bit. Still, she could still feel the sting at her cheek and the blood that clumped in her fur. She could still feel the echoes of the past few minutes (had it been minutes? It felt like hours) banging around in the back of her skull. The water kept trying to force its way into her mouth. She was holding onto the rope, but still drowning in it all and she couldn't ignore it for much longer.

She sniffed and suddenly realized that she was crying. She blinked furiously, trying to get the tears to go away, trying to shove it all down (but for what? What could she possibly want to hide at this point?) but it only made the ache grow more and more intense. His words grew louder and louder in her ears and all she could feel was loneliness, confusion, terror, more confusion, and the simple, desperate question of Why me? Her trembles picked up again and before she could help herself, she was sobbing in Tamulus's arms.

"Where am I?!" she wailed, almost child-like. "Why am I here? Who are you? Who was that man? I...I just...What's going on?! Why is this happening to me?!"