Thread: What Lurks in the Shadows (WILOH & ennui)

RE What Lucks in the Shadows WILOH ennui The pack didn't know how long they had occupied the dense forest, they simply did. Sometimes there were stories whispered about how the first of their kind came from the small village of Smol that lay on the outskirts. That one of the townsfolk there had fallen under the curse and was therefore exiled to survive in the wilderness. How one such person would come under such a curse was always riddled with mystery, several reasons being passed around. A bite from an outsider who had just been travelling by, a ritual to some demonic God gone wrong, a grudge held out by some being with magical capacity being just a few examples. Of course it didn't much matter now. The pack had stayed in the forest for generations upon generations, their ancestry lost and hardly thought about. If anyone was caught up in some emotional turbulence it was a sign of weakness. Nature could be cruel and it would not forgive anyone who slipped up at the wrong moment. Instinct was how one survived in the dark woods. To claim your territory and maintain it. If you were a predator you hunted, if you were prey you hid. Then of course there was the need to breed. To pass down one's own bloodline was necessary to keep the delicate cycle going round and round. These things had come easy for the pack. When you possessed the intelligence of a human and the ferocity of a wolf there was very little that would stand in your way. The pack flourished, their presence solidified amoung the creatures of the forest and even to the tiny village of Smol. They never did dare venture out there, it just didn't seem right, they belonged in the woods. That didn't seem to stop the townsfolk from occasionally wandering in. Sometimes they overstayed their welcome, went too deep, and the pack would not show mercy to intruders. But then there was the sickness, a violent wave of plague that showed the same kind of cruelty. Maybe it was karma's cruel way of punishing the pack but their numbers began to dwindle. The sick couldn't hunt or keep down food produce healthy offspring. It kept spreading, jumping from one host to another before the decision was finally made to quarantine those who were affected. They were thrown out of the territory, banished to perish outside their borders, but the sickness had already done it's devastating work. The pack was left only with several males. They could still hunt for food but there was no biological way they could grow their numbers again. It created tension and anger which was followed by a quiet acceptance. They would not bow their heads but there was no kind outlook on the horizon. So, as the moon rose up into the sky one night and scattered it's dim light over the land the remaining pack members got ready to chase down their prey. Human bodies twisted and contorted into more bestial shapes. Skin gave way to shaggy fur. Round eyes shifted into sharp yellow ones. Faces became elongated and adorned with teeth for tearing and shredding. Claws sprouted from fingers and toes to provide grip and deadly weapons. The group split up, being top of the food chain with nothing to fear from the other animals of the forest. They would gather what meat they could by night and bring it back to camp by day. The alpha of the pack, whose winning dominance showed in several scars that cut across his mottled black and grey fur, took the southeast direction. He was called Farkas amoung his kind. His eyes cut through the night's darkness and his ears were alert for the sounds of anything moving besides his own paws tiding through the underbrush. His nose sought the scent of fresh meat, soft prey with live blood thundering through it's veins, and that's when a particularly strange odour drifted towards him. The breeze brought the smell to the werewolf's senses. It wasn't rabbit or deer, mouse or bird. It was human and it did not belong there. His muzzle curled up into a gleaming snarl, sharp yellowed teeth pressed together and eager to sink into flesh. Farkas continued moving silently, well adjusted to the forest's terrain as he was dead set upon his target. As he drew closer and more vision was presented he spotted her. A young cloaked woman, alone, so far away from Smol and the path. The pack had no qualms about consuming the townsfolk who had occasionally strayed so far but it was different this time. It had been oh so long since any of them had seen, or even scented, a female. It would be stupid to kill her, there was enough prey in the forest to feed the pack. However, if they had their way, she would never be seeing her hometown again. Farkas' muscles tightened beneath his dark fur as he got ready. The thrill of the hunt pumped through his veins, driving a desperate instinct, and then without wasting another second, he leaped. The werewolf threw himself at the woman, gnashing teeth snapping dangerously close to her body as he aimed to tackle her to the ground and hold her there.