REFUGE IN DHAREN’RHYLO
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The Bishop’s Return
The one and only condition imposed upon the Wolf Tribe was that they were not allowed to leave their land without the permission of the Church. But on the day that Connor made the kills for his rite of passage, he was forced to break this condition whether he realized it or not. Silvanus tainted so much of the hunting ground that Connor was forced to trespass into neighboring land. After several days the land owner came across the remains of Connor’s kill. The clean execution of the stag made it clear that it was not the work of a wild animal.
With concern that his land was being encroached upon by foreigners, the landowner reached out to the church and contacted the Bishop. He knew for years that the Wolf Tribe lingered in the Bishop’s lands, and feared they would one day wander beyond the boundary line. He shared this concern in his message and stressed that if Bishop did not act, then he would raise the complaint with the Archbishop. Forced into action, the Bishop once more made the long trek into his land to visit the Wolf Tribe Al’Mora.
But this time the Bishop was joined by two missionaries who expressed interest in teaching the young wolves. Unfortunately he had no say whether or not the two missionaries could join him. The church demanded it. They made it clear to him that if the Wolf Tribe began to step out of line then they would begin to act on their own accord.
Not but six weeks after Connor’s rise to manhood did the Bishop return with the missionaries at his flanks. Silvanus spied them as they entered their territory and informed his father well in advance of their arrival. As to-be Al’Mora, Silvanus was given the right to sit at his father’s side as the men approached. He was there as they spoke and listened well to their conversation.
The missionaries certainly made it clear that they did not appreciate the activities of the Wolf Tribe. The worship of something other the one true god, Dharen, was a thought well beyond their grasp. In their eyes it was an unforgivable sin to praise anyone other than god within Dharen’Rhylo. The Bishop repeated once more that the Wolf Tribe had limits on his land. He warned that the church would begin to take greater control of the situation if the activities were to continue.
But the Al’Mora assured the men that that the land they had was more than bountiful for their needs. The incident was a misunderstanding spurred on by a youth too young to understand limits. Yet the missionaries insisted it would be in the Wolf Tribe’s best interest if the youth were to learn about Dharen’Rhylo. Silvanus listened as they continued to speak about how the church could better their understanding. In many ways the young wolf was interested, but he knew his father would not condone it.
And he was right. The Al’Mora did not take kindly to the suggestion. For many years the aged warrior had been struggling to rebuild what little of his culture he could. To have the missionaries even suggest that his young would be better to ignore it was infuriating. He demanded that the missionaries leave his settlement. But before they did, Silvanus took them aside away from his father’s furious gaze. The young wolf tried to speak his mind. But despite Silvanus’ intelligence, the ability to speak the missionaries’ language smoothly was beyond his capability.
The missionaries immediately mistook his broken speech as a sign of stupidity. As a result of their mistake, they began to talk down to him — as though he were an inferior creature. Silvanus sensed that they thought him to be some sort of fool. One of them spoke slowly to him, stressing the vowels of their tone as if he had difficulty understanding. He could feel their eyes judging him. His desire to learn from them was quickly replaced by rage. He felt as though they were treating him like an animal. They did not know how brilliant he was. His frustrations grew until he could not suppress them any longer.
Without warning, Silvanus lunged upon the missionary who spoke down to him. Both of them went tumbling down a jagged slope. The nimble Silvanus clung to the man’s body and used him as shield, driving the man into every harsh obstacle along the way. He could hear the panicked shouting of the man’s colleague, but Silvanus did not heed his words. As they tumbled to the foot of the incline, Silvanus quickly mounted his prey. He took his knife and shoved it into the man’s throat. Only to then drag it through his neck as though he were a whimpering doe.
Silvanus didn’t hesitate as the man’s blood spilled. He held him down and began to repeatedly stab the missionary’s chest over and over again. The feeling taking the man’s life was delightful. It gave Silvanus a sort of pleasure he had never known. It was better than killing his meal. He saw so many faces in his victim. He saw his father’s face as the man gargled bloody gasps of airless breath, and he saw his brother’s face as the man pleaded for mercy with his begging eyes.
In a matter of seconds Silvanus had claimed his first life. His entire body soaked with hot blood. By the time the missionary’s colleague had stumbled down the hill, the victim was a motionless heap of flesh on the forest floor. The Bishop and the rest of the Wolf Tribe quickly gathered. The sin that Silvanus had just committed could not be pardoned. No matter of money or wealth that remained in the Wolf Tribe’s possession could excuse the murderous deed. In that moment Silvanus was no longer permitted to live with his family, and that’s exactly what he wanted.
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Abandoned
At first the true depth of what Silvanus has done did not dawn upon him. While he was taught to appreciate the lives of his tribe, the man that he had killed was not of his kin. Ignorant of the word murder, Silvanus was under the impression that he had every right to take the man’s life. This was a failure of his father. The Al’Mora had little interest in the ways of Dharen’Rhylo, which only resulted in a skewed outlook for Silvanus.
When the men came to take Silvanus, he was expecting his father to stand up for him. But for the first time he saw just how truly weak his father was. It wasn’t the Bishop or the other missionary who sieved the young Silvanus: it was his own kin. Suddenly he was thrust to the cold earth under the weight of those who he considered brothers. The Bishop demanded the young Silvanus be bound up and escorted to the church. And to the young boy’s shock, his father agreed. At that instant Silvanus could see his father’s weakness.
Taking orders from some robed priest? The wolf spirits would laugh. Just how low had the tribe fallen? The more he saw, the less he wanted from his father. The Al’Mora didn’t deserve that title anymore. Silvanus was pleased to finally have an excuse to leave his pitiful tribe behind. He relished the thought of being carried away. And carried he was. Drawn up and bound by leather, the young Silvanus found his arms and legs wound tight around him. Two warriors carried him in the wake of the Bishop. The other missionary kept his distance. Held within his fingers were the bloody rosaries of his slayed companion.
The trek was long as usual, but it felt longer for Silvanus. He could feel the blood swelling in his limbs as the binds wound tighter. Before long they came upon the small village and the church the Bishop called home. Into the hallowed sanctuary they carried him and replaced the leather bonds with rope. The Bishop was uncertain how to approach the matter. The missionary was passionate in his pleas to kill the young Silvanus, and he had every right. Silvanus didn’t feel an ounce of remorse: he felt only satisfaction.
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The deliberations of Silvanus’ fate were to be carried out as the boy was thrust into a simple chamber. They treated it like a prison cell. Through the heavy wooden door the young wolf could hear the spirited shouts of the enraged missionary. Death, death to the boy — that was all he could hear bleeding through the door. There he remained on the dusty floor with his arms tied tight behind his back. His chest labored under the squeeze of several layers of rope. But his legs were left free. The soles of his bare feet were his means to interact with his surroundings.
Silvanus knew he had little time. They would seek swift retribution. He’s seen the way these people act from afar. For years he had watched them. The only thing that waited for him here was death. The Bishop was not without some compassion despite the brutality of Silvanus. Unfortunately, it was this compassion that only aided Silvanus in his escape. A metal basin was all they offered to the boy. It resided on the ground next to the door. Time and again a priest would see to it that the basin was filled with a small amount of water. They believed that Silvanus would drink from it to nourish his soul.
But drinking was not on the boy’s mind. Instead he used his feet to grind the metal basin against the stone wall. Diligently he sharpened the edge. The ropes gave way under the repeated efforts of the boy sawing his body against the metal. Freed from his bonds, Silvanus was one step closer to escaping. He waited patiently for the priest to return. Neatly he had placed the basin by the door as it once was. But the very moment the priest sought to fill it again — he was ambushed by Silvanus.
Silvanus did not have the luxury of a knife. Instead he used the remains of the rope that once bound him. The priest had no means to defend himself and quickly fell. Silvanus held him down and choked the ropes around his throat. The priest’s screams were stifled. Silvanus watched as the man’s face turned red before the life drained from his eyes. Another victim had been claimed in what felt like an instant.
The boy did not escape unseen however. He was quickly spotted as he broke from his cell. But that didn’t stop from making his flight to the forest. He pushed aside those who stood in his way before making his way through the trees. Fortunately, the warriors who had escorted the Bishop had already returned to the settlement. Anyone capable of tracking him was miles away, allowing him to nimbly slip out of sight. He made his way to the only refuge he could think of — the cave he called his own. Within its dark embrace he found some peace, but he knew he could not linger.
In time the Bishop would seek out his tribe again. No matter how perfect his movements may have been, his tribe knew how to track him if they tried.
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Tamed by the Blade
Within the safety of his cave he kept a collection of artifacts he had acquired from passersby. Among them was his prized knife. He remembered how he stole it from one of the foolish hunters who dared to trespass upon his territory. Now it would serve him as his greatest asset. A minor collection of small traps were taken as well. Otherwise he packed light. He needed to move and quickly, especially before the snow settled. In 1021AB, Silvanus officially went on the run.
The young wolf had little experience of the world. He was barely fourteen years of age and knew nothing of Dharen’Rhylo. But it would be his cunning that would keep him alive. As developed a country as Dharen’Rhylo was; there were still miles upon miles of forests and trees that knew no man. Silvanus used all he knew. He had gained the experience he needed to easily survive the wilderness on his own. He kept his tracks minimal and his kills small: for he knew that anyone could be seek him out at any moment.
What he didn’t realize at the time was that the Bishop had informed the Father’s Sword that the boy was on the loose. Extremely illusive and adept at hunting, the boy proved to be more than the church could handle. In the first few months Dharen’Rhylo did not devote many resources to the search for the boy. Why devote so much to finding a child? And furthermore, he was of the dying Wolf Tribe. How could savages be superior to Dharen’Rhylo? Without a doubt the boy would stumble upon those who would apprehend him. The Bishop must have been overreacting.
The Father’s Sword made the mistake of underestimating Silvanus. They practically allowed him to run free for nearly an entire year before more reports came flooding in. Silvanus had been busy. The boy wasn’t desperate, but rather simply brutal in his approach to survival. He cared only for himself. Anyone unfortunate enough to get in his way became just another kill. With each passing month Silvanus would find an excuse to claim another victim — either through sheer need or simple boredom.
Often people who wandered the forest had on them resources he could use. In time they became nothing more than prey for the wolf. The additional reports forced the Father’s Sword to escalate their search. In time Silvanus found himself gaining the attention of the Scarlet Knights. From that point on life became more difficult.
In 1022AB, Silvanus experimented with new weapons of his own making. This helped to pass the time. Already he had a number of hiding places to retreat to if anyone came looking for him. So it was in his best interest to create new tools to keep the odds in his favor. His favorite creation was a leather glove infused with bone. He had taken the claws of a bear and sharpened them; embed them into leather; and secured them with animal bone. The intended purpose of the glove was to allow him to use the claws as though they were his own. He fashioned one for each hand and came to rely upon them as a critical survival tool.
They allowed him to take down larger prey while masking his identity. Anyone who came upon the felled corpse of the animal would see the deep claw marks. Immediately they would assume that it was a bear or some other large creature. This allowed him to stay one step ahead of the Scarlet Knights, who were constantly nipping at his heels. Though Silvanus did not know who they were, he knew they were coming for him. And that’s all that mattered.
By 1023AB the Scarlet Knights stepped up their game. Silvanus became known throughout their ranks, garnering the interest of one of their most adept killers. The cunning skills of Silvanus began to mirror a Scarlet Knight who earned the title Raven Blood. Only the most decorated Scarlet Knights were given specific titles. Their most celebrated deeds or notorious actions earned them the lifelong name. Raven Blood was a title given to a man who worked exclusively in the shadows. Like Silvanus he was a highly skilled survivalist. And it was rumored he could track the young wolf down.
Raven Blood had enjoyed a long and successful career among the Scarlet Knights. He was well known among them. They felt it was time to pit fire against fire. The aged knight was sent out to hunt the boy. They did not specify whether the boy should be left alive. That was purely up to the knight’s discretion. But it was clear that the Scarlet Knights wanted Silvanus taken with extreme prejudice.
Once unleashed, Raven Blood spent the better part of two months thoroughly tracking Silvanus. His labors paid off as he came upon Silvanus mid hunt. But the boy was keen and refused to be taken easily. The intense chase between the two lasted nearly two whole days. Numerous times the two encountered each other and traded blows. Raven Blood became impressed at how skilled Silvanus truly was. When the time came to run the boy through, Raven Blood spared him. But he made Silvanus understand that it wasn’t mercy he was being offered.
Silvanus quickly came to realize that Raven Blood was utterly merciless. He could see a look of twisted delight in Raven’s Blood face each time Silvanus was stabbed. The Scarlet Knight knew exactly where to bury his knives. Silvanus was left to cower in pain upon the forest floor. The old man gave him only two choices: either follow or die. No matter how skilled Silvanus was, he was no match for Raven Blood.
And so the flight of Silvanus came to close. He submitted to the Scarlet Knight. And because of that decision Raven Blood chose to keep him. Not as a son. But as a weapon he could temper after his own image.