Yelena

Yelena stood vigil on the wind-blasted North wall of Yarruk, hearing Cynthia shiver away beside her. The Tilonxeel had a particular aversion to cold that had always struck Yelena as odd considering their infinitely fluffy tails and fur covered faces. Cynthia shivered in her armored cloak and every now and then gave a pixie-like sneeze that could have ticked the funny bone of even the hardiest warrior amongst them.

Yelena chuckled absent-mindedly. Unfortunately for her, her companion’s ears were well trained.

"What?" Cynthia asked, teeth chittering.

"Nothing," Yelena replied with a smirk.

"You know, it’s better that you tell me if you’re laughing at me, Lena. Otherwise, I might report that you were excited for the battle."

"Maybe I am?" Yelena pouted, keeping one eye open to meet Cynthia’s mischievous gaze. Slowly a grin broke across her face.

Both girls instantly started laughing.

"I wouldn’t blame you," Cynthia said through her cheer. "It helps to work out the stress we get from morons like Viritr. I dunno how you could stand that snake-fiend’s insults. I wanted to bash her face in for what she said about you."

Yelena looked out into the snow-capped trees the surrounded the township, hearing only the howling wind cut through their chilled leaves and bite at her skin through her armor. There were eyes out there prospecting them. Waiting for their moment. Eyes that belonged to creatures that wished to feed on the weak, and the infirm. The cold cut sliced into the skin of these villagers all their lives, and the teeth of those that waited out there in the trees would finish the job. Yelena understood this. She knew that the beasts of Averix had no malevolence in their bodies. They simply saw humans as a deformity – an evolutionary accident. They were here to take back what was theirs. She knew this. And there was a part of her that understood their need.

That was what horrified her the most.

"Maybe she’s right," she said. "Maybe I am a monster."

It was a comment made without much thought, and so when she felt a tiny fist pound against her arm she was taken aback. Cynthia’s face was mere inches from her own, her gauntleted hand raised.

"How many times do we have to tell you to stop talking like that?" the Tilonxeel squeaked, punctuating her question with a tiny sneeze that broke through the fear creeping up Yelena’s spine. ‘You might be a Frivak. You might have been born dead. But you ain’t no monster. We’ve all seen monsters. Hell, we all live up in Caer Argent because that’s what the world out here thinks of us. Hybrids. Half-breeds. Mongrels. You don’t think I’ve heard it all?’

"Cynthia, I know you have," Yelena told her friend. "I know. I –"

"So stop listening to what others say," Cynthia said, turning back to face the snow-blasted woods. ‘I’ve had enough self-hate to last me a lifetime. I’m not gonna let you do the same to yourself. The fact you're a Firvak means that you're alive, right now. It means I got to know you all these years. It means I've got someone in my life that I know I can count on. And, personally, that's all I care about."

Yelena smiled. She couldn’t imagine the prejudice Cynthia and her kind could have faced down south, where the world was easy for the purebloods and harsh for the halfs. She had heard things that had turned her stomach, and had heard what lengths the hybrids of the world had gone to in order to simply live in the cities of stone – cities that put the bulwark of Caer Argent to shame. She’d heard these things, but she just couldn’t imagine them happening to her friends – people like Cynthia, with her twitching nose and tail that radiated warmth for anyone brave enough to dare to cuddle it. She was only half of Yelena’s size, but there was a strength of will contained in that tiny frame that put Yelena to shame.

"You know," Yelena said, smiling down at her. "I’ve always thought you were pretty cute."

Cynthia’s eyes went wide.

"Wish I had a bushy tail like that," Yelena continued, leaning on the wall turrets absent-mindedly. "When we get home, I’m gonna brush the hell outta it."

"You’re gonna have to kill me first!" Cynthia shouted.

"Or feed you some tasty acorns?"

"Lena!" Cynthia roared. "I – uh – hmm. How many ya got?"

Yelena chuckled. "As many as you want."

Cynthia smiled back. She understood what Yelena was doing. She never did mock them for what they were. She celebrated it. She even envied them for their strangeness. That was what had struck Cynthia the first day she had met the oddly pale, blonde-haired beauty that had come to them from nowhere, under Dimedrious’ arm. The first thing she’d done was grab Cynthia’s tail and stare at it with stars twinkling in her eyes – like sun-sparkles dancing on a crystalline blue ocean. Cynthia had never seen someone look at her tail like that. Truthfully, she’d assumed the girl was going to cut it off.

Presently she smiled up at Yelena and gave a hearty chuckle.

"I’ll hold you to that," she said.

Both warriors then looked out on the forest before them, seemingly devoid of life, suddenly still – as though the wind had stopped only to listen in on their conversation. Their eyes betrayed warmth, but the soldiers within them looked passed the trees, ever watchful, staring into the darkness that dwelled within.

…

You feel the cold nip at your fur. But it barely nicks your skin. There’s too much power raging inside your chest to feel something as mundane as the elemental forces of this pitiful world.

Beside you, the sound of paws on earth. You are the leader of a surging brood. The pack is strong. They may not have accepted The Gift willingly, but now they see just how much they were missing out on.

Something rustles in the brush nearby. You order one member of the pack to pounce, and she snatches a hidden human hunter by his leg and weathers the blow of his axe as it crashes down on her snout. He can’t break through the skin there. He’s human. He’s weak.

You lunge for his neck and sink your teeth into its soft flesh, feeling his filthy blood spill down your canines and mingle with the saliva building up in your throat. Just before he dies, you try focusing on his convulsing body, straining your mind to look through him. Into him.

-Ap-p-prai-ai-ai-sa-l-

H-h-h-h-hu-mmm-ma-man-man

U-nun-un-unlev-lev-lev-vvv-

You snarl in fury and lift your head back to howl as the buzzing singes your mind and slowly fizzles out in your ears. You understood it enough. As you shake your head you realise that this prey must have come from nearby. You signal for the pack to halt for just a moment, closing your eyes and focusing again on the twitching body – sensing it out. Yes. Get its scent. It’s aroma. Follow it. Think: where? Origin.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

-Pppppp-perception check (sccc-cece-ent) suc-succ-suuc-ess-successful-

There! A red snake coils around the dying human and spreads its body down the path he came, winding through the trees. Towards more of them.

You grin, and the pack howls with you as you launch yourself forward on the trail of the snake, leaving behind the still spasming human for the children to feast upon.

…

The first one to realize that something was coming was Agathae the Tigran. Her feline senses were beyond those of even Dimedrious’ experienced nose. She could feel the surging presence coming from the forest, prospecting the meat contained in the town. She knew the beasts of the night were here.

She ran from her checkpoint at the town’s West Wall to alert Dimedrious, who was presently in a rather heated discussion with the mayor of Yarruck in his office.

Storming passed the guards stationed at the doorway, she ignored their sneers of derision at her cat-ears and slammed open the door to the mayor’s liberally decorated office – adorned with the usual trappings of men in power: stags, wolf-heads, boar tusks…

Though such sights turned her stomach she turned her attention to Dimedrious in a chair that barely supported his weight. The mayor – a red-faced and dour little man at the best of times – was clearly inebriated, and was currently roaring at the dog-man about those individuals of superior value to the peasantry outside the walls that must be protected at all costs. It was clear he was attempting to keep Dimedrious here as his personal bodyguard. Like all humans, he was laboring the point, and Dimedrious was patiently weathering his stupidity.

But at Agathae’s entrance his ears perked up. He gladly diverted his attention.

"What’ve you got?" he asked.

Agathae stood to attention.

"Hostiles from the North and South, Captain!"

He double blinked. A flanking maneuver.

Really?

"Numbers?"

Agathae’s whiskers twitched. "More than a brood and less than a horde?"

Dimedrious smirked and quickly stood, bowing to the mayor.

"Excuse me, sir."

The tiny human’s eyes bulged from his red-rimmed sockets. "I say," he blustered. "Sir Dimedrious, I say your place must be by my side! How can you trust the word of this mewling kitten?"

Agathae shot him a rueful glance, but Diemdrious was cool. He clapped a hand on her shoulder.

"This ‘kitten’s’ name is Agathae, and she’s got the best sixth sense in the business. She can smell the steaming shit you took at dinner time out back, and despite this has stood her post all through the night. That shows dedication."

Agathae stifled a laugh as she observed the mayor’s increasingly flushed face. He was practically salivating at the mouth.

"Now," Dimedrious continued. "I’d recommend you stay here and let us do the job we came here to do."

As the two warriors left they heard the mayor’s incredulous voice behind them.

"I – I cannot spare any of the town militia, you understand! I-if-if you creatures fail we will be forced to protect our most vital assets! You understand, yes? This is purely in our best interests to –"

"We don’t need your militia," Dimedrious said calmly from the doorway. "Call the alarm and cower in your huts. We’ll take it from here."

Agathae smiled as they broke into a run from the mayor’s office into the creeping cold of night, already seeing the townsfolk dive out of the cobbled streets and into the protection of their homes. She could tell her commander’s blood was up. And if she was honest, so was hers.

"Head to the South Wall where the Band of the Viper are stationed," Dimedrious barked. "Let Virtir know that I’m heading North – tell them to hold position and expect the worst."

Agathae nodded. "Who’s stationed at the North right now?"

"Yelena and Cynthia," he replied. "They need to know what’s coming."

…

You can smell them from here. Their taste clings to your fangs, merging with the aroma of the dead male’s flesh that still sticks to your throat.

It’s a village. Full of humans. Full of flesh. Full of meat.

But the clan lingers on the precipice of the forest. Even as they are, they fear a direct assault. Their paws waver in the snow, afraid to tread the path.

You prowl their ranks, eyeing each one individually. They can see it in your eyes: the certainty of the glorious slaughter that’s to come. The children will eat for eternity. No member of the pack shall never freeze out there in the wastes again.

Yet the fear still hides behind some of the elder’s eyes. Their minds are still fumbling with the Power. But the young ones – they’re feeling the new blood run through their veins. They thirst to prove themselves.

You lick your lips and give the first commands.

"That’s right", the voice inside you whispers. "The pawns go first."

…

"You hear that?"

Yelena nodded, her hand on the blade at her waist. She strained her eyes to scan the forest perimeter, seeing nothing, but hearing the tell-tale signs of what was to come.

From within the trees, a growl spewed out that reverberated off the walls beneath her.

Cynthia drew her bow and aimed a single arrow at the rustling bushes. The growl seemed to emanate from the trees themselves. Which ones, they couldn’t know. It may as well have been a battle-prayer intoned by the forest. And soon, that same prayer became a snarl of attack.

It leaped through the air faster than Cynthia’s arrow could fly. She loosed the projectile as she saw the black shape launch itself from a tree branch towards them, dexterously curving its body to avoid the arrow and breaking into a mid-air roll. It looked like a great black shuriken, its fur a row of serrated razor-blades, throwing itself at them.

Yelena sidestepped out of its attack and planted her feet firmly in front of Cynthia. As the beast crashed into the wall it righted itself almost instantly, skittering claws propelling it into another leap from the stone ground right at Yelena’s throat.

She drew her sword across the air and felt it cut into the beast’s fur. A leap of purple spurted from its torso as it squealed in pain. But its attack did not relent. With Yelena’s blade embedded in its side its claws slashed out at her, raking a scar across her cheek as she struggled to pull the blade out of its torso.

Yelena could only look in horror as the claws came towards her, scratching at her gauntlets as the creature’s body beat against her sword, trying to keep her pinned and the weapon lodged in its flesh. Its amber eyes flickered against the night sky, glowing, burning with hatred. Spittle flew from its glinting fangs.

Then the entity behind her eyes stirred:

Morphology: White Wolf

Status: POSSESSED (VOID)

The shock of the words blazing black against the snow filled sky momentarily dazzled her, and the jaws of the beast leaped for her neck.

Then an arrow sang through the air and impaled the beast between its eyes. It gave a final yelp, its claws slowly fell to the ground, and the body went limp. Yelena’s sword slid out of the lifeless being’s body filled almost to the hilt with its blood.

She looked over her shoulder at her companion, who nodded at her with an air of professionality.

"You shot him over my shoulder?" Yelena asked, wiping her blade on her skirt.

Cynthia shrugged. "Hey, did I miss?"

Yelena just sighed.

Both warriors then looked at the downed beast at their feet, its paws twitching in its final muscle spasms.

"Lena," Cynthia said slowly. "Look at its eyes."

Yelena followed her friend’s gaze and bent down to examine the body, still keeping her distance should the creature strike at her in its death throes. Stranger things had been known to happen.

But what she saw gave her more pause than any death spasm could: the creature’s amber eyes were bleeding, and yet it was not blood that dripped there – the liquid was black, viscous, and ran in three little rivers from its sockets. It gave the impression that the creature was weeping in death. Weeping spidery tears of treacle.

She recalled the words her new eyes had just shown her.

There was no mistaking it now: this wolf was being puppeted by a Voidspawn of the Everloft.

As both warriors looked at each other, sharing the knowledge that their true enemy was here, the church bell sounded in the depths of the town. The sound of the general alarm.

"L-Lena," Cynthia whispered.

And as Yelena turned back towards the forest, she saw a row of eyes staring up at her.

…

You feel the scout’s death in your gut. Your claws clench under your paws, begging you to move forward.

But the voice says no. It’s not your time yet.

The clan is edging out of the forest, staring up at the wall and the two mortals stationed there.

They youngling they killed barely had time to attack. They had the human instruments of death on their side. They were ready. Yet, the scout had still made it to the wall. It had still taken the strength of both of them to kill him. You know in your heart that you can wear them down.

Your muscles bulging, heart racing, you lift your head to the snow-streaked skies and open your mouth in a wail that carries into the darkness of night.

Kill. Them. All.

…

On the North wall of Yarruk, both Yelena and Cynthia gazed upon a miasma of creeping shadow. Amber eyes narrowed to slits prospected them from below as though probing them both for their weaknesses. Blind spots. Hesitation.

Yelana brought her sword up instinctively, keeping her breathing steady. She heard Cynthia shakily raise her bow, aiming for one set of eyes, recalling the speed of their fallen comrade and knowing that they’d be upon her before she could even nock another arrow.

"Cynthia," Yelena whispered over her raised blade. "Find the commander."

The Tilonxeel gave a squeak of derision. "Fat chance," she said. "I need those acorns."

Yelena gulped. "You’re scared," she said.

"So are you - but you’re still standing. Because that’s what we do."

Her tail was shivering with more than just the cold of the tundra, now. But Yelena could see the determination in her tiny eyes. That was her way: never leave a comrade in arms. There’s no one Yelena would rather stand beside to face down a gale of darkness.

The wolven pack crept forward as one, like a single organic entity. Their snarls reached the pair’s ears.

"Stay behind," Yelena said. "And aim for the head."

"Don’t have to tell me twice."