This is really, really stupid. Moira what are you thinking? Moira criticized herself as she made her cautious way through the snow towards the cacophony echoing through the trees. Her boots were crunching through a couple inches of crusty snow, as she carefully skulked from tree to tree, peaking carefully around each tree before making her way to the next, looking intently for the origin of the sounds. The weight of the carrier in her increasingly frozen hand making it ache. Shit this is stupid. You have to know; you will freeze alone, in this bloody forest. She reasoned with herself. The sounds were echoing quite far through the winter forest, as it took her a good ten minutes to find the first signs of the conflict.
Taking cover behind the next tree, and poking her head around, she spotted what looked like a form laying heaped on the ground; still as the forest around it. Scarlet splashes, and dozens of footprints covered the area around the figure. The form was vaguely shaped like a man curled into a fetal position. When she got closer, she discovered the face was distinctly not human. It was weasel-like, an anthropomorphic weasel-person, with thin fur over features that were a clear cross between human and weasel. When Moira approached, and bent to take a closer look, its eyes were staring blankly into nothing; clearly dead. It took her a few moments to realize it was curled around a spear lodged in its chest.
Holy mother’s mercy. A bloody spear and a weasel-person! She started to hyperventilate and hiccup, before uncontrollable giggles rocked her as the absurdity and ridiculousness, hit her. It was one thing to hear the sounds of battle, but another entirely to see a weasel-person dead by a spear to the chest. Correction weasel-girl. She told herself when she noticed the breasts on the being’s chest. Moira hunched down further trying to get control, before taking another look around. She admonished herself for focusing on the figure and not keeping vigilance when the sounds suddenly spiked in volume. With a particularly loud scream that filled the forest. The sudden sound helped her get some control of the giggles and hiccups, as it brought her panic up sort, and she frantically looked around for the source. She forced herself to take steady deep breaths striving to calm her racing heart.
She noticed Dandelion was silent as a grave. She lifted and turned the carrier to look in at him momentarily. His ears were rigid and alert as he tried to take in as much of their surroundings as the carrier allowed; his nose twitching all the while. Concentrating on the cat for a moment allowed her to get better control of her hysteria. Get a-hold of yourself, people are dying around you! She told herself harshly. Her hands and ears were really starting to ache and grow numb from the cold.
“You are way better at this than me, aren’t you buddy?” She murmured to the cat.
He gave her a look of disdain, only a cat was capable of, before dismissing her for his vigilance.
“Right.” She muttered. Maybe Frank was right and I am unhinged.
This day just gets more and more bizarre. She thought, once more focusing on the weasel-girl. Taking periodic looks at her surroundings, she studied the body more carefully. Her garb was clearly ancient, not exactly medieval, more Victorian. She also had what looked like a very warm hooded white and grey fur long-cloak, and fingered leather gloves. The finger count is even right. She noted. The girl was also armed with an iron shod staff that lay trapped in the snow under her body, and two long daggers still sheathed at her waist.
Taking another look around, checking to make sure no one was in sight, she crouched and placed Dandy’s carrier on the ground and put her gun on top of it. She’s dead she won’t need them! Besides I’m freezing my ass off and can’t shoot for shit with frozen hands. She reasoned with herself, as she first striped the gloves from the corpse then proceeded to maneuver the corpse to get the cloak and belt off. Her cold stiff fingers made it take a lot more effort. Dead weight is a real bitch! She groaned when she finally finished. Frank was right I'm weak as shit. She thought as the exertion had her panting hard. She removed her pack so she could drape the ankle length cloak around her; the woman was close to her height. It took her a bit to figure out the iron cloak pin. The belt had a few pouches tied to it along with the daggers, so she looped it through a few loops on the back of her pack so it wouldn’t clatter around; leaving the pouches attached. She spent more time then she probably should have messing with the straps of the pack before she realized she should take the cloak off again and have it cover the pack instead. After pulling on the surprisingly well-fitting thin gloves, Moira felt the painful pins and needles as warmth returned slowly to her fingers and ears. Warmer, she started to notice the weight of the pack on her back, and the tightening of her stomach as a small wave of dizziness hit her.
Her stomach pains made her take another look at the poor weasel girl: noticing the distinct lack of a pack or any sort of food. What the hell? Maybe they have a wagon or something. Focus! She contemplated the staff for a moment before dismissing it and picking up her gun and Dandy.
The sounds of battle had tapered off to almost nothing, while she had spent the time divesting the dead girl of her, only slightly bloodstained, items.
The sounds of excited voices carried through the forest drawing closer. They were indistinct and high pitched with lots of yips and barks. It was evidently a language however. Forcing another calming breath, Moira hurriedly made her way back the way she had come. Trying to step in her old footprints; remembering something she had read. Finding a large tree that afforded her a decent view of the dead Weasel-girl, she crouched down drawing the cloak around her; letting it’s white and grey coloring disguise her against the snow. Placing Dandelion’s carrier behind her, hidden by the tree, she braced her gun in both hands keeping it aimed at the ground in front of her. Her hands still inside her cloak.
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It wasn’t long before she heard, then clearly saw, the first figure approach out of the underwood. The figures were truly monstrous; they were upright disfigured canines wearing an assortment of amour and weapons and were covered in filth. Their heads were distinctly coyote like, but with strange bald areas and mange. Their mussels were filled with the sharp teeth of a canine. They were also enormous, the smallest toping at least 7 feet. They carried their weapons with the ease of long familiarity.
Moira found herself shuddering with renewed panic as they grew nearer. They look like bloody, werewolves with weapons and armor! Sweet baby Jesus, protect me! She lamented to herself as she strived to remain perfectly still. Her panic helped her efforts as she froze up completely.
There were three of the creatures, and they were looking at the dead weasel-girl suspiciously; while obviously scenting the air. Shit! Moira thought, and slowly raised her gun to aim it at the closest figure. However, after a few quick barked words and a distinctly human shrug, two of the figures grab a leg of the weasel-girl each and started dragging her back the way they had come; the third brought up the rear watching and scenting the air carefully, his large spear and shield up and ready.
Fucking shit! Moira cursed internally as they dropped from sight. She waited a spell, to give her heart a moment to calm, before rising and looking back at Dandy in his carrier. It took another startling moment, to realize she felt she could, almost, understand what the beings were saying. The thought rocked her even more. What the hell is going on?
“Not your average dogs, huh, big guy?” She said softly to him. He just gave her an annoyed look and pawed at the gate of his cage.
“I would, but it’s dangerous out here.” She answered him then picked up his carrier and followed the creatures hesitantly; once more flitting from, tree to tree. Taking the cautious approach.
She took her time approaching. The sun was quickly falling as she moved, and dusk had fallen fully by the time she found herself observing the creatures and the outcome of their conflict.
And what a sight. Moans, whimpers and the occasional scream had filtered through the trees as she crept. Now she saw the cause, and it took all of her panic driven terror not to vomit and curl into a ball of panic. In a small clearing there was five of the large figures that she could see. Two of them were clearly in the process of butchering a few bodies, all clearly humanoid; one even appeared to be one of their own kind. A third smaller one was clearly injured, resting with its back against a tree holding a severed arm and slowly bleeding out. That wasn’t the worst part, however. The largest two were each in the process of eating a victim, alive. Systematically stripping them of their clothing and items and eating them slowly, sticking to the limbs. Shit it's like they are purposely keeping them alive! Moira fought her rising gorge with a vengeance as the true horror dawned on her. All the vomiting she had done already lent her some extra strength to fight the urge.
She pointedly made herself look away, too try and ignore the screams. The less of that in my head the better. She told herself. Her heart was pounding like a jackhammer in her chest and her hands were shaking with fear. She forcefully made herself look more closely at the clearing, then the brush around her. There were bodies scattered all over. Many of them the large canines. In fact, the majority were of the creatures. There was a large figure tied to one of the trees with heavy rope; with a large bronze collar around its neck. It appeared to be studying the creature's actions intently; head slowly panning back and forth. She could only see the back of its head so she couldn’t tell what it was. There were a couple figures that had been stripped and were hanging from a tree; blood dripping into a pool in the snow beneath. Various packs, weapons, and other items were strewn about the clearing with the bodies and blood. Luckily, all of the creatures were busy eating and butchering and not paying attention to their surroundings.
I can’t do this alone. I’m going to die in this forest. If the bloody werewolves don’t get me then the cold or starvation will. I need help or a map or something! She lamented to herself trying to give herself some resolve.
If I can find a better vantage, before the light is completely gone, I might be able to do something. I have a gun they have axes and spears. If I wait till full night, the flashes will give me away. She thought to herself, studying the sky. Her anger and indignation were steadily rising. The horror only fueled her ire and built her resolve to do something about these monsters.
She made her way to a better vantage; once she spotted one. She was fuming with cold rage by the time she found her spot. You do not EAT thinking beings! She raged in her mind, using the emotion to throttle her fear and panic. Hiding Dandelions carrier in a small snow drift, covered with brush, she gently undid the latch on it so that he could get out.
“I’m afraid I’m going to do something ridiculously stupid, Dandy love.” Moira said very softly to him when he nosed it open a bit. He turned his head a little when she spoke. She turned back to the clearing as Dandy decided to join her under her cloak where she was setting up.
It was at this point she realized she could understand what the creatures were saying and their words only further firmed her resolve.
“Finish up! There is meat to gather. We need to be done by dark. Chief will eat us if we’re late.” The largest and most intimidating figure said when his victim finally perished.
“Only one slave taken and many lost. Might eat us anyway.” Another grumbled after ripping the throat out of his victim.
Moira raised her gun, and took stead aim at the chest of the first figure that had spoken. It was only about 40 yards from her hiding place. Moira had lain herself out with her cloak’s front propped up with a couple sticks so she could disguise her shots, as best she could figure. After one more calming breath, and fervent prayer, she embraced her fury fully and squeezed the trigger twice rapidly.