Kol sprinted at the armored man,hatred burning in his gaze. He struck with every ounce of strength and speed he possessed, but the shadowy figure lazily ducked and sidestepped evey blow from his wild assault. For several long seconds, he avoided every attempt the orc made to strike him with an almost exaggerated lack of interest. Then, he suddenly stopped, grabbing the frantic man by the wrist.
“Stop that,” he said, sounding mildly annoyed. “I have better things to do today than entertain your temper tantrum. I’m not even the one who killed them! That would be the pyromancer that came through a few hours ago, when you and your friend were sleeping. Angry fellow, that one - but not bad, for a rookie.”
Kol, dumbstruck by both the news of other intruders and the shocking brute strength of the man before him, simply gaped wordlessly.
“Sounds like you saw the fight,” Damaia spoke up with a frown.
“I did,” the Shadow Knight confirmed. “I saw no need to interfere, though. That particular bunch of orcs were rather obnoxious.. These ruins belong to anyone and everyone brave enough to explore them, and mindlessly attacking everyone you see just because you arbitrarily decided this place is yours is the sort of arrogance that gets you put in an early - and well deserved - grave.”
“Why are you here, then?” the felblood pressed, her frown twisting into a full blown scowl.
“ I was in charge of a small group of warriors until recently, when we ran into some significant trouble. Only two of my men survived, and I was hoping to hire some of these fine orcs to replenish my ranks. So far they’ve not only refused my offers, but attempted to kill me for ‘trespassing’ as soon as I finish speaking - and sometimes even before that. I’m beginning to suspect this tribe has malevolent intentions.” The armored man turned to stare at Kol, and after a moment Jubel realized he must be waiting for some sort of response. The orc must’ve realized it as well, because he took that moment to spit in his captor’s face.
“That,” the armored man said slowly, “was a mistake.” A click sound had him freeze in place, one hand half extended towards the orc’s throat. Damaia had her flame launcher pointed at his face. “Please refrain from assaulting our guide,” she said in a tone that made it sound more like an order than a request. The Shadow Knight laughed.
“Very well, Damaia - but only because you asked so nicely.” He relaxed, letting his arms drop to his sides and releasing his grip on Kol’s wrist. “I suggest you learn to control your temper, Kol.” he said mildly. “Most people aren’t as reasonable as I am.”
They never said anyone’s name out loud. Lucas desperately hoped the others had noticed too. Either this man had incredibly sharp hearing and had learned all this from the echoes of their arguments three rooms back, or he’d been following them, and at this point the mercenary wasn’t sure which idea frightened him more.
In either case, though, his immediate goals hadn’t changed, and time was running out. “What do you want?” he growled at the barely visible knight.
“Exactly what I said,” came the reply. “I want to explore more of these ruins and hire any orcs that can think for themselves. I wouldn’t have stepped forward if Kol hadn't sensed me. I had hoped to hire him, actually, but he seems disinclined to listen, so instead I think I’ll have some tea and be on my way.” The peculiar man pulled a tea kettle and several cups out of his shadow, using long, thin strands of some dark, wispy substance to hold them. “Would you like some?” he asked as he pulled out a sealed pouch that presumably held tea.
“No.” Damaia said flatly, and the others followed suit.
“Pity,” he replied calmly, filling the kettle with water from the pool and producing a small flame from the tip of one finger. “I’ll make a full kettle anyway, though - just in case you change your mind. Most people do, when they smell this stuff!” His demeanor shifted from the vaguely threatening presence he’d had before to one of genuine cheer as he constructed a small campfire using things he pulled out of his shadow.
Lucas, having lost patience with the situation almost as soon as he entered the room, stomped over to the glowing pool, ignoring Vivi’s attempts to stop him. “We’re short on time,” he muttered as she grabbed his arm. “We need to finish up here and find Minerva fast. This will hopefully be over quickly. If it’s not? Find her without me. I remember how we got here, and kind find my own way out if it comes to that.”
Vivi bit her lip. “We won’t leave without you,” she objected softly. “You’re sure this is safe?”
“Nope.” He smirked at her dumbstruck expression as he filled his empty hip flask with the water, and quickly took a swig. He opened his mouth to insist that everything would be fine, but was cut off as a wave of dizziness brought him to his knees. He fell to the cold stone floor as his vision blurred, his thoughts spinning faster than his vision. The last thing he saw before his vision faded altogether was the eyes of the wolf throne, staring directly at him. Perhaps it was just a reflection from the glowing pool, but he could’ve sworn the wolf’s eyes were gleaming with a pale, blue-white light.
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The smooth stone felt cold against Lucas’ cheek as he woke up. He rolled onto his back and stared at the bricks in the ceiling. He didn’t need to count them to know how many were there, just like he already knew the exact dimensions of the room that he’d see if he bothered to sit up. His miserable, rectangular, windowless prison, exactly 9 feet tall, 15 feet wide, and 30 feet long. He’d spent more than enough time in there to measure it out himself, and scarcely ever had anything better to do when he was locked up. At least counting felt off to the vicious beast, confused it, helped him stay sane.
As he slowly pulled himself to his feet, however, he realized that his prison had changed. To be more exact, the content of the prison had changed, and for the first time he could remember, he was not the only living creature in the jail cell. A massive wolf sat on the opposite end of the room, chained to the wall with tarnished silver chains. The beast snarled, lunging towards him as soon as he made eye contact with it, but the chain was too short to let it reach him.
“Not so tough now, are you?” the mercenary muttered with a mirthless laugh. “Wanna try again? Go on! I didn’t come this far to back down now!” He wasn’t even sure why he was taunting it, but it felt appropriate somehow - and it certainly produced results.
The horse-sized canine lunged once more, this time shattering the chains that held it, but Lucas was ready. He held out his left arm, jamming it into the snapping jaws of the feral beast as he slammed his other hand into its skull. Again and again, the mercenary struck the beast’s skull, but it didn’t even respond. The black wolf glared with its baleful crimson eyes at the hunter that stood before it, trying its best to tear off his arm, but the pain as it tore into his flesh brought with it a peculiar sense of clarity. Rather than pointlessly wasting his energy trying to bludgeon his beast, he focused on the pain in his arm, and pushed.
Crimson sparks flew from the wolf’s mouth as lightning coursed through them both, but neither of them were willing to give in. Seconds passed agonizingly slowly as beast and hunter stared each other down.
Then, as quickly as it had started, the battle was over. In unison the pair collapsed, each breathing heavily. “We can’t do this forever,” Lucas said as he stared at the scars on his freshly healed arm. Dark half wheels marked the place where he’d been bitten - not only today, but over a decade ago, too. He turned his gaze at the beast he’d spent so long containing. “I won't let you run wild, you know. I’ll end us both before I allow that.”
The pitch black wolf growled and snarled in protest.
“I know,” the tired mercenary said with a nod. “So why don’t we try shaking things up? After all, as it is, you don’t even get to try to break free unless there’s a full moon.” He lifted the flask full of shimmering water to his lips and drank deeply, before offering the flask to the foul tempered canine. “I have a proposition for you.”
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
The wolf listened closely, a canine smile slowly stretching across its muzzle.
When he next opened his eyes, Lucas found that he had a struggling Jubel pinned to the wall. His left hand, with which he held the desperate half elf, looked somehow… off. Looking down, he saw that his entire body had been covered in thick black fur, and his glaive lay abandoned on the floor in favor of the deadly claws that had replaced his human hands. “I can work with this,” he growled as he dropped Jubel to the ground. “Sorry for giving you a rough time,” he snarled in a voice even deeper than his usual gruff baritone. “You know how I can get without my coffee. Shadow guy, do me a favor and brew some of that next. I’ll need it soon.”
Then, ignoring the cries of astonishment from his teammates, he left the room. The wolf had held up its end of the bargain, and he would hold up his.
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Kol was one of the most clever warriors in the entire Last Fall tribe. He was their most talented liar by miles, and faster on foot than any other orc save the Chief himself. He wasn’t strong enough to lead his own team, much to Chief Zil’s disappointment, but he was perfectly suited to lure enemies that ‘defeated’ him into the traps that they’d spent weeks building. In fact, he’d proven himself so effective that the guards deeper inside the surprisingly extensive camp had grown complacent.
With Kol unable to communicate with them, however, and his backup having been massacred by another adventuring party, the brave warriors of the Last Fall tribe were caught completely unawares when a vicious, armored werewolf tore through their rough wooden palisades.
Blood and screams filled the air as the black furred monster ripped apart the stunned sentries, their dying shrieks the only warning the rest of the tribe would ever get as it turned towards them. The beast was nearly 7 feet tall, and its golden eyes flickered crimson for a moment as it stood on its hind legs and howled, sending dozens of orcs running.
Then, it did something even more terrifying.
It spoke.
“Chief Zil!” It snarled loudly, astonishing the few orcs that still had the presence of mind to listen. “Take your tribe and leave this place. I will not ask again. This temple is not yours.”
The cold fury in the lycanthrope’s voice sent most of the terrified tribes folk fleeing immediately, snatching simple tools and weapons as they sprinted towards the path to the surface. The Chief and his personal guards, however, rose to meet the shapeshifter’s challenge, drawing well worn steel blades as they stared him down.
“A ruin belongs to those bold enough to claim it, moonkin!” Zil spat at the defiant werewolf. “This place will offer my people a chance to live the peaceful life we’ve been denied for so long! Who are you to deny us that?!”
The lycanthrope pointed one razor sharp claw off to the left of the chief, where a shivering hawkbear cub and an elven woman lay in a carefully crafted wooden cage. “Peaceful?” the beast snarled scornfully. “I’ve seen this kind of peace before. It ends poorly for everyone involved. You want peace? Drop your weapons and go to the surface. Otherwise I’ll rip you all to shreds.” The shapeshifter sunk into a low crouch, his claws scraping against the stone as he prepared to leap towards the defiant chieftain.
This wasn’t the way Lucas would usually handle this sort of situation.. The odds were certainly slim, but there was at least the potential for a peaceful solution here. There was a chance that the orc chieftain really did want a simple, peaceful life. There was a chance that the villagers up above could be convinced to trade with them, and allow the orcs to keep living here. Any other day, Lucas would’ve at least considered it.
But not today.
Today, a price must be paid in blood. The wolf must be appeased. And the temple must be protected.
So he waited, growling at the orcs as they clutched their weapons.The resolve shining in the eyes of his prey told Lucas everything he needed to know, but out of respect for their courage, he waited a moment more. A heartbeat passed, then two.
Zil, Chieftain of the Last Fall tribe, roared with defiant fury as he lifted a truly massive sword over his head. By the time the blade struck the space the werewolf had stood moments before, Lucas had already decapitated one guard and disemboweled another. To their credit, the orcs didn’t allow terror to take hold of them, even as they died. As the headless orc fell to the ground, the mortally wounded one dropped his weapon and latched on to Lucas, using every ounce of his fading strength to try and pin the shapeshifter to the ground.
It wasn’t enough.
Lucas effortlessly broke the feeble hold of the dying orc and picked him up with one clawed hand, throwing him at his astonished chieftain. Zil spluttered in shock and rage as his dying warrior’s body slammed into him with enough force to send him tumbling to the ground, and screamed at his guards. “Boar tactics! Work together!” In unison, the 4 remaining guards sprang towards the beast that had slain two of their comrades, quickly surrounding him.
A spear sank into each of Lucas’ shoulders as the orcs struck in unison, eliciting a howl of pain. He tried to tear the spears loose, but the orcs holding them refused to budge, using the steel tips anchored to his flesh to try to pin him to the floor. An orc wielding a blade in each hand leapt towards the lycanthrope, keen to capitalize on his moment of weakness, but he’d underestimated the beast’s strength. In a flash, razor sharp claws tore through flesh and armor both, ripping out the warrior’s throat. Staggering backwards, the dying orc watched in horror as the werewolf used its fangs to shatter one of the spears. His claws struck before the remaining orcs could react, violently pulling the other spear free before pulling it towards him, bringing the orc holding it right to his waiting jaws. There was a sickening crunch as Lucas shattered the man’s skull, his eyes gleaming as he turned to face the chieftain.
Just then, pain tore across his back as an orc with a battleaxe took him by surprise. Howling, he spun to face his attacker, but Zil took the chance to strike with his own colossal blade, leaving a second wound perpendicular to the first. The crude X in Lucas’ back began to heal before the warrior’s eyes- but too slowly. He’d pushed his luck and his newfound strength to its limit, and found it lacking. He was going to die.
Lashing out with the last of his strength, he tore the axe wielding orc apart, savagely maiming the man with his vicious claws. Unlike his earlier victims, this particular orc had the presence of mind to defend his throat and stomach, using the head of his axe as a shield - but Lucas was no feral, mindless beast. He remembered his time as a soldier, even now, and old instincts merged with the ferocious mind of the wolf within him as he ducked low and struck the back of the green skinned man’s leg, just above the knee. Blood fountained from the wound as his claws shredded the vital artery located there, even as the screaming orc chieftain behind him readied what would surely be a fatal blow.
He’d lost, but he’d gone down fighting and completed his mission. In that instant, both man and wolf were satisfied.
Then a blast of flame slammed into the side of Chief Zil’s face, throwing him off balance just long enough for the wounded werewolf to roll himself out of the blade’s path. Fresh strength flooded his body as his pain ebbed, and he thought he could hear the distant sound of a melancholic tune being played on a violin. The sole remaining orc guard tried to stab at Lucas with a sword he’d scavenged from his comrade’s corpse, but he lacked the practiced grace of the previous swordsman, fumbling and thrashing about as he approached the shapeshifter. With an ease born of countless hours of live combat, the beast grabbed the orc by the wrist and twisted, disarming the desperate warrior. He leaned in to whisper to the terrified guard, growling in a low voice, “Give up yet?”.
The orc nodded, realizing that he was hopelessly outmatched. “Then leave,” the werewolf snarled, throwing the man back. “I have no time for cowards.” He spun to face the suddenly outnumbered chieftain just as the rest of his team came up the stone stairs, their faces grimly determined.
“You’re a fucking idiot,” Vivi said bluntly. “Honestly, what were you thinking, running off alone like that?! If they had silver weapons, you’d probably be dead by now!” She pointed the bow of her violin accusingly at Lucas, who’s ears drooped slightly.
“Scold later, fight now,” Jubel said quietly, brandishing a sword he’d looted from one of the dead orcs with a flourish as he narrowed his eyes at the chieftain. Zil’s face flushed with barely suppressed rage as he charged down the stairs at the trio, clearly assuming that the wounded werewolf was no longer a threat.
That was the last mistake he ever made.
Jubel and Vivi dodged in opposite directions as the chieftain’s heavy blade slammed into the floor, barely missing them. Damaia calmly tossed a small, pale vial at the raging orc, who sneezed as it shattered, covering him in a glittering dust that gleamed a bioluminescent blue. As he wiped the dust from his face, trying desperately to keep it from getting in his eyes, the orc felt a chill run up his spine. His head hit the ground before he could even turn around.
“Admittedly,” Lucas growled as his wounds slowly knit themselves shut, “I may have gotten… carried away. Controlling these instincts is difficult! The pain made things hazy, too. In fact, if you hadn’t healed me, I might not have even recognized you!” He shook his canine head in disappointment. “I have a lot more control now, but that moonwater wasn’t quite the perfect fix I was hoping for.”
“How awful,” Jubel said flatly. “Truly, the fact that you only have almost perfect control over a form that lets you massacre an entire camp without help is the greatest tragedy of our age.”
“I’m pretty sure there are much worse problems out there,” Damaia disagreed with a frown, the sarcasm in the half elf’s voice flying over her head. Vivi couldn’t stop herself from laughing as the felblood began to list every problem she’d ever encountered that she felt might qualify as a tragedy.
She continued for nearly a full minute, listing everything from famine to deadly curses as examples of worse issues, until a tired sounding voice interrupted her.
“While an in depth list of the world’s problems is certainly fascinating,” the exhausted elf interjected as she gently pet the tiny hawkbear in her arms, “do you think you could wait on that until after you open my cage?”