Chapter 51 "Shadows of Tyranny"
Meanwhile…
System count down: 14:00 hours.
Accessing log.
Storing in secret library.
Adding to diary entry.
Huntress be with you.
In the heart of the dark and foreboding woods, just on the other side of Violet’s hedge wall, an aura of desperation hung heavy in the air. Nyx, battered by injury and poisoned by the thorn’s that were laced with scorpion venom, lay limp and pale, her life slipping away with each passing moment. The other, Bloodthrone, driven by fierce determination and a flickering glimmer of hope, knelt beside her, his eyes reflecting a mix of anguish and resolve.
Bloodthrone whispered into her ear, as she lay in a pile of dead pine needles, "Stay with me, just a little longer. We're getting out of here, I promise."
With trembling hands, Bloodthrone wrapped his arms around his stricken companion, his muscles straining under the weight of their burden and time was ticking away. Every step was a battle against the encroaching darkness, the gnarled roots and twisted branches snatching at their feet, threatening to bring them crashing down.
Nyx weakly spoke, as she raised a hand to Bloodthrone’s face, "I... I can't go on much longer. It hurts."
The waves of nausea crashed upon Nyx, relentless and unyielding. Her stomach churned like a tempestuous sea, and she knew there was no escaping the impending storm within. She tried to raise her head and began to clutch her abdomen instead, desperately seeking refuge in Bloodthrone’s arms. And then it happened—her body convulsed, and a surge of liquid erupted from her mouth. It was a grotesque symphony of retching and gagging, and amidst the torrent, the remnants of her last meal emerged, a vibrant pink cascade mingling with the acrid taste of bile. The sight was both revolting and strangely fascinating, as chunks of once-refreshing food now lay discarded and regurgitated. The sickly-sweet odor filled the air, and with each heave, her body expelled the poison but only a small fraction, a vivid reminder of the unfortunate encounter between the wolves and domain.
Bloodthrone placed her down again after only taking a few steps, "I know, but we can't give up now. We're almost there. Just hold on a little longer."
Once the retching ended, he cleaned his lover as best as he could, and carried her towards the meeting place, hopefully Storm or Shadowfang would have an antivenom. Driven by love and an unwavering bond, they pressed forward, gritting their teeth against the pain and exhaustion.
Nyx whispering with her eyes closed, "I don't want to die here."
"You won't. I won't let that happen. Keep breathing, stay with me. Once we get to the supplies, I can patch you up. I swear."
The woods whispered hauntingly, as if sensing their struggle, but their focus remained steadfast on the path ahead. It was a race against time, with the poisoned lover’s life hanging in the balance.
"We're making progress. Just a little farther, and we'll find help. Stay strong."
With every ounce of strength, Bloodthrone carried his injured comrade, her arms quivering with exertion, their hearts beating in sync with an unyielding determination.
Nyx weakly spoke, "I can't feel my legs..."
Again, that malevolent force surged through her veins, its venomous presence unmistakable. Like a coiled serpent, it slithered and twisted, leaving a trail of torment in its wake. The poison spread like a wildfire, igniting an inferno of agony within Nyx. Each beat of her heart only propelled its insidious advance, as if mocking any feeble resistance that the proud warrior could muster. She whispered, “I feel its icy grip tightening, constricting my very life force. Nausea churns in my gut, my head throbbed with an intensity that threatened to split it open.”
The poison coursed through her bloodstream, corrupting every cell it touched, leaving behind a trail of desolation. She was a prisoner in her own body, helplessly succumbing to the malevolence that surged through my once-vibrant veins.
Bloodthrone began to run, his muscles pushed forward. "You're going to be okay. We'll get you out of here and get you the help you need."
Through the labyrinthine depths of the woods, they fought against the odds, their footsteps marking a resolute trail of resilience and friendship, of love, amidst the encroaching shadows.
Nyx whispering "Thank... thank you... for not leaving me behind."
Bloodthrone smiled down at her as he dodged a tree branch, "Never. We're in this together, always."
Their voices echoed through the dense forest, carrying a bond that would not be broken. With each step, they defied the poison coursing through their friend's veins, pushing forward with unwavering determination, hoping against hope for a chance at salvation.
In the back of Bloodthrone’s mind, he thought to himself, if he didn’t know any better, this would have to be scorpion venom, but how would thorns from a hedge have it?
“The domain, it is an insect one, that is what must have poisoned, you.”
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In the dimly lit forest, about fifteen minutes from Bloodthrone’s current location stood two guards leaned against a massive tree, their armor clanking softly with each movement. The air was heavy with a sense of monotony and anticipation, as they shared their thoughts on the mundane nature of their duty: watching the humans and bring up the supplies.
The small group of humans huddled together under the cover of a grouping of pine trees. They had managed to leave the wolf city, but they couldn’t escape the chaos and destruction. They had nothing more than the clothes on their backs, their faces etched with weariness and fear. The flickering light of a lone candle cast dancing shadows on their tired expressions, highlighting the desperation in their eyes.
Their clothes were torn and tattered, bearing the marks of their arduous journey. Many of the men, were covered in bruises from the beatings the guards gave them, mostly out of boredom. The cold night air seeped through them, only a few had blankets and most of those were used to help the youngest members of the work force, causing them to shiver and draw closer for warmth. Huddled together, they formed a makeshift circle, seeking solace and support in each other's presence.
Their faces carried the weight of sorrow and loss, never knowing safety, each member of the work force was born into slavery. They never felt hope, or the idea of freedom. Dust and grime clung to their skin, evidence of the hardships they had endured. Yet, amidst the despair, a glimmer of resilience and hope shone through the children as parents did their best to protect them, a testament to their unyielding spirit.
They whispered softly to one another, their voices filled with hushed prayers and shared stories of survival. Their arms wrapped around themselves, seeking comfort in the absence of familiar embrace. The air was heavy with a mixture of exhaustion and uncertainty.
Though they had lost everything they owned, pulled from the camps without warning, their connection to one another remained unbroken. In their huddled state, they found strength in unity, drawing warmth from the shared struggle they had endured. For them, just their survival was a testament to their unwavering resilience and the unbreakable human spirit.
Storm yawned, pulling his arms over his head as he squatted staring at the humans, huddled around the candle, "I swear, this has got to be the most boring job in the entire kingdom. We stand here day in and day out, or we are walking, or we are standing somewhere else. Waiting for something, anything, to happen. While those other three get to have all the fun."
System: Scan Storm
Name: Storm Graveshackle
Class: Warden
Level 10: Wolfman
Subclass: Jailer
Armor Class: 15
Alignment: Lawful Evil
Abilities:
Speed: 40 ft
Strength: 18
Skills:
Dexterity: 16
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Perception +4
Constitution: 16
Stealth +5
Intelligence: 10
Damage Resistances: Bludgeoning
Wisdom: 10
Charisma: 8
Special Abilities:
Pack Brother Tactics:
Storm has advantage on attacks against a creature if Shadowfang is within 5 feet of the victim and the ally isn't incapacitated.
Jailer's Might:
Storm adds an additional +2 bonus to damage with melee weapon attacks.
Multiattack:
Storm makes two attacks: one with its bite and one with its claws.
Lightning Bolt:
Storm unleashes a bolt of lightning in a 60-foot line that is 5 feet wide. Each creature in that line 28 lightning damage and is burned.
Description
Storm is a formidable warrior skilled in subduing and controlling prisoners.
As a beastman, Storm possesses enhanced physical attributes, including strength, speed, and heightened senses.
As a jailer, Storm has developed specialized techniques to incapacitate and weaken opponents. In combat, Storm relies on their bite and slashing claws, using his Extra Attack feature to deliver swift and powerful strikes.
Storm's natural armor provides additional protection, making them a formidable adversary. As a loyal and disciplined jailer, even if he complains about the job, Storm is committed to maintaining order and enforcing the rules within their jurisdiction.
Normally his enforcement comes at the expense of his charges.
Shadowfang walked around the circle and shouted over the circle of humans, "You're telling me. It's like we're part of some grand performance, but all we do is stand here and watch the dust settle. Not exactly the thrilling life I imagined as a young recruit."
System: Scan Shadowfang
Name: Shadowfang Graveshackle
Class: Rogue
Level 10: Wolfman
Subclass: Guard
Armor Class: 16 (Leather Armor)
Alignment: Lawful Evil
Strength: 12
Speed: 40 ft
Dexterity: 18
Skills:
Constitution: 14
Acrobatics +7
Intelligence: 10
Stealth +11
Wisdom: 12
Perception +6
Charisma: 10
Sleight of Hand +7
Special Abilities:
Pack Brother Tactics:
Shadowfang has advantage on attacks against a creature if Storm is within 5 feet of the victim and the ally isn't incapacitated.
Guard's Presence:
Shadowfang has honed his skills as a guard, gaining advantage on Charisma (Intimidation) checks and proficiency in Athletics skill. Additionally, he has advantage against being frightened.
Sneak Attack:
Shadowfang deals extra damage when hitting a target with an attack using a finesse or ranged weapon and has advantage on an attack, or when an ally of Shadowfang is within 5 feet of the target.
Description:
Shadowfang, despite his rogue origins, has embraced a more protective and defensive role as a subclass guard. His skills are a combination of agility, combat prowess, and the ability to maintain order and protect those under his watch. As a guard, he possesses a stronger physical presence and a heightened sense of intimidation. His Sneak Attack ability still grants him the advantage in exploiting vulnerabilities, but his focus lies in defending and punishing others rather than operating solely in the shadows.
Storm let out a long sigh, his gaze wandering aimlessly down the empty woods.
Storm stood up and surveyed the surrounds, "I mean, look at this place. It's so quiet, you can hear a mouse sneeze. And what are we guarding anyway? Some useless humans. Some dusty old tools and an empty field."
Shadowfang smiled, "True, true. But hey, at least the pay's decent, right?"
Storm chuckled half-heartedly, his eyes scanning the surroundings for any signs of life. "Yeah, I suppose. But sometimes I wonder if it's worth it. All this waiting, all this solitude... Makes you question your purpose."
"I get it, my friend. But remember, we're part of something bigger. We're the protectors of this land, entrusted with its security. It may not be the most exciting job, but it's an important one. At least I hope."
Storm nodded, his gaze momentarily fixating on a cobweb in the corner of a tree.
"You're right,” Storm said sarcastically, “We do play a crucial role, even if it feels uneventful. And hey, at least we have each other to pass the time. Oh, and we can always play with these humans, as long as we don’t kill them."
Shadowfang smiled, a glimmer of camaraderie shining in their eyes. "That's the spirit! Besides, you never know when things might get interesting. We've got our own stories to tell, even if they're not filled with sword fights and grand battles."
“Who should we play with before the other show up, they should be here soon?”
“Good, good question Storm. There, in the middle, under that blanket,” pointed Shadowfang.
They pointed at a little girl around ten years old, with dirt covered red hair. That was when a weary father stood tall, his eyes filled with determination and protectiveness. He was forced to join, and his daughter refused to leave his side, so they dragged her along. She always clinging to the hope of a better life amidst the chaos. But now, faced with a guard who seemed indifferent to their suffering, no, someone who found joy in their suffering, he found a newfound strength within.
"Enough!" the father's voice resonated with authority, commanding the attention of those around him. His daughter stood by his side, her small hand tightly gripping his, seeking solace and safety in his presence.
The Storm, initially taken aback by the father's defiance, narrowed his eyes and sneered. "You dare challenge me? I hold the power here," the wolf spat with arrogance.
The father's voice quivered with a mix of fear and determination as he spoke, his words carrying a weight of desperation and love. "I am a father, responsible for the life and well-being of this innocent child. We have endured unimaginable hardships. I beg of you, show us some compassion, some mercy."
The Storm’s face hardened; his indifference transformed into a mask of authority. "I have a duty to uphold, to maintain order and security. Your pleas fall on deaf ears."
Undeterred, the father's voice rose with conviction. "But what of our humanity? What of our shared experiences and the bonds that connect us all? Can you not see the fear and anguish in the eyes of these children? They have already lost so much."
The onlookers, fellow refugees with their own stories of loss and struggle, watched the unfolding scene with a mixture of hope and trepidation. A collective breath was held, waiting for the guard's response.
For a moment, there was a flicker of hesitation in both Storms and Shadowfang's eyes, a glimmer of empathy trying to break through the barriers of duty and authority. They glanced at the young girl, her eyes wide with both fear and resilience. With a heavy sigh, the guard's stern expression softened ever so slightly. "Go," he muttered, his voice barely audible. "Go and find safety. May you find the peace you seek."
The father's heart swelled with gratitude, his eyes welling with tears. He clutched his daughter's hand tighter, a silent promise passing between them. They turned away and started to leave behind the guard. In that small act of defiance, the father had become a beacon of hope for the other refugees, a symbol that even in the face of oppression, the power of love and determination could prevail. And as they walked away, their spirits remained unbroken, knowing that they had stood up for what was right and protected their precious bond amidst the turmoil of their existence.
“Oh no Storm, we have an escaping human. We have to stop him.”
Storm and Shadowfang unleashed a “Mwahaha...ha...ha...ha!”
The sinister laugh echoed through the air, a chilling symphony of madness. It reverberated with a malevolence that sent shivers down the spine of anyone who dared to listen. It was the laugh of an unhinged mind, consumed by darkness and driven by sinister intentions.
As the laughter reached its crescendo, it seamlessly transformed into a haunting howl, piercing the silence of the night. It was a sound that seemed to merge the realms of the human and the beast, an unsettling fusion of deranged glee and primal instinct.
The evil laugh and the haunting howl intertwined, creating an eerie harmony that resonated through the depths of the soul. It was a chilling reminder of the darkness that lurked within, the duality of good and evil that existed within every being.
And as the echoes of the laugh and howl gradually faded away, a lingering sense of unease remained in the air. It served as a stark reminder of the twisted forces, a reminder that evil can manifest in the most unexpected of ways.
The father tried to run from the field faster, his daughter in his arms, but once they had finished their laugh. The wolves raced after the tired father. They knocked the pair to the ground, and unleashed the evil that was in that laugh, into action.
With each kick and blow, they unleashed their pent-up anger and discontent upon this brave father. The man was already battered and sagging, offered no resistance, absorbing the relentless assault. The wolves’ boots collided with the man flesh and bones, creating a dull thud that echoed through the otherwise silent field.
Sweat trickled down Storm’s forehead as he unleashed his frustrations, seeking solace in the physical exertion. The rhythmic sound of his strikes filled the air, a symphony of frustration and discontent.
With each strike, a mixture of exhaustion, monotony, and disappointment was released. This victim didn’t deserve the punishment, he wasn’t the cause, he was nothing more than a tool, to be used and tossed a side.
Shadowfang poured his grievances into the futile act, venting his frustrations at the unyielding mattress. It became a temporary outlet for his pent-up emotions, a canvas upon which he projected his discontent with his mundane and tedious job.
As they continued their assault. Storm’s breathing grew heavy, his muscles strained from the exertion. The sound of his own labored breath mingled with the thuds of his blows, creating a dissonant symphony of discontent. The repetitive motion fueled Shadowfang’s anger, temporarily blinding him to the futility of his actions.
In that moment, the man represented everything they resented about their role within the pack. The father’s presence reminded the wolves of the monotony, the lack of purpose, and the unfulfilled aspirations that haunted them each day, day after day. Each kick and blow carried with it a mixture of discontent, failure, resentment, and longing for something more.
But as the guards’ energy waned, the futility of his act became evident. This action of beating this father, only gave them a moment of joy before reality came back to them. The beads of sweat rolled down their face, mingling with the dust particles in the air.
Storm paused, leaning against a tree, his breaths ragged and heavy. A sense of resignation washed over him, mingled with a glimmer of self-awareness.
In that moment of reflection, Storm realized that his frustrations could not be vented on a man. The source of his discontent lied deeper within, in the choices he had made and the path he had taken. With a heavy sigh, he straightened his posture and walked away from the battered man, carrying the weight of his own disillusionment.
Shadowfang picked them man up by the hair and tossed him back into the human pile. Then kicked the daughter in the stomach, causing her to fly and land on top of her broken father.
The field fell silent once again, the only remnants of the guards’ outburst lingering in the faded impressions on the man’s flesh, the broken ribs of the little girl, and the heaviness that hung in the air. The guards sat back down, and continued to joke together as they waited, now weary and no lasting introspective.
“What should we do next?” They contemplated their next steps, unsure of how to break free from the cycle that had trapped them in a life of dissatisfaction.
As for the humans, they huddled together, their eyes scanned the dimly lit clearing, searching for any signs of safety and refuge. None was forth coming. Their hope flickered like the candle, fragile yet persistent, as they clung to the belief that there was still a future worth fighting for. They began to patch the injured father and daughter. In the midst of their destitution, they clung to the hope that someday they would rebuild their lives, finding solace in the knowledge that they were not alone in their struggle.
United by their shared journey and bound by their collective strength, this huddled group of prisoner embodied the indomitable human spirit, refusing to be defeated by the adversities they faced.