Private The Forsworn Fury (TFF)

[skyrimbeast]

This is the official thread for The Forsworn Fury. The OOC out there is still recruiting if you want to join in on the fun. The following are involved so far:
Me (skyrimbeast), Deadric destroyer1999, The Dovahkiin, Melee, Legate Golak, Skyrimosity, ZanderXx, Ragnar the Red, =8.

RULES:
Well I'm sure you all know the rules of roleplaying but if you don't then here they all are.
1. No godmoding.
2. No controlling others characters unless agreed upon.
3. Only write posts for your character, so dont post stuff that are irrelevant for example, 'I'm going to bed, see you guys tomorrow'.
4. If there is any problems (which I doubt) message Me(skyrimbeast).
5. Only have 1 character, but if you need to you can use an NPC to fill in, for example:
You: Fetch me a goblet of Nord mead and your finest cheese maid?
Barmaid: Ok, that's 20 septims please but next time, use manors sir.
So that ^ is allowed and you can use an NPC like a barmaid or shopkeeper for answering your own questions.
6. HAVE SOME FUN!!!

PROLOUGE
Five years have now past since the dragonborn defeated Alduin however, the Civil war between the Stormcloaks and Imperials is now raging worse than ever before. Brother vs brother in an epic battle for victory and more than that, Skyrim. But recently, a new player has emerged named nothing other than the Forsworn, or the Reachmen. As the Nords and Imperials continue to slaughter each other, the Forsworn are becoming bigger, stronger and eventually, better by recruiting more people at their many encampments and headquaters and by taking out the enemies slowly, one group at a time. The reason for this? Well, the reason is more than fair, the Forsworn many years ago, were just peaceful people who lived in the Reach and Markarth but then came Ulfric and his petty Stormcloaks who drove the Bretons out of their home and out to the wilderness. This made the Bretons furious and they then formed the group known as the Forsworn, to get revenge on the Nords and take back the Reach! Since then, the Imperials and Thalmor have treated the Forsworn like dirt and said that they were useless, the Forsworn have rised to prove them wrong! Will the Forsworn succeed or will they continue to be treated like dirt?

 

[skyrimbeast]

Serpent's Bluff forsworn camp
"I have heared of a Stormcloak carriage that will be passing by Rorikstead in about 4 hours and I'm planning on an attack, what do you think, Bolger?" Asked Alabane, the Forsworn Briar-heart and leader of camp Serpent's bluff. "Sounds like a great idea if you ask me, and how many soldiers are you planning on taking with you on this ambush"? He replied. "Not a lot, I'll only need about 4 more people and I guarantee you I can take a few of them damn Stormcloaks on." Alabane answered confidently. "In fact, I'm going to find some men and get this party going right now." He added and with that he grabbed his forsworn sword from behind him on his weapon rack and walked down the stairs and to the soldiers camp near the entrance.

(OOC: You can introduce your character like that)

 

[Melee]

[On a carriage a few miles out of Rorikstead]

A small, rickety carriage makes its way down the dusty road from Markarth to Windhelm, currently heading south in the direction of Rorikstead, at least until the road turns east. It was carrying passengers, or rather, prisoners that the Stormcloaks had captured on their rounds in Markarth. One in particular had her hood drawn over her eyes, hiding most of her face and her features. Yet despite the hood, it was clear that she was an Altmer; her long legs, crossed in front of her, and the distinct golden shade to what little skin of hers was visible gave it away.

Whenever the carriage was not naturally bumping along the road, Melee was bumping her head against the wall and wondering how she could have been so stupid. She had been warned that the Stormcloaks were getting more blatant in who they viewed as an "enemy". She had been warned to go back to her home in the Summerset Isles, to even go back to the College if she had to. She had been warned that it was especially dangerous for her to be here. But Melee hadn't heeded any of the warnings. She shrugged them off, thinking that nothing could ever happen to her. She wasn't doing anything wrong by being in Markarth. She was only picking up ingredients for Arcadia. But, according to the Stormcloaks, a curfew had been enacted on all non-human races, and she had been violating it. It hadn't helped that she'd been carrying her bow and arrows with her, either.

Her green eyes flashed angrily as her head jolted up after the carriage hit a particularly large bump in the road. Up until now she hadn't had much of a reason to hold anything against the Stormcloaks, save for the occasional story she would hear floating through the Bannered Mare back in Whiterun. Now she had been taken prisoner, after being "relieved" of all the items on her person, save a small pouch tied to her waist which she had stubbornly defended when the guards first arrested her. While she'd been able to keep the pouch, they had been a little more adamant about taking her bow and arrows away, although they literally had fought her for them. Melee gingerly put a hand to the scrape on her cheek, still raw from when her face had connected with the stone ground. In spite of her injuries and missing weapon, she smiled to herself. At least they didn't get away completely unharmed, she thought to herself as she remembered the few guards she had knocked out after a hefty blow to the head from her Elven bow.

As the carriage continued on its way to Windhelm, Melee pulled down her hood and stared at the ceiling, lost in thought. I wonder what will happen once we arrive, she thought. Knowing the Stormcloaks though, it can't possibly be any good.

 

[Legate Golak75]

In a cart near the border of the reach
An argonian sitting in the cart whoever cant tell its an argonian is an idiot because he was green skined with scales and two horns coming out of the back of his head. The i mperial soldior driving kept sing ragnar the red. The argonian was irritated his bow was ebony. he was in forsworn armor. his name was Galum. The imperial didnt notice that he was driving past a stormcloak camp. "Umm you do know what your doing right" "i do said the imperial" Galum jumped up and kicked the driver off and shot an arrow at his neck. "Finaly he stoped singing" said Galum. The stormcloaks attacked the cart immeadiatly. Galum jumped off and ran into the camp. "im not hostile. i wanted to tell you that but i guess you dont care the storm cloaks arrested him and he was soon sitting on a cart headed to windhelm sitting next to an altmer

 

[Skyrimosity]

Serpents Bluff Forsworn Camp
The guys in this part of the camp have put me on guard duty tonight. Mess with the old guy I suppose. I haven't gotten to go on a single Forsworn raid since I joined a month ago. I really wanna start the bloodshed. Oh, those Nords will pay. I'm guarding the entrance to the cave, yet there is another section of camp just outside. Surely I would hear the screams of other Forsworn should we be attacked. No matter, I owe my life to the Forsworn and so I shall guard this camp with my life. 2 months ago, Edwyn was arrested by Stormcloak soldiers on patrol. Edwyn had done nothing wrong, but the soldiers insisted he was under arrest. Without thinking, Edwyn conjured a sword and had killed the 3 soldiers before they drew a blade. He saw 5 more soldiers coming at him, swords raised. Edwyn had all but surrendered when 5 arrows simultaneously took out all the guards, their swords dropping out their hands pathetically. It had been Forsworn archers out to raid the Stormcloak caravan. Being a Breton, the Forsworn offered him a home, friends, and payback on the Stormcloaks. Edwyn was a 35 year old Breton but he knew the Forsworn could use an experience fighter and conjuration artist such as himself. He was assigned to Serpents Bluff Camp, and his experience as a fighter got him the honor of being one of the few placed inside the cave, away from the snow. When will that Briar-Heart come up with a raid! The Stormcloaks will pay!

 

[ZanderXx]

Along the road, south of Rorikstead

Phineas stopped to reach into his hip satchel to rip a piece of bread while he shielded his eyes from the sun glaring at him from between the clouds in the bright blue sky. While he ate the finely seasoned bread, he slowly walked to the side of the road to sit on a boulder while he checked his weathered, handcrafted, multi-folded map. This seems to be the area. Not too much farther until I'll reach the outpost. I just hope I'm greeted more nicely than the last time, he thought to himself as he folded the map once more and stuffed it into his satchel. After dusting his yellow and brown college robes, Phineas lowered his brown hood to reveal his weathered face. He's a man in his later years, and he's seen his share of lore and combat. His face is a little dirty with the remnants of the black powder from many alchemical concoctions and enchanting experiments gone awry. Phineas had nothing better to do in his old age than to search for the secrets of the arcane and wild magics, and to reveal the mysterious death of his son as well. It's been far too long since I've renounced my Hermit status. This world seems a little more worn. The war among brothers has driven this land into a more primal state than before. It is a sad time or recovery. Phineas tapped his staff on the ground and sighed as he recalled the map. His memory is starting to fade if he doesn't focus for a minute or two. With a nod, and a smile, he headed north along the road to Rorikstead. The blue crystal on the head of his staff glistened in the light with the swirling of arcane energy, and is held in place with a golden crest resembling the Breton bloodlines. The red wood shaft was as hard as stone and could easily knock an orc out. Unfortunately, Phineas, in his old age, wasn't as strong as he used to be; his mind was much stronger. Soon, my son. You'll be laid to a proper rest. Spiritually, if need be.

 

[Deadric Destroyer 1999]

(Inside a forsworn camp to the south of Markarth.) I've been here for about a week and have been on raids quite often but my main job is to go hunting to get some leather for the rest of these mens armour. Although I don't think any of thees savages respect my expertees they'd all rather run in and slash everywhere where I would rather use tactics and stealth. But I'm not here to make friends or for any political reason I'm just in to get revenge on these damn storm cloak rebbels!!!

 

[skyrimbeast]

Alabane walked down the many stairs before finally getting to the 2nd bunch of tents, most of the people who sleeped here are soldiers or craftmen. "Can I have your attention please," he said and everyone there turned to face him. "Ok, for the first time in a while, we are going on a small raid and I need 3 to 5 more men so we can kill ourselfs some Stormcloak cowards. So, if you want to get bloody then meet me at my tent up the great stairs by 7:00 tonight." He pronounced and he turned around then started to walk slowly.

 

[Deadric Destroyer 1999]

The news traveled quickly and arvel couldn't wait so he set off upon the vast
Axpances of skyrim. And after a long time he finally arrived at the camp and rushd straight up to the camp and offered to help in the rade. "I will climb the mountain close to the east and provide cover for whoever els comes" Then he asked Albane weather he needed his assistance in the rade.

 

[Ragnar the Red]

He couldn't help but recap the day as he crossed the border into Skyrim. It was his big day. The day that Aizen Gro-Ketzahl was to set out on the journey set before him to bring honor to his tribe and to contest his own father for leadership. On that day many said goodbye thinking they would never see him again, as was the case with many who set out on this journey. Many others wished him luck. Others, like his own mother, had said nothing. Orcs are known for their harsh attitudes and covering up any emotion that might leak into their battle-hardened bodies, but his mother had always had a soft spot for Aizen ever since the ordeal with the mage when he was but a young orc.

As his mother stood there motionless, his father presented him with his specially crafted orcish armor, mace, and shield which adorned their tribal symbol. As his father was speaking the words he was destined to hear since youth Aizen couldn't help but think about how nervous he was to have the tribe's future honor and wealth riding on his own shoulders.

Before he knew it, his thoughts had wandered so much that he suddenly realized that he had been in Skyrim for the better part of the day and had killed four wolves without a second thought. He stopped to note the position of the sun to make sure that he was at least headed in the right direction, and that's when he heard a carriage about a quarter mile off, he squinted to make out the details of it but had to move in closer...

 

[Skyrimosity]

Yes, I would finally get my chance to kill some Stormcloaks. Seven o'clock at night was a long time off, it wasn't even quite morning yet. Still, it feels good knowing I'll soon be able to pay off my debt to the Forsworn. I am going to make sure I am one of the first up the Great Stairs. This would be Edwyn's first raid against the Stormcloaks, and it was rumored that this raid is the first one the Briar-Heart himself has led in many years. The carriage is said to have some special value and extra protection which is why the Briar-Heart would himself lead the raid and choose the soldiers that he would lead. It is unknown if this is true or if the Briar-Heart just really wants to kill some Stormcloak cowards.

 

[Melee]

The back doors to the carriage flew open as an Argonian with bright green scales was unceremoniously thrown onto the floor by Melee's feet. The guards who had captured the Argonian snickered, taunting the man by waving a very expensive looking Ebony bow in front of them. "We appreciate your contribution to our weapons stash, friend," the guard said this with a sarcastic emphasis as he tossed the bow to another soldier out of sight of the doors of the carriage. "This bow will be very useful to us, along with the arrows you brought along." With that, he laughed, slamming the doors closed and pounding the side of the carriage to signal to the driver that he could continue down the road.

The Argonian slowly got to his feet, stumbling to the bench next to Melee as the carriage lurched forward. "That was foolish, attempting to take down the patrol all by yourself," she said to him, glancing over at him through her unkempt and plum-colored bangs. "There are far more guards in this patrol than I've seen in most of the others. Why did you try to do that?" She crossed her arms, lazily kicking her foot in small elliptical patterns as the carriage trundled on.

 

[skyrimbeast]

Alabane was sat down on his most comfortable seat in his large sized tent, facing the door while waiting for some men to come in. He had set-up another chair near the door that faced him and he put a table in the middle, this made this meeting look more profesional and he wanted only the best men that came to try-out. "Hello Alabane, I have come to try-out for the attack, oh and also, there's another man waiting next in line". Said a forsworn soldier named Guffley. "Arrgh, Guffley my good man how's that training going along"? Alabane asked as he wrote down the name Guffley. "The training, well it's going ok but I think a great idea would be to make a barracks somewhere in here." Replied the man. "Oh what a great idea, when we earn some big septims, that can be your and the other mens award. But anyway, I need to ask a few questions but not to much because I already know a bit about you. So, what type of weapon do you use?" Alabane asked. "I use archery and am one of the best in Serpent's Bluff, also I have a forsworn bow and arrows. "Good good, hmmm archer, I could use 2 of them for my plan". He whispered to himself then looked back up at Guffley. "Guffley my boy, your in so meet me here tonight at 7:00 pm." He congratulated Guffley then shouted, "next please!"

 

[Geel-Kajin]

Down the crags of Skyrim he went. Past the bitter chill of the mountain air, against the wailing winds. Crossing freezing streams of clearest color, under cliffs of frozen ice. Walking the narrow and deserted road, he moved cautiously on the steep dirt path, his amber eyes ever moving.

He took a sniff of the new air, his nostrils flaring, muscles ever on alert. Even with his hands seeming ever so casual in his large jacket pockets, he knew they would snap a neck before his brain even processed what he was doing. And these hands of his, they tensed. He smelt the scent he both craved for and feared, the smell so well known to him yet alien:

The smell of man.

He knew it was unwise of him to come down from higher altitudes. But fresh meat was short in such wilderness, many a beast never venturing past the tree line. The last animal he had caught was four days ago, and his stomach seemed to rumble like thunder in his ears. He yearned for thick venison, for bright crimson beef. He yearned for the ribs of a mongrel dog, or the feel of bone marrow slowly being sucked from the bone. His mouth watered for blood, for sustenance.

For man.

He swallowed hard, heart racing at the thought. How could he have stooped to this? What had he become, to feel the need to sink his teeth into his own kith and kin? He screwed his eyes shut at this point, trying to drive the memories from himself. Yet the tang of human lingered strong in the air, clouding his sense of logic. He winced as his will grew ever weaker, succumbing to the taste of...of....food.

Deep inside, behind the troubled face and ever guilt-ridden heart, he felt something. No, not him. Not him. Yet the feeling inside him pounded harder, that... beast inside him dying to be free. He dug his fingernails hard into his skin, his own pain helping to ward away the monster inside of him. But he felt it's ever present evil, it's soft laughter as it saw the trouble he faced.

Food. Focus on food, let the beast know that he was in control of his thoughts. Chunky legs of goats, sweet underbelly of rabbits, soft necks of a huma... No. His amber eyes flared, trying with all his strength to stop the beast within.

the steep journey soon turned to vast plains, lush and green. Several fine deer grazed in the clearing, but pricked up their ears when they heard him approaching. D'Nagra grimaced, ducking below the tall grass and beginning to belly crawl. The tall grasses aided him in hiding, and his motivation aided him in moving quietly, knowing that it would not be long before food was in his belly, and the monster inside him was gone. A couple of meters...

The deer ran in unison. They bounded fast, bodies a blur in their fear. D'Nagra leaped up, kicking his legs forward into a sprint. He would get them. The deer pounded through the carpet of vast greeness, trampling the wild stalks and young shoots as they went. They bellowed loudly, alarms ringing in their head. D'Nagra speeded on, oblivious of all in his chase. All he cared about was the prey, and nothing more. Just that soothing bite of meat...and all will be satisfied.

He saw the youthful doe in front of him turn....and vanish into a farm. The sight of that human dwelling caught his attention, and his pupils widened in shock and fear. As the sound of the deer running out of the back door of the farm echoed on the cobbled floor, his mind froze. He spun around like a trapped animal, and saw the many cottages swimming before his eyes. A village? In all his worries, he stumbled into a village!? Snarling in his confusion, he startled the nearby group of kids. They gawked for a moment at the unkempt hair, the skeletal frame, the wild angry eyes....and ran. But D'Nagra hardly worried about the kids in his startled state, his yellow, orb-like eyes staring at the sign "Rorikstead".

Deep inside, the wolf bayed with victory.

 

[Legate Golak75]

The Argonian said "Hello I see your a prisoner too. My name is Galum whats yours Altmer." He rubbed his arms where he hit the ground. "I didnt attack i wasnt hostile but they see a man in an imperial cart the think they're a soldier." said Galum. "I hate Stormcloaks they will problably end up setting their camp on fire with that bow. Its enchanted not much damage though but it will still set a camp on fire." He said and then he got up and walked around "I didnt put up much of a fight because those hardheaded brutes are huge and as you can see im tall but skinny. Honestly I became an archer because I cant pick up a sword I can pick up a dagger but nothing bigger than a sword. Its pathetic isnt it" He said and then started humming "The Age of Aggression".

 

[Melee]

Melee furrowed her brow in confusion as the man, Galum, she now knew, spoke of how he had gotten into this predicament. "This is not an 'Imperial cart', as you called it. There are no Imperial soldiers here. You attacked the driver of a carriage carrying Stormcloak prisoners. So, quite understandably, they saw you as hostile." She stretched her arms in front of her as she sat up, the pleasant pulling she felt in her tense muscles slightly rejuvenating her and giving her new vigor. "I don't think they'll be burning any camps down with that bow of yours. There are bound to be some skilled archers in the Stormcloaks' ranks. They may be huge and brutish, but unfortunately they aren't stupid."

It was now early morning, and the rising sun was beginning to filter through the cracks in the wood of the carriage. Stretching her muscles had been good for her body, and had made her more awake, but being cramped in a small carriage with renewed energy was slowly driving Melee mad. She couldn't stop fidgeting. She drummed her fingers on the bench beside her, tapped her foot incessantly on the floor, anything to keep herself moving in this terribly small and restricted space.

Scowling, Melee sat back and took a few deep breaths. Just breath and keep your mind off of it. Make your introduction to the Argonian. Galum, was it? She sighed, and leaned forward, attempting a small smile to help get her mind off how tense she was starting to feel. "My name is Melee, by the way. And don't think that it's pathetic to be an archer. Some people just aren't cut out for swords or more hand to hand weaponry." She thought of her own bow that had been taken from her when she was arrested. The one that she'd had ever since she'd left home and come to Skyrim. The smile faded from her face and was replaced by a look of frustration and worry. I have to get that back somehow. I don't feel.. Complete without it.

 

[Legate Golak75]

"No no no you got it wrong the Imperial driver drove into the stormcloak camp unfoutunatly most imperials ar idiots and whats wrong you look frustrated." said Galum

 

[Legate Golak75]

"And what was pathetic was i cant pick up anything bigger than an iron sword because im extremly weak my right arm muscles are strong because I use it to bull back the arrow." Said Galum

 

[Ragnar the Red]

Aizen had decided that he should keep his distance from the carriage until he was certain what it's purpose was. He had heard of the Civil War taking place in Skyrim and didn't want to cause any trouble with either side quite yet. It had turned out that he was right in keeping distance as he had seen some strange and, honestly, quite comical stuff just in the short time that it took him to close in on it. The driver had been mercilessly killed by a foolish Argonian who was simply stripped of the weapon he had somehow smuggled in and thrown right back in the cart! Sure the Nords of this land are dim-witted, but they are tall and sturdy. What could he have hoped to accomplish? Either way, he seemed to find a soft spot for the fellow and looked forward to hearing his side of the story should they meet.

Because of the show it didn't seem like it had been that long, but the sun was starting to crease the horizon and one of the moons had already taken to the sky. He noticed a small 'stead of some kind in the distance and wondered what was to come of the carriage when it got there... but his thoughts were cut short as he heard some sort of commotion coming from the town... kids screaming... a strange feel in the air... just then, a putrid yet strangely familiar scent shocked his senses! He knew something big was happening... or coming...

"THE CARRIAGE!!!" He exclaimed, thinking about the foolish-if-not-hilarious Argonian and the possibly friendly passengers. He shuttered at what he had done, why had he said anything? Sneaking around undetected wasn't exactly his style, but he should know better than to yell his thoughts for all of Nirn to hear!

He hit the ground, hoping that the dark rock around him would detour any eyes wandering his way, at least until they got to the town. He had a feeling that everyone in that town would soon know all too much about his presence as that forboding feeling lerched into his throat again when he took another wiff of the truly nasty scent.

To his delight, the carriage kept moving, seeming to pay no attention to his careless belch of idiocracy. He took a deep breath and continued to follow the carriage to the ever-approaching town, and his intuition mocked him for favoring ignorance.

Another scream.

"Malacath, if yor relle thair, goyd meh." He said under his breath as he trudged along, trying to silence his fear.

 

[Geel-Kajin]

No, this was all wrong- The sights, the smells, they overwhelmed him. His senses flared into overdrive, a roar of information flooding his brain. He swiveled his head, his features feral. He felt trapped, enclosed in a place he which bound him to so many a emotion. The idle banter of the crowd, the feeling of pavement beneath his feet. It evoked memories he would rather forget, thoughts he would rather keep hidden from all, including himself. It all came flooding out, the feelings he's rather keep within, the pain, comfort, sadness and joys he felt in a similar place.

The monstrosity inside him roared in utter pleasure- was he not getting all the entertainment he required? To see others suffer, at his mercy? D'Nagra could not think straight, his movements seeming hazy in his own mind, tuned to an almost dream-like quality. But he sensed the other people on the street so acutely in comparison, their warm skin, their beating, living hearts... Every sound, sight and smell seemed so magnified.

They stood at the tent flap. D'Nagra saw them, eyes wild. Was he ready for what he had to face? The shuffling of feet kicked up the dry dust particles outside, it's rustling sound loud and rasping with his newfound hearing. Through the gloomy lighting of the tent he saw the Fine shoes of the Hlaalu leader of their refugee camp, viewable in the sliver between the tent flap and floor.

Their hearts were racing. D'Nagra could hear their erratic pumping, their harsh breaths in the coarse air. A knock on the wooden post outside the tent. A shiver ran down his spine at the knock, loud and strong. It was time.

As he walked towards the flap, he turned to look at a family portrait on the family dining table. They were all smiling then, their happy faces illuminating the artist's drawing. His father, carrying his sister, barely 9. His mother, carrying him, 11 at the time of the painting. They were so happy, so unified. He could not help but feel regret for not spending more time wit them, not caring about them while he had the chance. How things had changed. Now, all he got from anyone was cold stares, avoidance and fear. They treated him like a constant threat, a disaster and abomination of nature.

He opened the flap of the worn tent, to see their battered faces looking emotionless back at them. He saw his sister, whispering to his father, " Will brother be okay?". Her father....His father simply looked at her and said "Your brother is very ill, you won't be seeing him again. He needs to be cleansed of his illness, of which only one cure is known of."

D'Nagra could not help but feel a lump form in his throat then, anger and fear rising. "I have not changed father, I am still the man I used to be" But the man never replied, returning his gaze as if there was no recognition. It was as if he had never been his father, and him never his son.

The Hlaalu man spoke up then. He knew every line the man said, every expression forever etched in memory. He tried to forget, to continue with the mockery of a life he led, but he could not. There too much sadness being felt in those words, too much pain to simply wipe off. For he knew that right after that, he did what would haunt him forever. The blood of the pure would always stain him from then on.

D'Nagra swallowed back tears. This was not good. The memories he tried to erase-they just came like an ever rushing tidal wave. He blinked back his emotions, but to his horror realized that the beast's control over him was not ebbing. His head jolted upwards in sudden realization, and realized he was correct; The sun was setting. The vast orb of warm peace gave way to cold, cruel night, ever creeping. No, no , please no. But it was. His trembling body shuddered, struggling to mantain self control. People started backing away from him, their movements hasty and scared. He did not blame them, and would have done just the same wise choice.

The moon-It shone, full and strong. Bright, lusty. The Wolf inside him roared, pure hatred filling him. His barriers to himself collapsed, eyes screwed shut in pain. A normal night, and he would have control. But this was a bad place, a bad time. He was...so new to this body. Coupled with the sudden entrance into town and the full moon giving power to the beast inside, he was not sure how long he could keep hold over his form.

I...I told myself I would never transform again. No...no more lives lost. Look how far I've gotten with my goals, I'm about to transform in a village of civilians. Their kids... All my fault. At that, he could not help but think of his sister and what happened to her, the only person who still believed in him.Guess who's fault that was too.

There was only one thing he could do. Staggering down the streets, he entered an open storage cellar. It was damp and musty, but it would serve the purpose he needed. A fervent check around the room showed nobody else, giving him the extra advantage of nobody getting hurt or seeing his change. Sweat trickled down his forehead, falling like rain onto the hard floor. The wolf growled, hitting again, harder.

Taking a large plank, he barred the cellar door, stopping all from getting in or out. He had to stop that part of him from getting into contact with the rest of the village. Securing the bar with a firm push, he looked in horror at his palms. Or rather, what used to be his palms.

They were warping- Soft flesh to hardened muscle, black hair to thick grey fur. Simple fingernails to lethal weapons, bones changing, reforming. He felt like a fire was burning through him, the pain lacing his whole body. His mouth opened in a cry of agony, the snapping of bones loud and resonating in the once silent room. The whole structure of his body shifted, and with it, his mind.

As his mouth turned to muzzle, his teeth to fine canines, the human inside him vanished further in. he beast inside him crowed in joy; he was out! His new limb, a thick and heavy tail, thumped the floor in excitement for the murdering spree he was going to participate in.

Let the hunt begin.