Short Stories of Dark Times

It's nearly summer and it's time to keep some activity. Keep you thinking. This time around we are moving past the music and indulging the more creative side of the players.

The Prize is 10xp for any one character or split between more then one you might have on your account.

The task is a Short Story. Now stipulations of what exactly we are going to consider a short story is as follows.
A classic definition of a short story is that one should be able to be read it in one sitting. We are stipulating that your short story must fit within the definition that places the maximum word length at 7,500 words max and no less then 1,000.
Your topic must be kept to that which would relate to something within the Old World of Darkness setting.

Time begins now! Get thinking and pull out your notebooks. This contest will end and be closed for judging on Sat. July 19th 2008

(Not OWoD. but just a story.)
The Ogre's massive club descended with the sound of metal and bone crushing together sickeningly as the knight and it's horse were crushed beneath it's weapon. It's brilliant red flesh was covered with dragon scales giving away the heritage of the beast, if it's distinctly draconic features, which included a bony black brow-ridge and two backwards curving horns, and demoniacally leathered wings, did not. It roared out it's hatred as it's Orc minions collided with the infantry of the human army in a tide of steel and war cries. The Humans fought in tight formation, but the sheer weight of numbers the orcs held over the humans caused the dead bodies stopped by the third rows pikes and the seconds rows spears to crush forwards into the tower shields of the first row as other orcs clambered over the bodies to assault from above. Likuku turned his head slightly, sulfuric smoke rising from his nostrils as he watched his elite Skull-crusher ogres finishing off the calvary that had thought to flank the horde against the steel wall of the infantry, and the screams of the archers on the humans side told him his own flanking maneuver with goblin Worg riders had been successful. The garrison of Bristol would be routed within minutes if the brilliant half-dragon had to make a guess. A smug look came over the Ogre as he watched the carnage, admiring the tenacity of the human infantry that they hadn't broken ranks even though they orcs were now within the sixth rank of the eight, and had swarmed around them, the humans having formed a tight circle. He saw one of the human sergeant's raise his great sword and lead a push into the orc horde, the circle of humans moved as one, striving to cut their way free, and to Likuku's surprise, it was working. His orcs were little more than cannon fodder, lightly armored but wielding the largest edged weapons the recent victories had allowed them to scavenge from battlefields. They were simply his way of holding down infantry until his Worg-riders could flank. As if on cue he looked to see his Riders had decreased dramatically in number, and a single human was standing amidst a smattering of worg and goblin corpses an odd lance-like weapon attached to his left arm and a tower shield in his right. The man had bought time for the archers to fall back and start firing into the Worgs and the orcs, dividing their fire to help the infantry break free. Likuku snarled and roared once more as his wings lifted him skyward. The Skull-crushers formed their own ranks six wide and three ranks deep and began to charge across the battlefield following their flying leader, the Ogres would put an end to the infantry, Likuku would deal with this hero. Likuku winged over the human once, odd ceremonial looking armor was worn, massive shoulder plates made of bone with no breastplate? Bone vambraces that had no gauntlets or chain shirt beneath? How oddly this human was armored bone greaves and a bone and plate skirt was worn, the humans muscles glistened from exertion and Likuku's sharp eyes could see his chest rising and falling heavily. Excellent. performing a wing over and coming back Likuku opened his maw as the infernal heat rose within his throat and he vomited forth a stream of fire at the human, hoping to incinerate him in the torrent. To the Half-dragons surprise the human turned raising that wooden red and blue colored tower shield and taking the flame straight into it, the shield did not immolate either. "Magic" thought Likuku "I should have guessed." The General descended in a steep plummet club held above him in both hands as he struck the ground like a meteor, a cloud of dust and chunks of earth scattering in all directions from the thunderous impact. As the Dust settled Likuku was drawing himself up from the hole, his eyes squinting to see if any of the humans items had survived his brutal strike. To his surprise the ground beneath his feet held nothing but shattered earth, he looked up and barely saw the lances tip coming before he threw himself to the side. He landed with a roll and come up on his feet, his club before him as he waited for his stomach to form enough volatile gases for another fire blast. The Human had dark black hair that had lightened with age. At this range Likuku noticed he wasn't as young as he first seemed, and at the sight of Likuku the man smiled slightly and adjusted his stance shifting the shield before him and holding the lance tucked under an arm with the middle neatly placed between the serrations on the side of the tower shield. Likuku growled as he noticed what the serrations on the wooden shield were made of, Dragons teeth that had been used as decorations, and from the various scales decorating the front, the blue and red he had thought were paint. "No wonder he shrugged off my fiery breath. He's a damn dragon hunter!" Likuku knew he wasn't a dragon, but he knew he had another advantage. He had an army with him. He roared out to his horde demanding their presence. The orcs that were not actively engaged came to charge the human, a group of six. Likuku shouldn't have bothered. The Human moved like a dragon himself, with force and fury he struck, a quick sprint took him towards the charging orcs, the lance darting out like a striking serpent three times as he sprinted, the three lead orcs each caught the lances tip center mass and it ripped through their leather armor and burst free of their back for a sliver of a moment before it had been removed for the humans assault to continue. The Humans sprint became a slide, feet first he swept one of the orcs ass over teakettle and stiffened his legs as he brought himself into a crouch with a powerful upwards thrust, catching two of the orcs on the end of his lance, skewering them through like so much ke-bob. The human didn't even seem to notice a change in the lances weight as he stood and swung his lance to the side, letting the orc's bodies slide wetly off the lance to collapse into heaps. The Orc that had been tripped was starting back to his feet when a bone boot crunched into the side of his head with a fierce kick and he dropped into unconsciousness. Likuku growled and charged, knowing the skull crushers were en route. His club was used defensively smashing the lance aside before his scaled shoulder slammed into the humans face, rewarding Likuku with the sound of the fleshy humans nose breaking as his body was knocked back. To his credit the human, despite the unavoidable tearing of the eyes, didn't seem hampered, he staggered back from the shoulder bash and countered by swinging the lance like a bat, slashing Likuku across the cheek with a blow that ripped the scales away in a thin line, drawing that draconic blood from the proud ogre. Likuku flew into a rage charging forwards once more as he laid about him with his club, smashing repeatedly into the humans shield as he held it up to defend himself while he backpedaled. The Shield was beginning to crack and fracture, and with a final overhead swing Likuku shattered the shield- seizing the opportunity he opened his mouth to unleash another gout of flame when the lance came up. Likuku had not noticed the human had positioned his lance tip directly behind his shield as he was sideways and backpedaling, and the moment the shield shattered the lance was rammed forwards like a piston, the tip of the lance slowed imperceptibly as it pierced through the fleshy interior of Likuku's throat and than erupted out of the back of the Half-Dragon Half-Fiend Ogre's head, yanking him bodily off his feet as he hung suspended from the lance momentarily before the gout that was coming up burst from the hole in the back of the creatures head, immolating the shaft of the lance even as the draconic fiends skull was wreathed in flames. Likuku's body jerked and twitched as the lance was pulled free. The muscle spasm causing it to jump and jerk as if trying to cling to the life that escaped when the lance penetrated. With flaming lance still attached to the human, whom turned to regard the frozen ogres and the terrified orc horde. The flaming lance rose into the air as the human yelled into the din of battle-

"VICTORY!"

Le Quatre is one of many small bars named after some spot in Paris. In this case, the fourth quarter district. A neighborhood in Paris, as I understand, that is originally home to students. I doubt that is still the case. I read somewhere that housing in Paris is very hard to afford, certainly in that district. And way out of reach for students. Something that is certainly not the case in this (edited) hole downtown New Orleans. I wonder what the owner had in mind choosing this name. This place has as much in common with students as the modern world has with me. Nothing.

This R&B is becoming annoying now. Typical, the Lammasu thought them music and this is what mankind does to it.

I watch a bunch of 'brothers' as they like to refer to themselves stroll in. Loose pants, over sized sport shirts of some team or another and caps. And lots of shiny trinkets dangling from their fat necks. Flanked by some dressed down girls to make their looks complete. I watch them high five around or whatever they call these substitutes for greetings. I hear them talk (edited), ho and brother. It seems to me the curse of Babel is still spreading after all these centuries.

"Hey brother, you're gonna be at the rally tomorrow?"

I look up, into a pair of sparkling eyes belonging to one of the girls that just walked in. Ah yes, the rally. I've heard quite a bit about it in the past days. It's been buzzing around like the mosquito's during summer. Annoying. A local priest organized a demonstration tomorrow, a protest against society. Something about equal rights, social improvements and getting attention for the poor conditions in these parts of town. I shake my head with a amused smile. "A rally?"

Her words align with my recollection of the speech. She almost recites it literally, word for word. Essentially he questions how it is possible that there is so much injustice and inequality between black and white people while they all believe in the same God Almighty. Somewhere in the middle of her recite, I offered her to sit down. Of course, I am interested by all of this. The demonstration itself, the people involved, the reasons. And foremost the motivation.

"You have to excuse me, I have had a couple of very busy days. Barely seen any news. Don't hate me for it, but I think i'll pass"

"Why? Don't you wanna fight for equal rights?"

"I've been fighting for justice, as I prefer to call it, for a long time. Let's say I can't find myself in the concept behind this demonstration"

What do you mean? A demonstration for equal rights is a demonstration for equal rights

"The church part"

Oh, you don't believe in God. That's no reason not to stand up!

"Come on, who are you fooling here? Do you honestly believe a shared religion is going to make a difference? If I am correct, the KKK are very religious people. To bad they don't consider you to be human. Extreme example, I realize that. Essentially, Christian faith dictating to help each other is only followed up so far. At best it ends at the point where one has to give up something of their own hard gained welfare so another may benefit. For the record, I do believe in God, eh, I acknowledge His existence. But I don't follow him in a way you do"

You are one of those new age people then? That's still no reason not to stand up

It is as I believe this demonstration is going to be a waste of time. Aside that the whole idea behind it is meaningless to those the demonstration is aimed at.

If you're so smart, then how would you change things for yourself?

Who says I want to change things? For myself that is? I didn't say I don't want to help out. You assume that me sitting here means I'm on the same side of the fence as you are. I'm not. And that should have been clear by now. For starters, i'm not referring to you as 'prostitute'. And I don't think we are close relatives either. Not unless my father kept me in the dark about yet another old flame of his. I am a lawful citizen of this country. I work, I pay my taxes, I stay out of trouble and I vote on that politician who serves my interest best. The fact that by law my rights are arranged by an amendment, rather then by constitution doesn't have much effect on me. Or you. Not in any other way then in your mind. When I run into an individual that has a problem with my skin color, that's because mankind's inherent fear of everything different then himself. After all, you mistrust white people as much as they mistrust you. And to the point, a rally isn't going to change that. Education and day to day experience however, will.

What about your heritage then? Don't you want to see some acknowledgment the injustice done to your ancestors? Or have they never been enslaved?

Yes, my great great grant parents where taken as slaves from Africa to Jamaica. They worked as slaves in the household of some English noble family. Long enough to learn the English language and long enough to learn a few things about hating white people. That changed, them being slaves, when the property was raided by one pirate captain or the other. I assume they spend the rest of their lives in freedom. That is, as free as a black man could be in those days. Anyway, they raised their sons and daughters in that kind of limited freedom. Now you must understand that as far as they where concerned there was little point in going back to Africa. For starters, their tribe no longer existed. Secondly, traveling was hazardous at best. Thirdly, no cash to pay for the voyage. Fourth, no guarantee that they wouldn't be taken as slaves again. And last but not least, if they made it back, then what? So, they stayed in Jamaica and made a living there. They had this small community with others who shared their fate. Their combined numbers and the fact they had guns and the willingness to use them meant they where left alone. Besides, slavery as it had existed was about to end anyway. I guess everybody in power that time realized that as well. The next important thing was the arrival of a couple of missionaries. They set up a church, a school and a hospital. So one generation passed over in another, and another, which brings us to my mom and dad. According to him, they didn't exactly lived in poverty, but neither lived in any sort of wealth either. The church had helped them and my ancestors with some things. So mom and dad decided to seek their fortune in America. And moved here, to New Orleans. So, don't get me wrong. I know damn well how hard it can be for black people like us.

And let me tell you one thing, the color of your and my skin have very little to do with that. It's an excuse, nothing more. I have gotten my share of unfairness. More then you will ever possible know yourself. How to put it? See, you have a choice. Oh, deny it all you like. You have a choice. You have a new choice every day. The consequences of your daily choices may be hard. Or they may be easy. So far, the you have made the easy choices. Live an easy life, no cares for tomorrow. Ah yes, that rally of yours, i'll come to that later. Look at your life as it is now, think back to all those years you made the same choice every day again. Over and over and over again. You could have done so much more, you still can. And no, that rally isn't gonna make a difference, and you know it. What would help you is to bid your past farewell. Ah, you tell yourself you don't know what to expect. That is irrelevant. Like you know what to expect tomorrow anyway. For all you know there won't be a tomorrow for you. For all you know, you walk out of that door and down the street and you die. In the best scenario, tomorrow will be exactly the same as it was for you today. Hey now, don't look so sad all of the sudden. I didn't say I can not help you. I say, just that if I appear in that rally of yours or not isn't going to be the help you need.

I don't know right now...

I know you think of me as a Mounds candy bar, black from the outside, white from the inside? How did your friends just greeted you? "hey Ho, what's my (edited) up tonight?" Let's assume the rally is taken serious, is that how they'll address the politicians as well? Is that how they want to change things? Is that how they are going to help you making your life any better? Or maybe its you and them who need to change? Starting with that attitude and terrible slang you use. My parents arrived here with less then most of you have. But he manages to built up a living, he managed for me a good education. And I manage to earn myself a descent living. And I didn't accomplish that by hanging out on the streets all day with my ho mies and (edited)es complaining how unfair the white government is treating us.

You know, governments are unfair, unjust even, by there very definition. The minority, even a large minority and regardless of their ideas, is always the beaten dog. But i'm straying away from the topic.

My predicament? There won't be a delegation coming down the City Hall stairs. What will be coming down on you is a lot of police at the first sign of trouble. One broken store window, one burning tire, one erupting fight and the police swarms down on you with rubber bullets and teargas. And by the nine 'o clock news? Your rally has been trialled, judged and found guilty. And you'll have lost more then you gained. Instead you could all dedicate yourselves to get a good job, give your children good education and good prospects of careers. In time politicians will emerge among them, enough to change the constitution and give you the same rights as white people. So don't forget your heritage. I haven't. The injustice done to us in the past still lives strongly within me. Don't make your children forget either. But don't waste your future in a fruitless rally tomorrow either.

You sound just like the Father, where you a priest as well? How can you help me then?

Me? A priest, a holy man? I am sure God would laugh very hard if he could hear you. No, I'm not. I gave up on God a long time ago as I mentioned. Let's say I have seen and heard a lot. No, i am just living a life of an ordinary man. I have made some good choices and some bad choices. I've been in plenty of trouble myself, and will be in plenty more for sure. I have my own little business. A Courier Express Service. ACES, The A stands for Abergavenny, my last name. My grandmother on my fathers side was married to an Englishman. How I can help, I say that depends. Do you have a job?

No...

"Well, in that case you can work with me. Here's my card..."

How does working for you change anything. For me, maybe. But for us all?

"Not working for me, working with me. That makes a difference, a huge difference. Working for has such a negative ring to it. Have some faith in me. I say that instead of attending that rally, you make sure you are in the office by eight tomorrow morning. The music is killing me and its getting late. Be there, and I tell you how you can change things. And see if you can talk some friends of yours out of the whole idea What goes for you, goes for them as well. Asside from a job offer. I can't help everybody. I think they are looking for you now."

((one of the brothers)) "We're going. Well, whatcha waiting for?"

"I'm not going with you"

"What the (edited)"

"I said, i'm not coming along. Can't you see I'm busy here?"

"What? What's the matter (edited), you like him better then us. Aren't we good enough for you now? I know you man, with your fancy clothes and (edited)ing.. (edited)ing white attitude. Will you stand with us in tomorrows rally. If not, she has no business with you"

"No he won't and i fact, I won't either. And I decide who I have business with or not"

"Is that so. Is that so, huh?"

((a gun)) ::click::

"What if I put him out of business right now?"

"Oh my god, please don't"

There are to many people around us. Although the numbers are dropping as people make note of the deteriorating situation in my corner, I doubt he'll shoot. There are to many witnesses that like him as less as they like me. They will talk, and he knows they will.

"Lets give God a change to for fill her prayer shall we. I'll leave you two alone. I'm gonna stand up really slow, and I am going to walk out that door and forget this incident, okay?" Without taking my eyes from him I stand up. And I can read one thing in his eyes, that this isn't over. He's dangerous. A typical kid from the streets who doesn't care about tomorrow. He has no future. And neither has the rest of them. I wonder why he's so interested in that rally. Him and the rest of his gang. Something tells me they are not.

Maybe I should have continued walking once I crossed the street. But I haven't. I'm standing within the shadows, eyes on the door. Through the haze of the glass I can see the fight continue for a moment. It ends in a backhand slap, tears and him leaving first, followed by his two 'brothers' with the girl in between them. Followed by another girl. I haven't payed attention to her so far. I did see her come in with the rest of them, but she kept herself at the background all the time. I focus on the first girl again. She has something. Something I want, something I need. Something I can get her to give me. Despite what she has seen, she still has a spark of hope left in her. I am going to kill tonight. But that isn't going to be the worst mistake. No, the worst mistake is that I can not see the consequences the killing will have. I keep telling myself, people have seen the fight, people will point you out to the police - not that that worries me, there wont be anything to pin me down on. No, but others in their gang will hear as well. And they don't investigate, they will hear of the fight, they will learn she got away. They will learn she came to look me up a few days later. And they will cause just the kind of trouble that the police needs to arrest me anyway. Best case scenario.

Come one. I can think up something better, something more devious. Or else this isn't worth the risk, much less the effort. The rally... It's what's been puzzling me throughout the conversation. I watch the five of them walk straight towards me, unaware of my presence. Two of them walk around the car, one of those large hood less types. And lean towards the back door, well within range of my claws.

I want to kill. I so very much want to feel their petty un-thankful lives slip away trough my hands. Instead I watch the twin red squares fade away in the distance. I have a feeling I will see her again. If not tomorrow, then in a few days.

Let's see what I can find out about that demonstration tomorrow...

**

Abergavenny speaking. Can you put me trough to Griffith please. Thank you.

Griffith here. Ah, mr Abergavenny. You want to see me? It can't wait...

The nondescript car rolls down to a stop a few yards away from where I parked my van. The window rolls down revealing the pock-marked face of Griffith. "This better be important Gerain. We are kinda busy today"

I give the man a broad smile, tipping the ash of my cigar. "Is hundred million dollars worth of cocaine important enough?"

"I'm listening. Even though drugs isn't my department and you know it."

"You fight crime right. What's it to you what crime is committed? The cocaine is the currency though, not the product. The product would be weapons. And I believe that is your department, right?"

"Go ahead"

"The demonstration today is just to keep the police busy enough for a while so they can't intervene with the transaction. I have reasons to believe the transaction is only part of a larger project, but that's just a guess. There is only so much I could find out in the past ten hours. But why would one either need such a large amount of weapons, or a few very heavy weapons? I don't know. I do know that hundred million worth of cocaine is a lot easier to hide and sell then a large stock of weapons, or a few heavy weapons. So it must be very important to them."

"When is this transaction going to take place?"

"Between when the demonstration starts and when the riots break out. Look, Father Elijah is part of it and..."

"Elijah? He's the one that called for the demonstration for christ sake. What's your prove?"

"Hey, prove is your department. Not mine. I'm just the informant here. Elijah had more then a few gang-members making sure the demonstration is going to be an initial success. In a couple of hours you'll have your hand full with some two thousand of angry (edited)s. To ensure you'll stay out of the way, gang-members walking among them will start causing trouble to get the fire really going."

"And how do you know all of this?"

"Because they told me"

"They told you?"

"In a way"

"..."

"They didn't know I was listening in"

"Ah"

"Its.. seven minutes past 10 now. Gives you less then two hours to figure out what to do. So what are you waiting for?"

"You haven't told me where this transaction is going to take place."

"That's because they didn't tell me"

"Well, I suggest you find out then. Its eight minutes past 10. What are you waiting for?"

"..."

"Well, its like you said, hundred million worth of weapons is hard to hide and sell, or even move around. The drugs are going out of the city, so that's no longer our problem. I want to know what the destination of those weapons are and who is all involved."

"Man, you let hundred million worth of cocaine slip out of your hands?"

"Not if you work really fast. If we miss the transaction, that's to bad. But look at it from this side, a hundred million is just a single snowball on the arctic. If it ain't snored up within our city, I'm happy already."

"And what about the demonstration?"

"We'll see if we can identify the gang-members and arrest them before things get out of hand"

"Can you wait with that till the last moment?"

"Why?"

"Because if you arrest them that sudden, you might warn who ever else are involved in the transaction."

"You have till fifteen minutes past noon. Then I'm gonna order the arrests. I'll have a helicopter and a few man ready if you can find the time and location out before it takes place. If not I want you to find out where these weapons are, what they intend to do with them. And names, Gerain. I want names. Good luck"

"Yeah" Muttering under my breath I start the car, steering in the opposite direction.

***

Last Rescue

"Hurry it up Thatcher, I want to be home to my wife by the morning" Grant's booming voice was easily heard over the raging water. Grant had never been one to drag things out, but this rescue mission had turned into a nightmare already, and was about to get much worse. The pair were crossing a fallen log over a rushing river. It was starting to come into summer season, so the river was swelling with fresh water. Behind Grant, Terry Thatcher struggled to keep his balance while burdoned with a heavy backpack and bedroll.

"You know what, I..." Thatcher started to stammer out. Grant whirled around and set his heavy glare on the much smaller man.

"Don't give me excuses Thatcher. Damnit, the longer we're out here, the less likely we'll find the girl alive. Now, unless you want to explain to the kid's parents that your inabilities led to their child's death, I suggest you HURRY YOUR ASS UP!" Grant turned and continued down the log and soon reached the safety of the shore.

"No need to yell, Grant. Hey, why you always yelling at me anyways?" Thatcher asked as he continued wearily across the surface of the fallen log. "I mean seriously, Grant. Does your wife really treat you that badly that you have to come to work and piss on me?" Thatcher's foot slipped but he managed to regain his balance before slipping off the log. "Phew.." he said with a relieved look on his face.

"Shut up Thatcher, and don't talk about my wife." Grant stated as he looked around the woods. The sun had already fallen behind the horizon and the atmosphere of the woods had changed drastically. "Can't see a goddamn thing...Thatcher!" he called out, and turned to look at his companion who was just setting foot on the solid ground.

"What Grant?" he said in a very un-enthusiastic tone as he walked over to stand by Grant.

"It's getting dark, we gotta hurry if we wanna find this girl." Grant stated, turning his gaze upon the darkened woods again.

"Really? I figured we'd sit and enjoy a cup of warm tea while discussing how much of an asshole you are." Thatcher spouted off in a sarcastic tone as he walked past Grant. Thatcher set down the large backpack that was strapped to his back and started to rummage through its contents. "You know, you should be carrying this damn thing you big ox." stated as he dug around in the bag. "Aha!" he pulled a pair of high tech night vision goggles out of the bag and put them over his head.

"Shut up and tell me what you see." Grant said in an irritated manner.

"Well, I see that you're about eighty pounds overweight and you could use a good shave," Thatcher laughed after saying that, then let his eyes roam the woods around them. He could hear Grant muttering his failed attempt at a come back behind him. Suddenly, his face went white and he stopped dead in his movements. "Umm...Grant? You might wanna have a look at this" spoken in a distant tone. Thatcher removed the NVGs from his head and offered them to Grant, unable to pull his eyes away from the sight ahead.

Grant huffed and walked up behind Thatcher, taking the goggles from him, "I don't understand these damned things..." he tapped the goggles and looked them over before putting them on his head and looking around. "Alright, now what am I loo-" Grant stopped mid-word, his jaw dropped and taking a step backwards, "My god Thatcher...What is that?"

"I'm not sure that I wanna find out," Thatcher stated, turning away and forcing back the vomit that was creeping up his throat.

Grant's lip started to quiver, his face draining of blood. "Thatcher...it's the girl." Grant fumbled with the goggles, trying to get them off of his head. Meanwhile, Thatcher was puking to the side in a bush. Grant stopped what he was doing when an ominous sound came from behind them. Grant was the first to hear the twigs snapping, but was unable to see because of the goggles on his head. Thatcher always told him that he was a clumsy oaf when it came to technology. "Thatcher..."

"What damnit! I know it's the girl!" Thatcher yelled out as he turned to look at Grant. His face paled, as he layed eyes on something behind Grant. A darkened figure creeping towards them from the brush. "Time to go Grant...GRANT!" The figure started to move more quickly and Thatcher scrambled to his feet.

"Goddamn stupid goggles!" Grant tore the NVG's from his head and turned to look behind him. "Oh shit..." Grant turned back to Thatcher and pulled the handaxe from his hip. Thatcher shook his head and scrambled over a log, tearing through the brush.

"Run you big idiot!" Thatcher called as he tore through the woods. Terry Thatcher failed to realize that he was surrounded, and was running into a trap. All around him in the woods, eyes were upon him and those watching were paralelling his movements.

"Grrrr!" Grant responded with a grizzly growl and held the axe to his side as he set eyes upon the approaching threat. "Come on then, you don't scare me. You did that to the poor little girl didn't you," his deep voice cracking, "you sick mother fucker!" He charged at the lithe figure approaching him, yelling a battle roar and hefting the axe for a strike.

Thatcher ran for his life, "Grant you big fool" he thought to himself. Tears were starting to stream down his cheeks as he ran. His footing wasn't the greatest, and he managed to fall flat on his face, landing with a heavy thud in the mud. He lay there for a moment, wiping his eyes clean of mud. He heard Grant's battle cry echo into the night. For a second he thought his brutal friend might be able to get them out of yet another life threatening situation as he had done many times in the past. Then he heard the terrifying scream and he knew it came from Grant. He slammed his fist in the muddy puddle he was still laying in. Unable to stop the tears from flowing now, he lay there a moment sobbing. "Why...WHY!?" he yelled out loudly in a sobbing voice.

The sound of snapping twigs and footsteps falling in water came from behind him. Thatcher heard them this time. He started to crawl forward, finally getting to his feet. He started to run. "I'm not gonna die here, not tonight, not after everything I've been through. Grant...I'm sorry buddy" he thought as he ran, the tears stopped streaming down his cheeks. He was picking up a good running speed then suddenly found himself face down in the dirt again. "Aghh..." he shook his head as he looked to see what he'd tripped on.

A pretty face, or it once would have been a pretty face, was twisted into a horrified grimace. The girl's long blonde hair hung past her shoulders, strands of hair falling down the girl's chest and covering her exposed breasts partially. Such a beautiful and youthful girl this was. She must have only been sixteen years old or so. Not meant to die in a place like this. Not meant to die in the middle of the wilderness, sitting under a tall tree, naked.

The sobbing started up again, Thatcher unable to control his swirling emotions. He scrambled over to the young girl, checking her for any signs of life. His hand brushed up against her side and he felt something he wished he wouldn't have. "My god...what the..." he stammered through his sobs. He looked down at his hand to see what he'd found. The girl's intestines and internal organs were sitting on the ground next to her in a bloody heap. Blood still coming out of her stomach which was ripped open. He fell backwards on his butt, scooting away from the girl with a horrified expression on his face. He puked, again, heaving his stomach's contents into the brush.

Twigs snapped around him from all sides. He lifted his head and saw dark figures surrounding him, at least a dozen. He couldn't make out any details, and he was quite sure he didn't want to. He got to his hands and knees, facing the dead girl once more. He shook his head somberly, "I'm sorry..." he muttered, sobbing still. He got to his feet slowly, weakly. In front of him, from behind the tree the girl was sitting under, a woman stepped out. She had long dark hair, dirty and crusted with mud. The strange woman was fully naked, with large supple breasts and slender hips. She held her hand to her lips, chewing on something and making an aweful sucking and slurping sound. The woman lifted her eyes and set them upon Terry Thatcher. She extended her hand, offering him what she held. Whatever it was, it was dripping onto the floor.

Thatcher grimaces and shook his head while taking a step back. He tried to force his sobs to stop, but had no luck. The woman threw what she held at him and after hitting him in the chest with a wet slopping sound, it fell to the floor. His eyes looked down slowly. At his feet lay a partially consumed heart. "Oh my god..." he quivered, shaking his head from side to side in disbelief. "No...no no no no!" he sobbed harder. "What are you!?" he yelled out through his sobs.

He felt a sharp tinge in his lower back, then another as sharp claws were thrust into him from behind. He sputtered blood and sank to his knees in front of the woman who was slowly approaching. "Wh...what...are you..." he stammered with blood trailing out of his mouth. He could feel the world swirling around him, the darkness becoming more complete. His eyes shifted to the dead girl and he focused on her for his last dying, blood choked breaths.

The woman looked at him without a trace of emotion in her face. She crouched down in front of Terry Thatcher, running a finger down his cheek. Thatcher couldn't feel it, he couldn't feel anything but an impending cold that worsened by the second as death's embrace threatened to take him.

The woman's voice was the last thing that rang out in Terry Thatcher's mind. The last clear thing he was able to capture before his life ended. "Nagaraja..."

------

-Mark. -AKA- 'Hellsayer'

_________________
Ushering in a new breed of chaotic order and kickass scenes to the WoD.

Just a few notes that will be useful.

Okasan: Mother.
Maiko: an apprentice geisha
Erigae: a Maiko ceremony, ‘Turning the collar’ which was also a symbol of a girl losing her virginity. So the maiko’s virginity would be auctioned off to the highest bidder.
mizu-age: The part of Erigae in which the maiko loses her virginity.

Death By Hair Accessory!

Shadows drifted across the ground as clouds lazily past across the moons face. Suzume walked along the street, accompanied by a group of two men and one woman. This would be her first test as a ninja, and a Yakuza member. It was true that this would not be her first murder. But it was much more important than the death of a mere mugger. She couldn’t fail. It would bring disgrace to her entire family. She couldn’t bare the thought of the look on her mothers face… to have trained such a failure.

Suzume was dressed in a formal Maiko kimono. It was much more colorful than the geisha impersonator walking in front of her. It was golden silk, were as her mothers was black. Suzume’s hair was pulled up in the traditional geisha fashion with colorful ornaments dangling from the top. She shuffled up the walkway behind her mother, head low, hands folded in front of her.

“Konbanwa, Ito-san.” Her mother bowed deeply to the man awaiting there arrival. Ito responded to her bow with one of his own.

“Konbanwa, Midoriko-san.” He turned to look at Suzume, his eyes looking over her hungrily. Suzume had been coming to see this man for weeks. He honestly thought that she was a Maiko, and that tonight would be her mizu-age, and he had been the highest bidder.

Suzume forced down the sickening feeling that washed over her. She kept her eyes on the ground. But all the time she could feel Ito looking at her, his eyes trying to boar threw her kimono.

Finally Ito turned his attention back to Midoriko. “Are you certain she is not to young?”

Midoriko raises a hand to her mouth, laughing flirtatiously. “Oh my, We are honored that you are so concerned with Oyuki’s well being. You must be concerned that you will hurt her. Yuki-chan is a star pupil. She made the choice to go threw with the Erigae, even at such a young age. She was excited to hear that you, Ito-san, were the highest bidder.”

Ito raised a brow, he was intrigued that the twelve year old girl had wanted him. “It that so, little Yuki-san?”

Suzume forced down a second wave of nausea, she raised her gaze to meet Ito’s eyes. She gave a soft nod, batting eyes as if she were nervous. “Hai.”

“By all means please, come in.” Ito san said stepping aside to allow the others into his home.

Suzume and her mother were shown into Ito’s bed chambers where they would set up the bed. Hanabi, Suzume’s mother, would help her to undress. This, much to Suzume’s disliking, was something that she couldn’t really get by, if he was going to believe this were real long enough for the plan to work.

She looked over her shoulder to her mother, her soft brown eyes full of fear. “Okasan…”

Her mother was silent for a long time, until one end of the obi dropped to the floor and Suzume was left holding the kimono closed as it drooped off one shoulder. “I know, Suzu. Do exactly as I taught you and you will be fine.” She nodded curtly.

Suzume turned around to look at her mother, a stern look covering the bubbling fear inside her. Her eyes were glossy with watering tears.

Hanabi smiled to her daughter, a proud confidant smile. “After this, you will have earned your place.” Her mother nodded and handed the obi to her daughter. Hanabi turned towards the shoji screen door.

“Sasaki-san.”

The screen opened, a lean Japanese man in his late twenties stood outside. Hanabi walked out her head held high, her Geisha demeanor once again present.

The man stepped into the room and looked into the eyes of his pupil. His eyes held a soft concern and protective edge. “Good luck, little one.”

Before Suzume could speak he closed the door.

Suzume was left alone, standing naked with several layers of silk draped over her body. She felt more vulnerable than she ever had in her life. The only weapon she had was a tiny poisoned needle in her hair. She took a deep breath to calm the shudder that ran threw her spine.

She moved to the futon on the floor. The uncomfortable rectangle joke of a pillow was uncomfortable on her neck, but it was required to keep her hair in tact. She folded the golden layers over her young feminine form. Now she waited.

And waited.

She could hear the footsteps coming down the hall. Soft, and slow. Suzume’s heart pounded in her chest as Ito approached the door. He stopped outside. His breathing was hard for excitement. Suzume was disgusted.

The door slid open, but Suzume kept her eyes on the ceiling. Ito moved towards her crouching down next to the futon. Suzume glanced at him, but was immediately sorry she had. His eyes were needy, mouth twisted in a sick hungry grin. He was practically drooling over what little skin he could see. Her neck, and shoulders.

His hand brushed her shoulder and she jumped, nearly grabbing the needle from her hair. But with a flash of self control stopped herself short only bringing her hand up to her mouth. She let out a soft surprised whimper.

Ito simply laughed. “Yuki-san. Are you frightened?”

Suzume played up the timid Maiko girl act and nodded. She was indeed terrified. But for a completely different reason. She knew this man would die before he opened her kimono. She would not allow it to be any other way. She was nervous that the intended fashion of his death may end up much bloodier. If she did not get the poison in a major vein it would not spread fast enough. Then, she would have to resort to blades. Something they could not pretend was done prior to this meeting.

“Oh dear, Then please sit up. We will…..go.. slowly.” He said softly but his tone was dripping with lust.

Suzume did as she was told, her grip on the folds tightening as she sat up. Ito reached out and brushed her shoulder, moving to sit next to her. His hands caressed her soft shoulders. She tightened her grip on the silk, disgusted shivers running threw her body.

Ito smirked beside her, his lusty grin ravishing her exposed skin. “Don’t be nervous dear.” He reached up and pulled out the steel needle holding her hair up. Suzume’s heart stopped. The needle, the poisoned soaked weapon of death… was now in the hands of its determined victim. What now?

She turned to look at ito as her hair tumbled down over her shoulders. It was long, to her waist, and black as the night sky. She looked into his eyes. Her honey brown orbs terrified. What now? What was she supposed to do now?

He grabbed her hands, leaving the needle laying on the floor beside him. Ito pulled her close to him. His lips brushing against her shoulder. Then her neck, cheek and finally lips. He kissed her deeply. A kiss which she could only return. What else could she do…She was lost in calculating… trying to think. And then she had it. The game was won.

She smiled playfully as he pulled away. Moving her body towards him she pushed him back, till he was laying on the floor. Her kimono draped open, but he could not yet see what he yearned with all his body to see. She climbed onto him, sitting on his lap. Her hands beside him. She was feeling for the needle as she looked into his eyes.

Then, her hand brushed against the cold steal. She snatched it up in one swift movement. The needle was in and out of his skin before he knew what was happening. Ito grabbed his side, where the needle poked at him.

“What the…” he said looking up at her.

Suzume stood with a malicious grin on her little face. She stared deep into his eyes. The needle held in her hand as if it were her last fleeting hope.

Within minutes the man began to convulse violently. His eyes rolled back into his skull, every muscle in his body tensed in a painful clench. But he couldn’t scream. No, he couldn’t make a single sound. But Suzume could. And all she did was laugh.

It was a feeling she’d never felt before. This man. This writhing excuse for a man, womanizing, exploiting, gutless man. He was dyeing, and it was all because of her. Suzume had control of this man from the second she’d walked into the room. There was nothing that could have stopped this from happening.

She felt powerful. At the age of twelve she felt as if the world was at her feet. She turned towards the door. Dropping the needle, it couldn’t be traced to her. It was authentic geisha garb. Stolen from a geisha house. No one would know it had been missing for months.

Suzume stepped out of the room closing the shoji screen behind her. The sharp thud rang in Ito’s
ears as his world fell into darkness. For him, it was over nothing more than the few seconds that registered as an eternity of writhing endless agony.

Then. It was over… and the night was once again silent as death.

(Okay, Short stories huh? Well, here's four parts of a smal novella I'm working on.)

Have you ever listened to the sound of the wind?

It begins as a low whistle, something so small and delicate.

It is such a quiet thing, and so few hear its call. So few in their hectic lives stop to listen.

And sometimes it is too late.

For the wind is not always such a subtle thing, not always is she a quiet mistress.

What she has in subtlety, she has in power.

Lands have been ripped apart, homes wiped from existence, even sea’s parted by her undying power.

And still there are those who do not listen.

This is the tale of one who listened and saw.

(Part 1: Scents and sounds)

Food. Yes he could smell it. It sometimes wafted down here into the den after a while when his pack left for the hunting. He could not see yet, his eyes had not opened. But he knew the scent of things. His nose twitched as he searched for his mother. Nothing, but the food was coming closer. Strange. He let out a low yip to his mother, a puppies call.

Nothing.

She had always called before, why not now? His stomach rumbled, demanding to be fed. He yipped again, this time in helpless frustration. He was hungry, and the food was right outside the den now.

His little legs trembled as he tried to stand. His yipping for his mother continued, even as he plodded awkwardly towards the mouth of the den. It was hard to walk, his legs were not strong enough to carry him very far and he had only ever ventured to the end of his bedding. The food was still there, a draft blew its scent straight to him. It was antagonising.

His nose twitched frantically, seeking his mothers calming scent, but found nothing. Now the food was moving, his little nose followed it. It smelled like rabbit. His body did its best to follow, stumbling up to the mouth of the den.

Suddenly he was cold. That same draft that had brought him the scent of the food now chilled his tiny body. His nose was bombarded with a thousand wild and wonderful scents that made him at once afraid. He pressed himself to the ground and intensified his calling for his mother. His ears pressed back and his nose stopped scenting. He began to tremble, cowed and alone against this strange new world that existed outside the den.

He lay there for the longest time, desperately calling for his mother, sure she would come. But she never did. In time he stopped calling. Exhausted, he lay there alone. It was when he ceased his yipping and stopped concentrating on the smell of the rabbit that he began to listen.

His ears were sharp and as his body became accustomed to the cold outside the den he began to hear the sounds of the world outside. High above him, the birds sang. He knew they were birds. His mother had told him so. She said that some help wolves to hunt and find food. Somewhere close, he could hear the sounds of the stream. His mother had told him about that too. A pure place that was to be shared at all times, she had said.

He listened to the birds singing their morning praises and his mood lightened some. He allowed the sun to warm his fur. It felt good. The draft returned, but no longer as harsh as it had first been. Subtler, warming even. It carried the scent of the food on it once more, tempting.

Slowly, the young wolf pup stood once more. He did not call for his mother but instead struck out on the trail of the meat. Its smell made it close. As he listened, he could hear the birds above him directing him forwards. His mother had been right then.

Onward he trekked, every step taking him further from his home than he had ever been. The singing around him calmed his heart and he no longer was afraid. Instinct took over. He knew he must eat to live.

Soon, the scent on the air guided him to the source of the food. The birds watched as the blind wolf pup approached the rabbit trapped in the snare. Watched as, comically, he tripped over the struggling rabbit and yelped in surprise. He regained his footing, weak now with fatigue. He could smell the fear on the rabbit, could hear its laboured breathing. But his mind knew he must eat. Instinct took its hold and with a snap of his jaws, he ended the dying rabbits struggle. He fed then, gorging himself on the rabbit meat, for something whispered to him that he may not eat for some time.

He dozed there, lazing in the sun. He felt his body strengthen with the meat. He was content.

And then he noticed.

The birds no longer sang. The air no longer moved. The world held its breath. In this moment he was afraid. It gripped his stomach, crippling him and he yipped for his mother, once more the small defenceless pup.

But as before, she did not come.

Instead, his weak mewing was met with the sound of thunder. It rang out, sharp across the morning sky. More followed. The pup was afraid, afraid and confused, always he had been told of thunder and rain. Always it came with the night and the great lights that lit up the night sky. He had heard thunder before. But this sound was different. Shorter, less powerful, but more sinister.

Suddenly the air moved and with it came the scent of something most terrifying. In time he would learn the scent of man and guns, but he was only a pup.

And then there was a voice speaking to him. His blind eyes wanted to open, to look around, but they would not obey his commands. Instead, his ears listened. He felt the wind on his fur, urging him away from this place. The voice telling him to run.

And he obeyed. His tiny legs carrying him as fast as they could. The wind turned to help him, pushing him on, making him faster. It was all he could do to keep his balance.

Thunder rang out again and then he was falling, tumbling over and over. His world becoming dark again as his ears flattened and his nose shut tight.

For a time unknown he lay there, in darkness. Not knowing if he was alive or dead. His whole body ached from the fall. He wanted to cry out, but he could not summon the energy.

Slowly, he became aware of something stroking his fur. It was soft, soothing. His ears opened and he could hear a gentle whisper. His nose twitched and he could smell everything that was good and pure.

Open your eyes young one. The voice spoke. It was kind and gentle, nurturing. And for the first time the pup opened his eyes. And for the first time he saw.

Before him stood a slowly twisting image. It stood on two legs but he was sure that would change. His eyes hurt to look upon the thing for too long and he blinked at the strain as he tried to follow the shifting patterns. There was a shallow face, high up above him. Fear gripped him again and he pressed himself to the floor, shutting his eyes tight against this terrible new thing. He wanted to call for his mother, to have her take him home and for him to be fed and have all things right again.

The spirit of the wind looked down on the tiny wolf cub and smiled. She reached down and cradled him in her arms, placing him next to her chest where he would be warm.

Do not fear, little wolf. You are safe now.

He mewed a call for his mother, eyes still shut tight.

Oh, her voice turned sombre, I’m afraid your mother can not come to you anymore, little wolf. But do not fear, you are safe here with me. I shall take care of you until you are strong enough to leave. Please, open your eyes now.

And he did. He looked up into her smiling face and felt better.

Where am I? He asked tentatively.

In a safe place, little wolf. A hint of annoyance creeping into her voice. She hated when she was forced to repeat herself. It was her nature to go ever forwards. But the pup was young.

How I get here? He looked around, but all was in darkness.

I led you here, of course. She answered. Do you not remember? I sent you the scent of the rabbit to lead you away from your den.

Why?

If I had not, you would be dead.

And the wild thunder?

Those are the sounds of men. A hunter close to the weaver’s heart.

Weaver? The pup asked.

You will learn about her in time, but not from me. For now, you are alive, my young wolf. And alive you will stay.

She placed him down on the ground again and smiled.

I will watch over you for a time until you learn to depend on yourself. And when you do that, you will forget me.

The wolf sat, his head cocked to one side, unsure.

Sleep now, my young wolf. Sleep and dream your dreams. Tomorrow is always another day.

And the wolf slept.

(Part 2: The UNcertain Path)

The wolf cub ran.

He had grown stronger in the last winter. His legs could now carry him swiftly across the land, his nose and ears sensing all things around him for miles around. The prey was plentiful here too. He had cut his teeth on their bones, tasted their meat and had been thankful to their spirits for their bounty.

He felt free here. He had forgotten his pack, his mother. Everything he needed was here.

He ran on. He relished the feel of the breeze on his fur, its taste as it rushed past his open maw. The faster he became, the stronger the feeling. But there was a desperation in him tonight. He had not felt its like before. A bursting need for something.

He ran on.

Soon he would tire. He knew this and still he ran on. He was not yet fully grown, but soon he would be. Soon he would be able to run forever. Forever with that touch upon his face.

He slowed, gasping for breath. His destination ahead.

Yes he was free here. Free to run wherever he pleased.

But no matter where he ran, he always returned here. To the place she had first brought him.

To the place he came when the nights closed in. Here he would sing his songs to Sister Luna and then curl up like a cub and sleep in warm silence.

In earlier nights, she would have been here. But now, as he called out to her, she was here less and less.

He would dream of her some nights and wake on the eve of dawn to find her gently stroking his fur as she sometimes did.

She had taught him much. How to hunt, how to kill quickly so as to avoid needless pain. How to honour the kill so their spirits passed on. None of this the cub understood, but it made her happy and so he performed her rites.

Tonight she was not here.

The sky was already dark and sister Luna already taking her place for the night. The cub looked up at her and saw her crescent face winking down at him. He raised his head to her and howled his songs.

His voice had deepened also. No longer the high pitched wail of a young pup finding his voice but a deep resonating cry that echoed throughout the night sky. He hoped she could hear him.

And suddenly, his was not the only voice in the sky. His eyes widened as a crescendo of voices drifted across to reach him, calling out to him.

For a moment he was cowed, afraid to answer. He pressed his body to the ground and suppressed a whimper.

And then she was with him. Her warmth all around him. Reassuring.

Call out to them, my young wolf. She urged. Call out to them, they are your kin.

What do I say? He asked, standing again and looking out into the darkness above him.

Whatever is in your heart, my young wolf. He could feel her smile above him, radiating down.

He stepped forwards once more, closed his eyes and raised his voice to the heavens. His call was joined again by the host of others, closer now.

What do they say? She asked. She already knew of course. She had guided them here, albeit subtly.

They call to me. He replied. They want me to go with them.

Then go to them, my young wolf. Above him, he could feel her joy at his acceptance, even if he felt little of it for himself. Learn from them the ways of your people. Learn what I can not teach you. But remember my lessons.

He twitched. Part of him wanted to stay with her, to feel that touch upon his fur as he had done so many times before. But his other half, his instincts, tugged at him to run again.

Go. She commanded, sensing his indecision. I shall always be there when you need me.

He took one last look up into her ever shifting form as it smiled down on him and he knew he carried her blessing. Then his instincts took over and he was running. His legs carrying him swiftly towards the voices in the sky.

Behind him, the wind picked up. Quickly it rose from a gust to a strong breeze that drove him on, ever faster. Giving strength to his already wearied legs.

On he ran. Feeling stronger by the minute. The wind buffering his fur, making him faster still. He lost track of all time, consumed by instinct. On and on. Faster and faster.

I give you one last gift, my young wolf. Her voice called to him through the storm that was gathering. He did not stop but instead opened his ears to her.

A name I give to you, my young wolf. Her call now a bellow above the roaring wind as the weather intensified around him.

When they ask you... The wind howling behind him.

Tell them you are Sees the Wind!

(Part 3: First change Tragedy)

Three winters had passed and his body had grown. His muscles no longer tired on the long hunts his pack made, indeed he now found he could run for far longer than the others. But when his alpha chose to rest he was content to do so.

The others had taken time to accept him but now he mingled with them as a brother. It had not been so in the first winter. He had been tormented, making him sleep on the outskirts of the group, nipping at him if ever he came too close. They had been wary, sensing something different about him, unsure as to what. He had forgiven them this, their hounding already passed from memory.

He lay within them now, still on the outside of the circle, but a part of it nonetheless. And this was enough for him. He found something in the company of wolves soothing.

He had grown bold this last winter. Now he bounded past some of the others when they ran together, risking the sting of their teeth. He splashed in streams, bringing water down on the others who wished to drink in silence. Even the alpha he now questioned sometimes. But always he rolled over, always he showed his throat.

He had found himself a place in the world since leaving the cave. A place where each day was filled with new scents and new sensations. Each day he learned something new about the way to behave as a wolf among wolves.

It was only when the rain clouds gathered and the wind blew strong, in times when the pack huddles together, that he remembered. Through the fog of a dream he remembered himself as a pup, pouncing insects, running alone through the glens and thickets. Every day venturing further and further. But always returning . Always coming home before nightfall. To her.

Even now, he could still feel her with him. When he ran, surging ahead of the others to lead the pack. For that single brief moment she was with him. Caressing his fur. He missed her touch upon his muzzle that he felt when he ran. Then the teeth of his alpha would fall and she would be gone.

This frustrated him. Made him angry. Made him growl. And this in turn made the others wary, or sometimes bite harder. He had noticed, the more he did it, the more he surged forwards, the more he growled back, the more timid the others were becoming. The less harsh his alphas chastisement. He had come to realise that they feared him and this, perhaps, upset him even more.

It was on such a day, when the wind blew strong, that it happened. He felt her touch upon him and his legs, feeling their new strength, pushed him forwards. On he surged, passing the others, no longer feeling their nips and gashes inflicted on his shoulders. Onwards, relishing her feel upon his muzzle, her hands through his fur until he could almost hear her speaking to him as she wisped past his ears.

Then the blow fell.

He crashed to the ground in a tumble of fur and fangs as his alpha tore into him. He yelped, more in anguish as the voice vanished and the touch of the wind upon his fur faded. He rolled onto his back, offering up his throat in deference. He had not meant to pass his alpha. He had just been so caught up.

His alpha, though, had endured the last sign of disrespect to himself and his pack he was willing to take. His teeth bore down on Sees the Wind, stabbing, tearing clumps of fur, drawing rich fountains of red liquid. Sees yelped again.

At a bark of command from the alpha, the rest of the pack joined in the rending of the omega, their cruel teeth unrelenting.

Sees continued to yelp, pleading with them, whining he was sorry. They did not cease.

From deep inside, the anger boiled, bubbling up into Rage. It lulled him, making his senses numb. Soon he no longer felt their teeth as they ripped his flesh from him. His mind slipped from his grasp and all things became the red haze of a dream.

She was calling to him. Like a whisper across a great void. He opened his eyes.

Standing over him was the form of a wolf, but twisted. It stood on two legs and was much larger than Sees had ever seen. He didn’t understand. The figure extended a clawed hand. He wanted to recoil, to run, to find his pack. But instinct left him. Instead he watched as he held out his own paw. And marvelled at how it had changed.

Wh...His voice no longer his own.

I am sorry young one. The figure spoke in a voice Sees the Wind had never heard but somehow understood. I was not swift enough in reaching you.

Wh….He could not make the sounds.

You must come with me now, young one. He helped him to his feet where Sees swayed. He no longer walked on four legs. He had no tail and found it difficult to balance. The world, it seemed, had suddenly shrunk around him. He was much higher up now than he had ever been. He was cold too. Also, he felt numb, like his senses no longer worked. Had he spent the night wandering lost in a snow storm? That had happened once before.

Wh....Still his voice would not obey him. He began to shiver. Now, for the first time, it seemed the wind was displesed with him. Why else did she make him shiver so with cold.

Come along now. The figure spoke, growing impatient. You have learned much Sees the Wind. But you are one third flawed. Now begins your study in the ways of your true kin.

Sees the Wind only nodded.

(Part 4: At the Sept of the Crystal Mind)

Punch, block, reverse, counter, dodge, kick, grapple, shift, dance away. Guard. Breathe. Sees watched as his opponent, his sparring partner, righted themselves once more and shifted from Glabro into Crinos. Walking Cloud was much bigger than Sees the Wind, even more so now that he had made the transition to the Garou war form. Stronger too. When his blows fell, it was with crushing power that left the young Ragabash reeling. Why the masters at the Sept of the Crystal Mind had thought it wise to have no moons spar with Ahroun’s was a mystery to the lupus. But who was he to question those of higher station? A flurry of movement from Walking Cloud brought his wandering mind back into the present. Too late as the warrior slammed a fist into the side of the no moons face. Sees the Wind, only in Glabro, did his best to roll with the blow and succeeded in taking some of the energy out of the punch. Using the added momentum of the blow, he span, lancing a low sweep out even as his own body changed to match his opponents form. Walking Cloud braced his leg and allowed the Ragabash to slam his weak attempt to take him off his feet into his hardened knee. From here it was really no contest. Sees the Wind did his best to shift to a smaller form but the big ahroun, still in Crinos, took the time to gauge his next kick so that it struck his prone opponent directly in the ribs. Sees forced the air from his body as he felt the blow land, just as his masters had taught him to do. It didn’t stop the pain though as one of his ribs cracked. From the central court, both partners heard the clap of the masters hands and returned to their breed forms, Sees shifting from Hispo to Lupus and Walking Cloud back to Homid.

Both Stargazers bowed before Chien Sun, the Sept leader. He had been born on two legs under the dancing moon which may have explained his weaving, almost dance-like stances when he performed the movements of his tribes’ martial arts. The wizened Garou looked down at both duellists, both concentrating on their breathing, bringing their bodies swiftly back from the heat of battle. His eyes narrowed at Sees the Wind.

“Why did you lose pup?”

Sees pawed the ground lightly, a further show of submission, even as he loosed a low whine in the direction of the Ahroun to his right. Walking Cloud flexed his shoulders, puffing out his chest. Not a show of pride at the victory, but a distinctive mark of superiority that he knew the lupus born would understand. They had clearly defined their places after today. Brothers they were, but equals they were not.

“<Ws> Walking Cloud is stronger.” A simple answer and it showed his lupus mindset. Ever had he submitted to those higher in station and to achieve those positions a leader must be stronger than the others. It was a pack mentality inborn in all Fire Minds.

“The mountain is strong. Yet even it is defeated.” Chien Sun spoke. His words mixed with a growing impatience. Sees the Wind had been brought here seven months ago and still showed no sighs of breaking through the fog of his Fire Mind. He and the other Masters had observed this, how the Ragabash allowed himself to be burned by the linear though track of his birth form, seemingly unable to break through the haze and allow his Earth Mind to take control. For some unknown reason, he was unwilling or unable to grasp the simple concepts presented to him. At times, Chien Sun had wondered about why the cub had been brought here at all. Karma was such a strange thing and perhaps not without its own sense of humour. But, after all, was Sees the Wind not a New Moon? The master sighed. “That is enough for today.”

As the two Stargazers walked away, remaining side by side, Walking Cloud turned to the Ragabash, noticing the limp with which he now walked.

“My apologies, brother. Shall I fetch a healer?”

Sees the Wind shook his head.

“<Ws> No, no. This one shall heal, perhaps, yes?”

The Ahroun stopped, kneeling by the wounded New Moon.

“That will take time. I will not have you distracted from your studies because of my prowess in the duelling ring. Here…allow me.” Walking Cloud placed his palms on either side of Sees’ rib cage and pressed lightly. Sees let out a pain filled yelp and tried to dart away but the Ahroun held him strong. Walking Cloud closed his eyes and whispered something that sounded like a prayer to Gaia. Sees struggled again expecting the pain to give him added strength in the form of Rage. But what he found was something entirely different. From the cooling touch of Walking Cloud, spirit energies poured, flowing down the young homids arms to bridge the gap between flesh and bone, reknitting the young Lupus’ cracked rib and taking away the pain of his bruised tissue. Finally, Walking Cloud stepped back. “There.”

Sees took an unsure step backwards, his hackles slightly raised at being manhandled so. But his side felt fine. The damage was completely gone. His muscles rippled, shaking himself out and again he felt nothing.

“<Ws> How did do that?”

The Ahroun smiled.

“It is a healing Gift, brother. Surely you have seen the Theurges use it?”

The Timber wolf snarled lightly in confusion.

“<Ws> Walking Cloud is not Theurge.”

“No, brother. Indeed. But there are many paths to enlightenment. This is the path I choose. A mighty Ahroun warrior I may one day become in the service of Gaia, but to be that one sided tempts Karma. As Master Chien Sun explains…The Mountain is Strong, yet even it is defeated. If I temper strength with wisdom, I make myself that much more complete and place not one, but both feet on the True path to the True Gaian realm.”

Sees the Wind cocked his head. His ears twitched a moment and he loosed a strangled yowl of confusion.

Walking Cloud laughed.

“Perhaps if you spent less time in the wolf form, you would understand more.”

At that, Sees the Wind allowed a growl to pass his rippling jowls. And again Walking Cloud laughed.

“Be it no disrespect to your birth form, brother. Battle may not be your chosen strength just now, but were we to match wits I have no doubt your wolf senses would far outreach my meagre perceptions.”

The hackles on the lupus lowered.

“Take the human form, brother. Spend time as the homids do. Our minds are better adapted to understanding the things our Elders wish us to learn. Perhaps then you will learn to find your own balance. But have a care not to detract from who you are. You are New Moon. There are things to which you excel that some may only touch upon.”

Sees the Wind cocked his head once more.

“<Ws> This one will do as Walking Cloud commands, yes, yes.”

The two parted then, already late for their chores and other lessons.

From his seat at the duelling court, Master Chien Sun wondered at the two cubs conversation. While he respected the need for privacy, ear wigging was one of the better ways he gained proper insights into his students minds these days. Walking Cloud was wise indeed and would make a fine Stargazer. But he couldn’t help but chuckle at Sees the Wind. Perhaps the lupus Fire Mind that had doomed him to a state of non-understanding of the Stargazer Way had finally given him what he needed to break the mould. His loss to Walking Cloud had made him subservient in his own mind and that meant performing whatever tasks the Ahroun ordered. Again, it was simple pack mentality. But through this, he would perhaps now begin to learn at a faster pace as he unlocked his Earth Mind. Strange Karma indeed, the Master mused. Perhaps the young cub reputed to be able to “see the wind” was not a lost cause after all.

One month later and Sees the Wind was back in the duelling ring. Now standing in his human skin he bowed to his opponent. Returning the bow, stiffly and almost out of forced habit, was a Cliath Stargazer known as Dancing Dragon Snake who had one week before placed Walking Cloud in near intensive care. It was whispered amongst the cubs that the Cliath Galliard was chosen of the spirits which would certainly explain his high Rage and physical presence. Each student turned to Master Chien Sun and bowed. The Master returned the gesture and clapped his hands together once, starting the duel.

Dancing Dragon Snake wasted no time. To his mind this bout was merely a moot point and only designed to teach him restraint and control. Why else would the Elders shame him by forcing him to duel those beneath his station. Stepping in with lightning speed, he aimed a testing blow to his opponents midriff to which Sees the Wind gracefully sidestepped. The blow, however, had been a ruse. Whirling round and twisting almost so that his body was doubled over came a veiled knee strike directed at the weaving lupus’ head. From the cartwheel style manoeuvre, it was clear why the Galliard was named Dancing Dragon Snake. The blow struck cleanly enough, but not where the Moon Dancer had first intended. Shifting upwards reaching for his Crinos form, Sees the Wind took the blow. But the speed at which it had been thrown was enough that it landed half way through his transition. He stepped back in Glabro to complete the change. His opponent gave him no quarter.

The Galliard stepped in once more, pressing his advantage. A series of quick snap kicks rising in height even as his own body mirrored the change to Crinos. Sees weaved the complicated pattern before him, using his arms to bat away each of the strikes as he performed the Whirlwind.

Having succeeded once more in his ruse, namely pushing his opponents guard and therefore awareness up and to the defence of his upper body, Dancing Dragon Snake performed one final snap kick and then lunged low, his body shrinking down to the Hispo dire wolf form. From here he struck out at his opponents legs, toppling the Stargazer cub whilst performing the Subtle Draft technique.

Sees the Wind crashed to the floor in homid, trying to counter the ploy by shortening his own form and lowering his centre. It did not work. His ears strained to hear the Masters clap that would signal the end of the bout. But it never came. His opponent too seemed also to be straining to hear, though having a great deal more trouble that the downed lupus.

As soon as the Galliard realised that the Masters were not satisfied with his short work of the lupus cub, the anger began to build. Why they would prolong the cubs suffering and his own shame was a mystery to him. He turned shifting his body up to the war form, preparing to plunge a fist into the ground under the Ragabash, not really caring if he had to go through the cub to do it. But what he had planned and what Karma had decided would happen were two very different things in this case.

Returning to his own Crinos shape, Sees the Wind sprang upwards even as he lanced out an elbow strike that caught the Moon Dancer straight in the jaw. The added weight of his new form gave him leverage and strength that sent his opponent crashing to the ground. A quick flick of his ear told him that no clap had been issued and that the bout was to continue.

Now on the defensive, Dancing Dragon Snake scrambled backwards, shifting down to his Glabro, trying to present a smaller form to weave more deftly between punches. It worked for but a moment.

Realising his opponent was, for the first time, on the defensive, Sees the Wind pressed his advantage, releasing a flurry of chakra strikes that would be potentially deadly given the current mix of forms. The Moon dancer shifted again, growing once more to his Crinos and throwing out a stronger, longer reaching blow aiming to fell the audacious cub.

Sees the Wind allowed the blow to fall, to his him squarely in the shoulder. It forced from him the slightest of yelps as he felt his shoulder pop. But, for some reason unknown to the Ragabash, the sound came out more of a laugh. Enraged at his attempts being laughed at by a lowly non ranking Garou, the Cliath charged forwards, Rage blossoming and giving him dazzling speed and focus.

Forwards.

Into a stunning Crinos spin kick.

Using the momentum from the Galliards blow to his shoulder, Sees the Wind had spun round and whipped his back foot up and round, slamming his heel into his opponents jaw with bone jarring force. Balanced on his front leg, the Ragabash leaped into the air, spinning still, his body becoming a tornado as he hurtled through the air landing spin kick after spin kick. Dancing Dragon Snake was lifted off the ground by the sheer speed of the Ragabash. His ears rang with the sound of the young cubs laughter until one final sound ended it all.

Master Chien Sun, rarely given reason to pause and take note of a cubs raw ability under new focus, finally made it round to clapping his hands and ending the duel.

When both combatants had resumed their positions and bowed once to each other, and then to himself, he turned to the Galliard.

“What has this taught you, young one?”

Dancing Dragon Snake lowered his face.

“Arrogance clouds the Mind, Master. The Self can not operate with a clouded Mind.”

“Good.” Chien Sun nodded. “And you, Sees the Wind. What do you take away from this?”

The Ragabash, a strange half smile touching his homid form lips, and laughter in his eyes spoke quickly.

“The Mountain, though strong, is beaten by quickness.”

“Good.”

“And…” The Cub pressed, bringing a raised brow to the Master. “Angry Fists can never beat Smiling Face, yes, yes.”

The Master only nodded.

(Well, there ya go people, just soe of the stuff my dearly loved Stargazer has gotten up to since his creation nearly eight years ago)

With the contest being short stories and the awesome writings that were submitted, this was a difficult task. However, the winner of this contest is Valentine who wins 10 xp added to there account to use on one character or split.

Congratulations Valentine great story!! WOOT!!

This is one we will defiantly do again!

thank you thank you *bows and such*