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Post by Pablo on Nov 5, 2007 17:03:13 GMT -5
(Future.)
It was about mid afternoon, the weather was more then perfect. There was not a single cloud to be seen in the sky, not a single one. Of course the sky itself wasn't visible from Pablo's position. He sat in between a river and a cabin, in a forest. The tree's branches canopied over the river, they intervened with each out, letting small amount of lights fall onto the ground. It was an older much more mature Pablo, who sat by the river side. Lycan's physically did not age, yet somehow the boy had. He looked seven years older, Truth be told he lost count of the time. The boy stared enter the water endlessly as if he was expecting something to happen, or more hoping for something to happen. Countless hours had been spent staring into the crystal clear water, maybe it was out of boredom. It most likely was.
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Post by Pete on Nov 5, 2007 19:01:45 GMT -5
Pete sat on the roof of the small cabin, he looked to be about eighteen years old now, but looks could be decieving. After all, he did look human. He was only recognizable by his piercing blue eyes and his blonde hair that, no matter how hard he tried, look as if he just woke up. It was very serene, the sun beams lighting the ground beneath the trees, the sounds of the river flowing through his mind. Perfect. He reached over to the small pile of stones next to him, skipping them against the water, it was the first time in ages he had time to think. But nothing of importance came to mind. Except the voice in the back of his mind... it whispered thoughts of blind rage and bloodlust, of battles fought. He forced it away, back into the dark reccesses of his subconcious. He snapped back into reality, jumping down off the roof, taking a seat next to Pablo, who also seemed to be lost in thought.
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Post by Pablo on Nov 5, 2007 19:19:30 GMT -5
(Note this may be an alternate future so if this isn't how the future of this world actually turns out.. Bite me ) Pablo heard Pete drop from the tree, he did not bother to turn around. He waited for him to sit down, quickly the young man noticed his old friend. Pablo had been in the wilderness for weeks now, and not once had he noticed him. He then looked over his left shoulder, Did he follow me here? Track me down? Or was he my company the whole time? This questions he had quickly asked himself. The balance between good and evil had been made equal in the past, Pablo himself had assured of that. He had even made sure that lycan's didn't have full control. The endless amount of power he had been offered, was turned down. Many of his kin hated him for that, many of his past friends as well.
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Post by Pete on Nov 5, 2007 19:50:27 GMT -5
Neither spoke. The years they fought side by side, neither needed to talk. Things were just understood or implied. It was true, the balance of good and evil had been re-established, everything was right in the world. But much was sacrificed to bring about this peace. Many were scarred for life, the things they saw... and the atrocities commited. War had changed him, he was never a ruthless killer. It consumed his mind, constantly urging him, craving the violence of the past. He would wake in the night, laying in a pool of cold sweat. The nightmares were unbearable. They had brought peace back into the world, but at the cost of his own sanity. If it wasnt for the others, he would have snapped long ago.
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Post by Pablo on Nov 5, 2007 20:08:59 GMT -5
Pablo had been scared in a much different way perhaps. If you can even call it a scar, he still had his sanity. All of it. After watching your own parents being brutally murdered as a four year old, and remembering it crystal clear if that didn't scar you, nothing else would. Instead Pablo's emotions had been attacked. Sending him into a some what depressive state of mind. Not only had some payed the price of their sanity for the balance of good and evil, they had even payed their freedom. Hunters were constantly attacking them, and the creatures of the night were forced to stay hidden. It was like the good old days, before the vampires had taken over, and then over thrown but what could be seen as a handful of vampires. Pablo got up and walked to wards the cabin, he limped lightly. His human form had been used up, some days he felt like an old man.. Others he had his youth. Like his emotions they changed from time of day to month.
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Post by Arai on Nov 6, 2007 9:50:12 GMT -5
A shadow flitted through the dappled sunlight. Only a shadow. Here one second, gone the next. But it was no ordinary shadow that resided here. It was the constant companion of Arai. It alone had stayed with her through her life, and it alone went with her now. To where she did not know. The war had changed people, including her. Where Pete suffered from nightmares and Pablo struggled with depression, Arai had died. Not a physical death, like so many that had fought beside her, but a death inside herself. The wolf side, which she had surpressed for so long, had taken over by necessity. Without it she would have died at the hands of humans or vampires long ago. Such was the way of things. The new Arai was tougher, harder. Her death had started with her humor; she had quickly found there was little to laugh about in war. Slowly, almost inperceptively, the rest of her that made her Arai had died. Nearly died, anyways. Maybe the old her resided somewhere, deep inside, but it was only a shadow with no more substance than the one that ran beside her. Arai had learned to fight, to live in danger, to survive. Her new life demanded it. Arai didn't know if others liked the new her or not. For one thing, after the climax of the war she had been forced out on her own; she hadn't seen anyone she knew in a few years. The other reason was that she honestly didn't care. What people thought of her didn't change it; why worry about their thoughts?
Feet silently treading on the forest loam with stealth born of necessity, Arai ran beneath the blue skies. The cool weight of a knife rested against her thigh. She had come to prefer a knife to firearms, though she was adept at both. The primitive nature of the knife and the skill it took to kill someone at close range without dying appealed to her. It was a nice day, and she almost wished she had time to stop and enjoy it. But whenever she stopped her old self wanted back out, and she knew what that would bring. Nothing good; only horror at the brutality of some of the things she had done to survive, fear towards the coming days, and sadness at comrades lost. For Arai counted all those who she had known as dead; she never knew who survived and who fell. But she would not fall. Suddenly, the shadow stopped. There was someone nearby, she could sense and smell them. After so long in solitude, your senses increased and one could feel how the atmosphere changed with the addition of humans. Or otherwise, she reflected darkly. Though she ran, she was not running. Arai had never lost the satisfaction that a long run could bring; her wolf side and Arai side agreed on that matter. But she no longer ran from her enemies or fears. Confrontation was the best way to win, she had found. Slinking closer, she could see a river, with two beings sitting beside it, not talking, not moving. A cabin, as well. Now that was a treat. Once the two were run off, she could stay here at least for the night. Asking never occurred to her; it just wasn't in the new her's nature. Take what you want or get nothing. It was the hard way of life.
Slipping into a nearby thicket, Arai discarded her clothes and morphed the second they were off. It had taken her years to reach the point of not hating her wolf side; now this was her true form, she felt. She truly was the ultimate hunter like this; her weak human skin, brittle human bones, and total lack of claws and fangs now slightly disgusted her. Now she was a wolf; powerful, cunning, and the model of stealth. Arai had not changed into a full werewolf; now she just appeared as a normal wolf, cinnamon in color. Her body was toned down, with not an ounce of superfluous fat on her frame, all rippling muscle and thick fur. She bared her glistening white canines in a version of a wolf grin. This would be fun. Paws pounding for a few beats, she launched herself into the clearing, landing on the opposite side of the riverbank from two males. For now, she just stood there, light gold eyes shining with battlelight, teeth bared in a silent snarl, ruff bristling with menace. No need to kill them if it was not necessary; she had just eaten. Growling deep and low, she took a few steps closer, ready to leap across the river to attack if necessary.
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Post by Pete on Nov 6, 2007 17:14:42 GMT -5
His trance was interupted by the low growl from across the river. Its eyes glowed a golden color, its light brown fur rustling in the slight breeze. It almost looked familiar... but he would not be threatened, human, wolf, or otherwise. The voice screamed to destroy it, to end it's life with no remorse. It resounded in his mind, shutting out everything but the insatiable hunger for blood. Times such as these, the thin line between human and wolf became non-existant. Opening his mouth he revealed large fangs, sharp enough to rip apart the strongest of steels, his roar echoing through the forest. He was losing control of the beast inside him, struggling against the partial transformation. The fangs receded, becoming less prominant, more human-like. He clutched his head, the voice infuriated at his mercy. He would not harm the wolf. The wolf was just like him, struggling for survival.
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Post by Pablo on Nov 6, 2007 20:57:26 GMT -5
Pablo had made it to the cabin before sun set, he prepared himself for transforming. Which was basically undressing himself, he did not wish to rip any of his clothes. Instead he exited through the back door of the cabin, instantly he felt his muscles began to expand. The hair on his arms, began to turn into thick brown fur, he now obviously looked completely different. His nose quickly began to pick up a new scent, a third scent much like the other. It was an intruder, this was his land and only his. Only he chooses who was aloud to step on it. It quickly became clear, what the lycan did during the full moons. Secure the area around he called his. Standing up on his hind legs, he ran to the river looking across at the wolf. Pablo let out a growl, he did not at the moment wish to use physical force to dispose of the intruder. The reasoning side of the lycan's mind then began to speak. She smells familiar doesn't she? The lycan then began to smell her from afar. She is pack... Isn't she?
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Post by Arai on Nov 6, 2007 23:04:03 GMT -5
Hunkering lower to the ground in a crouching defense position, Arai snarled at the white wolf, her white teeth showing sharp beneath her black lips. He had issued a challenge; she had heard it! Her ears pinned back so tightly that they were almost invisible against her cinnamon fur. About to leap across the river to fight the white one, she was arrested in her attack by the arrival of another wolf. This one was brown, and on his hind legs. Arai knew it was their territory, but now that she had been challenged she would not, could not, back down. But something clicked in her mind with the two. One she had seen transform, and the other had left and then come back as a wolf. So they were lycans? Strange. Ears still pinned back, fur still bristling, she launched herself over the river, landing a few feet in front of the two. Arai needed a closer sniff. They smelled so familiar; the blonde one looked like a distant memory. Her snout wrinkled in confusion, distorting the ribbon-like scar that ran down the side of her face. It had never really healed, just stayed there like a constant reminder of what she lost that night. Who are they? she pondered.
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Post by Namir Black on Nov 10, 2007 22:20:31 GMT -5
Namir's feet crunched the twigs and limbs below her as she trodded on through the forest. Her heart burned with determination, but at the same time wanted to turn back and run, afraid of what she'd find. After the war had proceeded the lycans had been torn apart. All of them severely war scarred, minds and flesh marred to the point of inability to recognize even some of their pack members. Namir herself was changed by the war, her heart had hardened from one of a child to that of a heart sick woman, the war had brought so much destruction and devastation into her already dark past. Now instead of a teenager with a cocky smirk and wild hair, she stood a woman with smooth black hair that flowed in tresses down the middle of her back, her eyes that once reflected rebellion now reflected maturity that came with age. She now appeared about twenty two, and she hoped that she wouldn't see the grace of age in the future. Regret and loneliness filled her being, she felt so empty without her baby girl, Allorah, who turned one yesterday. Allorah now was safe with Jarrod in the cottage they rented in town. Namir was so happy to have her now along with Jarrod's unfading adoration, it helped fill the void that still echoed in her heart everyday. In the back of her mind, she just hoped with all her might that she'd be able to get home to her, she didn't know Pete any more, and it scared her that as close as they used to be that he was now a stranger. Namir continued on through the forest, tree's leaves reached out to brush her arms and body and in the distance she was able to see a river and a cabin, three figures outside. As she approached, she caught the smell that she was searching for. Her step became a little hurried, anxious just to behold him. Silently she continued on, to be undetected, as she got closer to the cabin she ducked behind a tree, like a wood nymph camouflaged by the forest. She looked closely, and she saw him, Pete. Why had he left her? Would he even know her now? Her heart panged with remorse, and reluctance to emerge into the light and present herself to him. Snarls reached her ears, she stretched out a little more to absorb the scene, she recognized the scents, but couldn't place the other two, she knew she should know them. Namir used her telepathy to try to discover who the wolf was, she picked through her thoughts, they were all primative, it was a person, but she had no idea who she was. For now she stayed behind the tree, waiting for the right time to leap onto the scene.
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Post by Pete on Nov 11, 2007 0:18:57 GMT -5
The scar. The fur. The golden flecks in her eyes. It all clicked. It just wasn't possible. He saw the explosion, the Pack dragged dozens of bodies, both living and dead, from the wreckage. Arai wasn't amoung them. The ringing in his head grew louder, blotting out everything. All he was aware of was the ever growing darkness and the sound of his own tortured screams, his scarred hands clenched into fists, tears flowing as he re-lived that day.
The operation was near completion, Pete and Pablo stood at their improvised headquarters. It had taken longer than planned, but the Vampire base of operations in America had been located. The structure had been evaluated, the explosives required calibrated and armed. It had taken years to gather the forces needed to raid the building. The two stood before an army of dirty and ragged troops, approximately five hundred strong. Their clothes worn, their hair tangled and dirty. An army of homeless, invisible to the uncaring, unknowing human. But there was more to them than what the eyes could see. They were the Pack. Lycans from around the world, trained and raised by the pack, loyal only to the family. They would be led by the same Lycans that established the den. Pete. Pablo. Jarrod. Mikel. Namir. Arai. The group stood before the masses, each and every one of them ready to give their lives. He raised his arms to the air, the moment of vengence at hand, screaming to the heavens. Yells of "FOR THE PACK!" sounded over the rythmic thudd of their feet, the collumns of troops marching towards their destiny. It had been nearly an hour, the bodies of the fallen littering the ground. The two way radio Pete kept at his side constantly blaring of the mission's progress. They had successfully penetrated the Vampire's defenses, battling through the hallways towards the center of the complex. The bomb had been set. It was Pablo's idea from the start, cut off the head of the snake, and the body dies. The order had been given. It was a race against time. He and the remaining Lycans dragging the few survivors away from the blast radius, Pete yelling into the radio, preparing for the evacuation. "Is the building clear?" Pete asked as one of his officers stepped forward, standing at attention with a salute. "Yessir, groups one, two, and seven have vacated the building." The man said, wiping the sweat and blood from his brow. "What of group four?" "I don't know sir, there hasn't been any radio conta--" Pete cut him off in mid-sentence. "Who was in group four?!" The officer reached into his pocket, removing a crumpled roster, he began to read from the list. "Group four: Simons, Wolenski, Remington, Arai--" He ripped the radio from the man's hand, cursing into it, dashing madly towards the building, towards the ticking bomb. "DO NOT DETONATE!! I REPEAT, DO NOT---" his words were cut off as the explosion shook the group, the blast of air throwing him into a near by streetlamp, the force of the blow knocking the breath from his lungs, probably breaking one or more ribs. "No..." he muttered, limping towards the burning rubble, his inhuman strength pushing him on as he heaved chucks of the collapsed building out of his way. Two of his men grasping him around the waist, pulling him away from the wreckage, Pete struggling to free himself all the way before finally passing out from his injuries. "No..."
The ringing slowly subsided as he regained control of his shuddering body. He lay on the ground, trembling as the nightmare ceased.
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Post by Namir Black on Nov 11, 2007 1:27:52 GMT -5
Namir picked the wrong time to go through her old friend's mind. Painfully she watched the dreadful events of that day through Pete's eyes, not too long after had she lost him. Not only could she see the vivid memory that Pete was experiencing, but she could see the feeling that contorted his face, the taughtness of his muscle as it clenched in protest of the thought, the tingle of remembrance, the ripping burning sensation of loss. The pain had over come him, and he'd fallen to the ground shaking, with a sharp intake of breath, she jumped, painfully torn between running to his side and taking him in her arms, and clinging to her tree, afraid of the consequence of revealing her position. Her heart sank as she literally felt Pete's pain, she removed herself from his mind, afraid that she'd see more. Namir's body trembled anxiously with courage for the oncoming rumble of battle. Satisfied from last night with Jarrod, afraid that they wouldn't see another day together, they grabbed up every second to salvage in their memories and spend together. The yells and chants of bravery radiated through the crowd, the pack exuded confidence. She was surrounded by her group and she gave them a look of encouragement, "Make me proud, boys." They headed into the buildings, and hastily set up the explosives that would lead to the demise of both vampires and lycans. Moments later after her group had completed their section, she tapped the guard and notified him that group four was clear after she had counted the heads of her group, looking into each face. They cleared the base and waited for the destruction to commense, the time was growing ever closer as the commanding officers executed their commands through those still inside. The panic shouts echoed from somewhere in the crowd that had exited from the vampire's base. Something was wrong, frantically Namir searched through the confused people that surrounded. The one lycan with a radio was shouting into the small reciever, she focused in on him. Her mind froze, people were left inside, among them, Arai. The ache of panic flooded into her stomach, she started to push her way through the fellow lycans, but she was too late. The explosion erupted, people closest to the outside were killed, and some towards the middle of the crowd were thrown back by the force or severely burned. A cry escaped her lips, she couldn't think, her world was collapsing. It should've been better planned, why couldn't they have gotten out.. Her thoughts spun, her head began to swim, she shook it off, her fists clenched, teeth bared. Namir took charge, she pointed to people standing around, some shouting and some quiet in disbelief, and began barking orders at them, "Find the survivors!" People were now frantic with confusion and rage, she herself was worrying about the other members of the pack that she was close to, where was Pete, Pablo, Jarrod? Just as she thought it, she saw Pete dead against a light pole, bloodied and injured, the worst she'd ever seen him, and now he was being dragged away by other lycans. Her jaw stiffened, tears welled in her eyes, begging to escape their container and flow down her cheeks,on the inside she was screaming in protest, how could her own personal man of steel, her protector, her gaurdian, her friend, Pete, be ...dead..? She called to members of her group, dying to go take care of Pete, dying to fall over him and mourn him, but at the same time there was more to be done here, they had to search through the dead to find the survivors, then dispose of those that were lost. Sadness penetrated her heart through the confusion.. What would their world be like now..? Reality crackled back into vision, she was still in the forest, and now she sat with her knees tucked up against her behind a big tree, the same tears of grief of that day flowed down her cheeks. Namir gripped the tree, and in disbelief turned to behold him once again, he was there... she cried harder in earnest, Pete was alive! She wanted to rejoice, to run up and fall into his arms, she wanted him to be the same Pete that she knew, but it hurt her at the same time to still see him, why hadn't he found her after the war? Where was he? What was wrong?
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Post by Arai on Nov 11, 2007 15:45:15 GMT -5
Arai had expected the white wolf to fight, not to stare at her and then collapse on the ground, thrown into some apparently terrifying vision. He looked so familiar, along with the other wolf, but something had locked down in her brain and refused to let the memories surface. She remembered almost nothing from before, only after. Her own heavy breathing panted in her ears, awakening her. Darkness, only darkness, surrounded her. Arai realized that her eyes were closed, and she opened them. But nothing changed; the darkness remained. Panic beginning to rise in her chest, she went to reach out, to see if she was in a room or just covered in something. But one arm was pinned, and the other crushed. An involuntary scream ripped out of her raw throat as the open bone skimmed across the rock with a juicy scrape. The scream ended in a hacking cough. Her mouth was dry, her tongue felt like sandpaper from all the dust. A ringing headache pounded in her head. At least she was alive, Arai reflected. What had happened? Letting her face rest against the rough stone again, she tried to remember. A flash of light, searing heat, screaming, so much screaming! They were dead; that she knew. The ones who were with her - she couldn't recall their names - were all dead. She had seen thier flesh dissolve, exposing the white bone quickly charred to black by the fire. How had she survived? Arai didn't know. There was no noise here, entombed in this pile of rock and concrete, no noise but the steady thud of her own heart. Once again she tried to move, and discovered that she could, but barely. The air grew stuffy and thick, and her lungs began to hurt from lack of oxygen. With one momentuous effort, Arai flipped on her back, biting her lip so hard to keep from screaming with the pain that she drew blood. It tasted coppery and warm in her mouth, and somehow knowing that she could still bleed encouraged her. A cool wisp of air gently wafted across her cheek, and she opened her eyes to the ever-present darkness again. Air meant the surface, and the surface meant hope. Whoever she was with was looking for her, she told herself, and they would be there to help her out. Over the next few hours, Arai laboriously, slowly, painfully dragged herself out, sometimes risking being crushed by wall sections, other times nearly fainting from loss of blood and pain. Her lower body was burned, and she could feel the skin she sometimes left behind on the stone. Finally, her arm popped out into the cool night air. Blinking at the sudden sight, Arai's eyes adjusted to the color and light. The land was desolate and charred; the smell of flesh and death hung heavy under the clear night sky. How long had passed? There was no time in that dark hole she had come from. But no one remained. Dragging herself fully out, she let her fevered body rest on the grass, not minding the few stones that dug at her skin. She was alive; barely. But Arai was alone. They had left her.
Confused, Arai paced a bit, shaking her ruff anxiously. Somehow these wolves were familiar, but she didn't know how or why. Mental thought had never been her strong point unless contact was first made to her; the brown wolf's mind was blocked completely, and the white one seemed in a world all his own. Suddenly her head whipped upright, her black nose testing the wind. Human; a girl. Somewhere around here. With a low rumble in her chest, she slinked off to find her.
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Post by Namir Black on Nov 11, 2007 16:05:29 GMT -5
Namir still gazed out at the trembling Pete and Pablo on the hill, and the threatened wolf that stood in their midst. She couldn't take her eyes away from the scene, her senses becoming stronger, she could feel the wolf drawing closer to her. Namir was still puzzled, but she now felt the dangerous leer of the oncoming wolf, she couldn't mask her smell in the wind, and now was her chance. Quietly she rose to her feet, quickly undressed and began to feel the familiar vibration and tingle of transformation. The black fur erupted from the woman as she now became a wolf, she had to face her oposer, and try to express that she was not a threat. The large black wolf crept from behind the tree and turned to face her across the river, she could smell that this was a lycan and she attempted to project to her. Please, I pose no threat to you, or either of the other lycans. I came to find the white lycan, my progenitor. The voice that entered the wolf's head Namir made sure was her own, and it was smooth and assuring, after a few seconds pause she projected, Who are you, lycan? She figured it was worth a shot, she knew that she should know this person... she just couldn't place her. Atleast she hoped that Pete and Pablo would recognize her, that they too weren't this war scarred.
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Post by Arai on Nov 12, 2007 1:11:03 GMT -5
This was a strange meeting. The red and the black wolf faced off across the river, one calm and collected and the other suspicious and bristling. Arai was the smallest of the four wolves; she always had been. But now what she lacked in size she made up for in muscle and pure ferocity. She had been honed down by the war and the ensuing struggles; no more did her laugh flow through the air or her light amber eyes shine with happiness. Those things had no place in her world. But the new Arai didn't know the difference, in a way. Somehow all the trauma to her body and her mind had wiped out most of her memory. Oh, she still recalled things, but names, places, and smaller events were hard for her to uncover. Slowly, over many years, she had started to piece together her past. And now Arai felt as if she were on the verge of a cataclysimic revalation. She stood, her head regally raised, staring cooly at the black wolf. A voice entered her head, and she let it flow into her consciousness while blocking out everything else. She had perfected mind blocks; no one entered her head if she did not permit it. For a few seconds all was silent, and if an observer had stepped in it would seem to be something from a painting; two majestic wolves gazing at each other across a trickling river in the light of the silver moon. Finally, Arai spoke back. I am the lone red wolf; the wandering bane. I am Arai.
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