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Nightmare
Alastair stared at the stone path as he walked briskly through the Wilds, his eyes cast downward and his heart feeling wrecked with shame and guilt as he now heavily regretted going to his alphas weekly bardic. There was much reason for him to be on an emotional high, so much was finally working toward his favor. He was back home to the wilds, with his family and elders – the woman he loved at his side, supportive and ready to start a new life. But there was still one demon that forever hovered in the back of his thoughts, his body and consciousness. It waited to surface – pouncing the moment a discussion came up to awaken a side of him that always made an old scar burn as if it were new.
Kits story sounded promising, even though most of it was missed and just the tail end was heard. But the next in line to share, a dwarven women who already had Alastair intrigued by her race started to speak her tale. The Centaur and the Werewolf the crimson haired stout woman had called the title of the story. Dwarves were suppose to be known for their story telling, boisterous natures, expressive gestures and tones, usually accompanied with a good dwarven brew. The topic perked Alastair's interest, but it was quickly clear that in this story - the werewolf was not depicted in a honorable light. And why should he have guessed otherwise? When were werewolves ever honorable? they were savage beasts, he was a savage beast.
He recalled the drawf womans words play over in his thoughts as he trailed across the grasslands in front of the mage guild, past the collection of dividing boulders and toward the ocean shore, were he often sat, where he often found Blaze. He had finally looked up from his feet, though his hands remained stuffed in his pockets, uncharacteristically reserved then usual. He looked over the hill and down toward their special spot, his heart raising in hopes of finding her there, but only found emptiness, save for the inviting waves of the ocean water. He had hoped for her pretty face and cooing words that always calmed his soul, but she was likely comfortable in her home in Talronridge, and thats where she could be, safe and warm.
Without her there, the words from earlier flooded to the foreground of his mind. He had hoped the dwarf was not offended by his sudden departure, but he could not bear to hear more – what he heard spoken now was enough, and he tried to shut it out, unsuccessfully.
“While stalking through the outskirts of this woodland realm, Malar came upon an immense wolf, emaciated and ravenous with hunger. Without pity, the Lord of Beasts used fell magic to warp the poor creature’s body and mind to his cruel purpose. The wolf-beast before Malar no longer bore a resemblance to one of nature’s children. Its head was that of a wolf, but its maw was filled with wicked fangs and twisted into a hideous, mocking grin. Its body was that of a man, but its hands ended in the talons of a wolf and its hide was covered with fur matted with blood. The Lord of Beasts was pleased, and bid his new creation to slay the champion of Mielikki in her woodland realm.
In the dead of night, the wolf-beast set upon the priestess. She fought valiantly against the creature, but neither her martial skill nor the powers of nature at her command could fell the beast. She fled into the depths of the forest and in her terror prayed that the Lady of the Forest grant her the swiftness of wild horses.
Thus, by the grace of Our Lady of the Forest, the priestess was transformed into a great mare. She flew like a summer breeze through the maze of the forest, dancing and weaving between the trees. Yet the blood lust of the wolf-beast would not be denied. The creature ran as if the claws of the Lord of Beasts were at its very backside. With the savagery of Malar himself, the wolf-beast tore into the mare again and again until her resplendent white coat was drenched by rivulets of blood. The mare, unable to voice a prayer to her goddess for aid, bellowed out in agony and collapsed in the dirt.”
It stung close to his heart - as her words were more then just familiar, he had tasted similar blood, the blood of men and woman, children, equine and other beast alike. It was hard not to picture himself as the werewolf in the dwarfs story, it was almost as if she had made it up for him. To remind him of what he was, what he shouldn't be. All recent good realization of his curse washed away to make room for self pity and hatred. Acknowledgments on how his curse could prove to be helpful, could be put to good use was just forgotten in his misery of the past, reliving it as if it were his present.
He lay back against the ground and peered up at the sky, the suns rays assaulting his elven eyes even past his hood. Why did Ithil always hide behind a sky of blue when he needed her the most? He mused. Times like this he felt that sometimes even she turned her shoulder to him. He felt his chest rise and fall as he took in a deep breath in an attempt to hold back his frustrations. The oceans cool breeze was refreshing against his unnaturally warm flesh. The ocean air was about the only thing that played an attempt to caress his body and mind from inner turmoils. Time passed by as he lay there unaware – it was easy to become lost in ones depressions, and some days had passed like this in his travels before finding Ambrea, his new family of the Wilds and his unnatural love. Sleep took hold, unknowing and unwillingly, the image of reality faded into something else. A place were the edges of the story were clouded and yet it all felt so real.
He was standing in a tunnel, the one light was cast only down over him - he shielded his eyes from it even though it was subtle. They needed to adjust, and yet when they did the area around him seemed nothing more then a blackened void, only seeing a gray lit floor where he stepped, his feet bare – revealing the gray blue tone of ashen skin. Distantly he realized he was not clothed, could feel the caress of still chilled air on the expanse of his body. But this was of less concern, more importantly he wanted to know where he was, feeling trapped in an open cage of black which had no entrance, no exit, and no windows to the outside world. He walked carefully and stealthily across the ground, finally looking down when he felt the floor texture change under foot. Instead is was the feeling of dirt, grass and moss, and his eyes only confirmed it true. He looked up to find the void replaced by thick deep greenery of a lush forest.
He paused ridged and looked from side to side as he was now suddenly exposed to the elements, open to attack, spying eyes. There was a fear that if he was spotted the people would see past his elven facade, seeing only the black looming beast he was. Even the softest contour of muscular flesh, and the elegance of elven markings, nor the slight of hand and pointed ears would convince them otherwise. It was all in the eyes - they would know. He had seen that odd sheen in his reflection of many calm pools of water, eyes phasing over with that white light which appeared from no obvious light source. It was captivating and he hated it.
“Alastair” he heard his name whispered, it came like a dozen soft voices at once, and he could not pinpoint which direction they originated. His name floated around his head like a wind, enough to push through the mess of his dark bangs, forcing both his eyes to the world a fleeting moment. In that instance the forest cleared to make way for impressions in the wall of foliage. He watched in amazement as leaves and bark fluttered downward as the wall of green shifted and the ground below rumbled in protest.
“Who's there!?” he heard his own voice command, aware also that he was spinning in his place, looking at the forest around him, which was now lit up in circular points around him, finding himself now in the center of those impressions. They each half formed images of things - manifested party into his dream reality. First he saw that crimson haired dwarf, perched comfortably on a tree stump, facing away from him and rambling in front of a small fire, telling her tale – but the words muted. He frowned at that image, making little sense of it, but wished to escape the bardic.
He turned when he felt the fine hairs at the back of his neck prickle, in another circular impression the form of Runa formed. She stood there with her arms crossed – a firm authoritative stance, but her eyes held a softness, which he knew was somehow special and meant only for him. It brought comfort and yet her body language suggested she did not trust him fully.
Turning again he saw more forms pop into the forest around him, each in their own protective place, separated from him though in ear shot if he ever found the courage to speak. Luthias, and elder from his homeland, Daratrine, his best friend and patrol commander standing together, both looking uncertain and on guard.
In another the statue Ivory, and around it that glowing menacing green rune, spinning eternally around it. He was sure he could hear a deep disembodied voice chuckling darkly. And then across from that darkness came another form, one he had grown familiar with. He could recognize her shape before the manifestation became clear. Could smell her scent before she even lifted her pretty pale face toward him in acknowledgment. She was only one there to offer a fully felt smile that reached her lips and dark eyes which glimmered with a tell tale touch of color and warmth. Her body was dressed in a sheet of sheer white fabric. It only accentuated her vampyric features, but made her more stunning and beautiful, like a soft ivory statue which called to him, commanded him. Somehow she floated inches off the ground, as though the wind was at her command and caressed her in its embrace. “Tyr” he heard her coo at him. His mind was taken away from all else, he could have crumbled on the spot by one more word spoken past the perfect curve of he lips. An angel with a touch if ice and a taste for blood. He felt under a spell.
He stepped forward to walk toward her, longing for her comfort, but as he came closer he hit an invisible barrier. Only then did he realize he was in a circle of his own, cut out into the earth, he could not break through to enter the private impression with the object of his love. All of them were enclosed in a confining space. He heard the statue and rune laugh once more - deeper and breaking past the quiet still of his wooded surroundings. The manifestation of Blaze landed effortlessly to the ground, having only hovered an inch. She gathered the flowing pieces of the silken material draped around her, that soft expression being replace with a fear as the runes light cast across her, blanketing her in an eerie green glow.
Alastair's heart picked up at a quick pace as he realized it was affecting her, and we was helpless to comfort her. She somehow managed to step out of her circle, in the space between he and the foliage. She stood with her feet in the soft grass and ferns, not seeing him anymore, just looking opposite him - toward the glowing runes. Slowly she stepped closer. “Blaze don't!” he heard himself plead. She took her time making her way toward it, looking cursed, yet pure and innocent despite the darkness in her eyes, and the dangerous chill she put into the air around him.
The runes spun faster. Alastair moved in his confining space. Placing his hands against the barrier that shimmer in defiance under the growing tension of his body. He saw through the growing haze of the magical shield which contained him a looming black form, which was not held by a magical means. It crawled into the scene preditorily. Its eyes shining white, matched with the gleam in rows of sharp fangs. Its crept between his elven kin and the red haired dwarfs places and approached Blaze with a menacing smile. Alastair knew she was oblivious to the danger as she was taken in by the pull of the runes.
He felt a real fear well inside him as he realized the danger. He called out to her but she still did not hear. The black lycan came closer, standing on its hind legs. The runes spun so fast now it was nothing more then a swift continuous blur. “You should have known better!” he head Luthias call to him. Alastair snarled, pushing away the condescending comments. “Ill kill you if you touch her!” he yelled at the beast, pounding with his fist at the barrier until his knuckles bled. It was slow motion as he saw the black mass bear down on her, her white silks turned crimson quickly – he could smell her blood on the air, taste the sweetness of her gasping breaths as the creature tore into her, and watched as she did nothing to stop it.
Alastair's form shivered and then burst out into its own ferocious beast, a black lycan matching now the size and force of the one who dared threaten to take away Blaze's life. One instance he was behind that barrier, and the next somehow on the other side as he shattered though it. He did not recall the moment of impact, but felt their claws and jaws connect and claps together. He felt himself rip chucks out of the intruder, fur and flesh flying all around, floating down around her mutilated body. The wolf was easily defeated by Alastair's primal rage. It finally fell next to Blaze's body with a thud. He felt a sense of triumph overwhelm him. He slunk down and howled up toward the canopy – giving into his lycan urges. But when he looked down a mortifying terror gripped him when he watched the defeated lycan phase back uncontrolled, and realized he was looking at himself.
“You should have left her alone.” he heard a cold hateful voice. The remaining lycan which was still Alastair stood up on his massive legs, craning to see where it had come. Luthias pushed back his elders hood, seeing a face he did not expect. Alexander, he looked dead, sunken in and yet smug and also numb. Alastair could not help but take a step back in disbelief His white canine eyes flickering from the changed elder to the still dead forms of he and Blaze. His chest heaved violently, stricken with a grief he never felt in his long life.
“Gods!” he yelled in anguish and in disrespect as he cursed all their divine exisitance. It was in that instant he jolted awake to find the night sky, Ithil shining out over him, ever lasting and inviting. He rolled over suddenly as the dream flooded in, feeling nauseous – he coughed, a sort of dry heave but nothing came out. His eyes squeezed shut a moment as he tried to gather himself, let reality flood back in. No matter how he tried he could not escape the intense anxiety that made him succumb to the sandy shore. He made himself sit but hung his head down between his bent knees, forcing himself to breath normal again.
(quick thanks to the dwarf Aymenday Barbarino, for inspiring this story!)
Kits story sounded promising, even though most of it was missed and just the tail end was heard. But the next in line to share, a dwarven women who already had Alastair intrigued by her race started to speak her tale. The Centaur and the Werewolf the crimson haired stout woman had called the title of the story. Dwarves were suppose to be known for their story telling, boisterous natures, expressive gestures and tones, usually accompanied with a good dwarven brew. The topic perked Alastair's interest, but it was quickly clear that in this story - the werewolf was not depicted in a honorable light. And why should he have guessed otherwise? When were werewolves ever honorable? they were savage beasts, he was a savage beast.
He recalled the drawf womans words play over in his thoughts as he trailed across the grasslands in front of the mage guild, past the collection of dividing boulders and toward the ocean shore, were he often sat, where he often found Blaze. He had finally looked up from his feet, though his hands remained stuffed in his pockets, uncharacteristically reserved then usual. He looked over the hill and down toward their special spot, his heart raising in hopes of finding her there, but only found emptiness, save for the inviting waves of the ocean water. He had hoped for her pretty face and cooing words that always calmed his soul, but she was likely comfortable in her home in Talronridge, and thats where she could be, safe and warm.
Without her there, the words from earlier flooded to the foreground of his mind. He had hoped the dwarf was not offended by his sudden departure, but he could not bear to hear more – what he heard spoken now was enough, and he tried to shut it out, unsuccessfully.
“While stalking through the outskirts of this woodland realm, Malar came upon an immense wolf, emaciated and ravenous with hunger. Without pity, the Lord of Beasts used fell magic to warp the poor creature’s body and mind to his cruel purpose. The wolf-beast before Malar no longer bore a resemblance to one of nature’s children. Its head was that of a wolf, but its maw was filled with wicked fangs and twisted into a hideous, mocking grin. Its body was that of a man, but its hands ended in the talons of a wolf and its hide was covered with fur matted with blood. The Lord of Beasts was pleased, and bid his new creation to slay the champion of Mielikki in her woodland realm.
In the dead of night, the wolf-beast set upon the priestess. She fought valiantly against the creature, but neither her martial skill nor the powers of nature at her command could fell the beast. She fled into the depths of the forest and in her terror prayed that the Lady of the Forest grant her the swiftness of wild horses.
Thus, by the grace of Our Lady of the Forest, the priestess was transformed into a great mare. She flew like a summer breeze through the maze of the forest, dancing and weaving between the trees. Yet the blood lust of the wolf-beast would not be denied. The creature ran as if the claws of the Lord of Beasts were at its very backside. With the savagery of Malar himself, the wolf-beast tore into the mare again and again until her resplendent white coat was drenched by rivulets of blood. The mare, unable to voice a prayer to her goddess for aid, bellowed out in agony and collapsed in the dirt.”
It stung close to his heart - as her words were more then just familiar, he had tasted similar blood, the blood of men and woman, children, equine and other beast alike. It was hard not to picture himself as the werewolf in the dwarfs story, it was almost as if she had made it up for him. To remind him of what he was, what he shouldn't be. All recent good realization of his curse washed away to make room for self pity and hatred. Acknowledgments on how his curse could prove to be helpful, could be put to good use was just forgotten in his misery of the past, reliving it as if it were his present.
He lay back against the ground and peered up at the sky, the suns rays assaulting his elven eyes even past his hood. Why did Ithil always hide behind a sky of blue when he needed her the most? He mused. Times like this he felt that sometimes even she turned her shoulder to him. He felt his chest rise and fall as he took in a deep breath in an attempt to hold back his frustrations. The oceans cool breeze was refreshing against his unnaturally warm flesh. The ocean air was about the only thing that played an attempt to caress his body and mind from inner turmoils. Time passed by as he lay there unaware – it was easy to become lost in ones depressions, and some days had passed like this in his travels before finding Ambrea, his new family of the Wilds and his unnatural love. Sleep took hold, unknowing and unwillingly, the image of reality faded into something else. A place were the edges of the story were clouded and yet it all felt so real.
He was standing in a tunnel, the one light was cast only down over him - he shielded his eyes from it even though it was subtle. They needed to adjust, and yet when they did the area around him seemed nothing more then a blackened void, only seeing a gray lit floor where he stepped, his feet bare – revealing the gray blue tone of ashen skin. Distantly he realized he was not clothed, could feel the caress of still chilled air on the expanse of his body. But this was of less concern, more importantly he wanted to know where he was, feeling trapped in an open cage of black which had no entrance, no exit, and no windows to the outside world. He walked carefully and stealthily across the ground, finally looking down when he felt the floor texture change under foot. Instead is was the feeling of dirt, grass and moss, and his eyes only confirmed it true. He looked up to find the void replaced by thick deep greenery of a lush forest.
He paused ridged and looked from side to side as he was now suddenly exposed to the elements, open to attack, spying eyes. There was a fear that if he was spotted the people would see past his elven facade, seeing only the black looming beast he was. Even the softest contour of muscular flesh, and the elegance of elven markings, nor the slight of hand and pointed ears would convince them otherwise. It was all in the eyes - they would know. He had seen that odd sheen in his reflection of many calm pools of water, eyes phasing over with that white light which appeared from no obvious light source. It was captivating and he hated it.
“Alastair” he heard his name whispered, it came like a dozen soft voices at once, and he could not pinpoint which direction they originated. His name floated around his head like a wind, enough to push through the mess of his dark bangs, forcing both his eyes to the world a fleeting moment. In that instance the forest cleared to make way for impressions in the wall of foliage. He watched in amazement as leaves and bark fluttered downward as the wall of green shifted and the ground below rumbled in protest.
“Who's there!?” he heard his own voice command, aware also that he was spinning in his place, looking at the forest around him, which was now lit up in circular points around him, finding himself now in the center of those impressions. They each half formed images of things - manifested party into his dream reality. First he saw that crimson haired dwarf, perched comfortably on a tree stump, facing away from him and rambling in front of a small fire, telling her tale – but the words muted. He frowned at that image, making little sense of it, but wished to escape the bardic.
He turned when he felt the fine hairs at the back of his neck prickle, in another circular impression the form of Runa formed. She stood there with her arms crossed – a firm authoritative stance, but her eyes held a softness, which he knew was somehow special and meant only for him. It brought comfort and yet her body language suggested she did not trust him fully.
Turning again he saw more forms pop into the forest around him, each in their own protective place, separated from him though in ear shot if he ever found the courage to speak. Luthias, and elder from his homeland, Daratrine, his best friend and patrol commander standing together, both looking uncertain and on guard.
In another the statue Ivory, and around it that glowing menacing green rune, spinning eternally around it. He was sure he could hear a deep disembodied voice chuckling darkly. And then across from that darkness came another form, one he had grown familiar with. He could recognize her shape before the manifestation became clear. Could smell her scent before she even lifted her pretty pale face toward him in acknowledgment. She was only one there to offer a fully felt smile that reached her lips and dark eyes which glimmered with a tell tale touch of color and warmth. Her body was dressed in a sheet of sheer white fabric. It only accentuated her vampyric features, but made her more stunning and beautiful, like a soft ivory statue which called to him, commanded him. Somehow she floated inches off the ground, as though the wind was at her command and caressed her in its embrace. “Tyr” he heard her coo at him. His mind was taken away from all else, he could have crumbled on the spot by one more word spoken past the perfect curve of he lips. An angel with a touch if ice and a taste for blood. He felt under a spell.
He stepped forward to walk toward her, longing for her comfort, but as he came closer he hit an invisible barrier. Only then did he realize he was in a circle of his own, cut out into the earth, he could not break through to enter the private impression with the object of his love. All of them were enclosed in a confining space. He heard the statue and rune laugh once more - deeper and breaking past the quiet still of his wooded surroundings. The manifestation of Blaze landed effortlessly to the ground, having only hovered an inch. She gathered the flowing pieces of the silken material draped around her, that soft expression being replace with a fear as the runes light cast across her, blanketing her in an eerie green glow.
Alastair's heart picked up at a quick pace as he realized it was affecting her, and we was helpless to comfort her. She somehow managed to step out of her circle, in the space between he and the foliage. She stood with her feet in the soft grass and ferns, not seeing him anymore, just looking opposite him - toward the glowing runes. Slowly she stepped closer. “Blaze don't!” he heard himself plead. She took her time making her way toward it, looking cursed, yet pure and innocent despite the darkness in her eyes, and the dangerous chill she put into the air around him.
The runes spun faster. Alastair moved in his confining space. Placing his hands against the barrier that shimmer in defiance under the growing tension of his body. He saw through the growing haze of the magical shield which contained him a looming black form, which was not held by a magical means. It crawled into the scene preditorily. Its eyes shining white, matched with the gleam in rows of sharp fangs. Its crept between his elven kin and the red haired dwarfs places and approached Blaze with a menacing smile. Alastair knew she was oblivious to the danger as she was taken in by the pull of the runes.
He felt a real fear well inside him as he realized the danger. He called out to her but she still did not hear. The black lycan came closer, standing on its hind legs. The runes spun so fast now it was nothing more then a swift continuous blur. “You should have known better!” he head Luthias call to him. Alastair snarled, pushing away the condescending comments. “Ill kill you if you touch her!” he yelled at the beast, pounding with his fist at the barrier until his knuckles bled. It was slow motion as he saw the black mass bear down on her, her white silks turned crimson quickly – he could smell her blood on the air, taste the sweetness of her gasping breaths as the creature tore into her, and watched as she did nothing to stop it.
Alastair's form shivered and then burst out into its own ferocious beast, a black lycan matching now the size and force of the one who dared threaten to take away Blaze's life. One instance he was behind that barrier, and the next somehow on the other side as he shattered though it. He did not recall the moment of impact, but felt their claws and jaws connect and claps together. He felt himself rip chucks out of the intruder, fur and flesh flying all around, floating down around her mutilated body. The wolf was easily defeated by Alastair's primal rage. It finally fell next to Blaze's body with a thud. He felt a sense of triumph overwhelm him. He slunk down and howled up toward the canopy – giving into his lycan urges. But when he looked down a mortifying terror gripped him when he watched the defeated lycan phase back uncontrolled, and realized he was looking at himself.
“You should have left her alone.” he heard a cold hateful voice. The remaining lycan which was still Alastair stood up on his massive legs, craning to see where it had come. Luthias pushed back his elders hood, seeing a face he did not expect. Alexander, he looked dead, sunken in and yet smug and also numb. Alastair could not help but take a step back in disbelief His white canine eyes flickering from the changed elder to the still dead forms of he and Blaze. His chest heaved violently, stricken with a grief he never felt in his long life.
“Gods!” he yelled in anguish and in disrespect as he cursed all their divine exisitance. It was in that instant he jolted awake to find the night sky, Ithil shining out over him, ever lasting and inviting. He rolled over suddenly as the dream flooded in, feeling nauseous – he coughed, a sort of dry heave but nothing came out. His eyes squeezed shut a moment as he tried to gather himself, let reality flood back in. No matter how he tried he could not escape the intense anxiety that made him succumb to the sandy shore. He made himself sit but hung his head down between his bent knees, forcing himself to breath normal again.
(quick thanks to the dwarf Aymenday Barbarino, for inspiring this story!)
Comment
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Comment by Trendor on July 7, 2009 at 5:58am - I couldnt imagine why....
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Comment by Blaze on July 6, 2009 at 8:03am - Exactly Tren...err I think anyways! All a dream and what does he go and do? Get himself silver stabbed so I have NO CHOICE but to bite him! I swear he does it on purpose! ;p
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Comment by Trendor on July 6, 2009 at 7:23am
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Dare I comment? Anyways, I suggest making the dream a reality. You never know when or where she could bite you.
.....though I guess the same could be said about you.....
hmmm...let me rethink this....
ah! Ok, so you are here. And she is there. Just breath normal ALL the time...I swear it helps..
UGH so confused. Nice post!
---End Transmission----
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Comment by Blaze on July 5, 2009 at 5:46am
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Awww Wolfie! Those naughty runes!! Seriously that was compelling stuff! I was transfixed...your blogs get only better! My heart was kinda pounding reading as I did not know what would happen.......and you killed me!!!!! OMG! If that nightmare ever comes true I am coming back to haunt you!!!
Looks like I got some comforting to do and you some explaining! Seriously great stuff, well done! :)
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