The world, an explosion of glass and metal, frightened Cheswick. The buildings teetering in the distance, swaying with northern winds, struggling to stay upright. The crunch of granite underneath her paws was sickening, a blanket of cold the only factor reminding the creature of the vast wilds intimately tied to her birthright. A wolf held no value in the cities of men, an outcast of a variety the Garou had little understanding of. Why, she pondered, did they fear what they didn't understand? Her kind had roamed the planes for eons before their towering dominance lined the skyline like jagged teeth in a laughing maw, yet the sole consideration Garou earned from their human counterparts was whether they were fit to be exploited. This world, she decided, didn't deserve the beauty of the werewolf.
And so the wolf ran, padding footfalls thundering through piles of settled snow, disrupting the waste with pockets of fleeting existence. The trail was unseen, through woods far from the beaten path, Cheswick escaping the clutches of roads so the faint of heart were keen to avoid following. Blood in her veins roared to life with the howl of neighboring packmates, fueled by adrenaline-laced thoughts clouding her consciousness that somewhere in the tundra, the home she longed to find was obscured. She could smell them, their musk and their heat, the aroma so close that it coated her tongue in the taste of blood. A fresh meal and a warm pile, shelter consisting of the bodies of her brethren. If only she was faster, she mused with the hint of tears threatening to fall, their collected weight enough to draw a wounded sob from her chest.
If only they were alive to greet her.
Crimson stretched like a field of summer roses sprouting across the snowy banks surrounding her village. Screams echoed hauntingly through the night. Over and over Cheswick peddled back and forth in her anxious state, but her young heart had begun dragging her below the snow, and before she was able to react, the woman had only her canine features directed skyward. Cheswick was drowning in the bloody snow, in the death of her kind, and she had no means to escape the carnage. Yelps fired off, panicked. Pleas to Wendigo, begging for salvation by any means the great spirit was capable of assisting, but they went unanswered as her tribe met the wrath of the blond beast ravaging their homestead. Cheswick couldn't see the scene, but she knew it well.
All those bodies cleaved in two like fallen oaks at the axe of an impatient lumberjack. Strong individuals made weak. Ancient souls consumed by madness.
Why, she questioned as the snow finally encroached over the space occupied by her portrait so she was left to drown, had she run from death?
Bright fluorescent lights met squinting orbs as their gray presence sparked to a state of awareness. She was human once more, furless and cold on the floor of the strange facility, though Cheswick was none the wiser on why this happened to be the case. Had she lost her way at one point or another, and this way where she finally came to rest? Unfamiliar surroundings weren't the most frightening environment for the Garou to be met with, but Braelin's pale features looming over her didn't bode well. He said her name in a tone she wasn't familiar with, the dismay apparent with how his pitch increased. It made her ears tingle uncomfortably, causing the creature to raise both filthy hands upward to clasp the aurally offended additions. "Braelin-" She whispered passively, more confused than cautious at this point, though that would change with each new sight she met through the brightness of the cell.
That was what it was, after all. A cell of sorts, with the occupants consisting of herself and her charge. "Where?" Dropping from her ears, she grasped at the collar heavy at her throat, tempted to rip the metal clean so not to be burdened with its weight at against her scarred flesh. "This is not..." The word for a hostel was lost to the Garou, replaced with, "home." No, the pair had never found a home to settle in permanently, but their makeshift residences had been many, and this was no such location. Sore, Cheswick slowly rose to sit next to the redhead, glancing back to meet his visage with worried thoughts plaguing her expression.
And so the wolf ran, padding footfalls thundering through piles of settled snow, disrupting the waste with pockets of fleeting existence. The trail was unseen, through woods far from the beaten path, Cheswick escaping the clutches of roads so the faint of heart were keen to avoid following. Blood in her veins roared to life with the howl of neighboring packmates, fueled by adrenaline-laced thoughts clouding her consciousness that somewhere in the tundra, the home she longed to find was obscured. She could smell them, their musk and their heat, the aroma so close that it coated her tongue in the taste of blood. A fresh meal and a warm pile, shelter consisting of the bodies of her brethren. If only she was faster, she mused with the hint of tears threatening to fall, their collected weight enough to draw a wounded sob from her chest.
If only they were alive to greet her.
Crimson stretched like a field of summer roses sprouting across the snowy banks surrounding her village. Screams echoed hauntingly through the night. Over and over Cheswick peddled back and forth in her anxious state, but her young heart had begun dragging her below the snow, and before she was able to react, the woman had only her canine features directed skyward. Cheswick was drowning in the bloody snow, in the death of her kind, and she had no means to escape the carnage. Yelps fired off, panicked. Pleas to Wendigo, begging for salvation by any means the great spirit was capable of assisting, but they went unanswered as her tribe met the wrath of the blond beast ravaging their homestead. Cheswick couldn't see the scene, but she knew it well.
All those bodies cleaved in two like fallen oaks at the axe of an impatient lumberjack. Strong individuals made weak. Ancient souls consumed by madness.
Why, she questioned as the snow finally encroached over the space occupied by her portrait so she was left to drown, had she run from death?
Bright fluorescent lights met squinting orbs as their gray presence sparked to a state of awareness. She was human once more, furless and cold on the floor of the strange facility, though Cheswick was none the wiser on why this happened to be the case. Had she lost her way at one point or another, and this way where she finally came to rest? Unfamiliar surroundings weren't the most frightening environment for the Garou to be met with, but Braelin's pale features looming over her didn't bode well. He said her name in a tone she wasn't familiar with, the dismay apparent with how his pitch increased. It made her ears tingle uncomfortably, causing the creature to raise both filthy hands upward to clasp the aurally offended additions. "Braelin-" She whispered passively, more confused than cautious at this point, though that would change with each new sight she met through the brightness of the cell.
That was what it was, after all. A cell of sorts, with the occupants consisting of herself and her charge. "Where?" Dropping from her ears, she grasped at the collar heavy at her throat, tempted to rip the metal clean so not to be burdened with its weight at against her scarred flesh. "This is not..." The word for a hostel was lost to the Garou, replaced with, "home." No, the pair had never found a home to settle in permanently, but their makeshift residences had been many, and this was no such location. Sore, Cheswick slowly rose to sit next to the redhead, glancing back to meet his visage with worried thoughts plaguing her expression.
BDRP Admin. Writer. Villain. Personal Blog.
I tried running from the memory and the mourning.
I tried running from the memory and the mourning.
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Crimson Winter [Closed] - by Ghostly - 11-16-2016, 02:21 AM
RE: Crimson Winter [Closed] - by Ghostly - 11-17-2016, 04:36 AM
RE: Crimson Winter [Closed] - by Ghostly - 01-04-2017, 08:27 AM
RE: Crimson Winter [Closed] - by Kat - 12-14-2016, 09:08 PM