Taking Root (Player-Run Storyline)/Nature of the Beast

The howling of the wind through the coniferous valley was deafening, the snowfall heavy as Llewyl clambered from the heavy caribou-driven sledge he’d transferred his live cargo to for the journey through Gossamer Pass. Most of the dozen or so wolves were sleeping in their cage, save for the great black one he’d caught in Gyldemar. The beast was staring at him with his amber eyes as he circled around the back of the sledge, inspecting the state of the sledge after its decidedly rough jaunt over the snow-covered rocky terrain.

One of the Lassaran of his people, his skill with wild animals and keen survival instincts had earned him a living as a hunter and trapper of predatory beasts, frequently hired by elven lords to cull their numbers. Llewyl preferred to avoid killing them wherever possible, instead relocating them to regions where they might thrive away from the mutual danger posed by their coexistence with civilization. So it was not an entirely unusual event when Lord Anduin of House Vaalor approached him with such a contract. But it was very unusual for a client to specify a destination, which was what led him to Gossamer Valley.

It made sense; the Valley was remote and little-traveled save by the odd adventurer or so seeking out glacial morphs or snow madrinol for the local Guild chapter. And game was plentiful, home to caribou and hares as well as the martens so highly prized for their fur. Still, it was passing strange, and it was only with some misgivings that he accepted the fat purse of coin the elflord offered for the task. Work had grown scarce of late thanks to the influx of adventurers in recent years; refusal was simply out of the question.

Some movement in his peripheral vision tore him away from his musings, and he turned to behold the cinereous shape of a caribou fawn bounding across the trail and into the maze of pines and firs. That great black beast must have seen it, too, waking the others from their slumber with his slaverous baying and rattling at their cage. They soon joined his clamor, thrashing against their prison while the sylvan murmured the magic-laced phrase that had proven so effective in calming the starving beasts when he’d caught them.

The words caught in his throat as the gate freed itself from its latch, apparently jostled loose by the bumpy ride through the pass. Llewyl had little time to react as the wolves, suddenly aware that freedom was at hand, clambered over and snapped at each other in their efforts to attain it. The harnessed caribou, realizing the danger, bleated and began to flee, drawing with them the very thing that carried their doom. Abandoning them to their fate, the sylvan turned and bolted, only for a heavy weight to bowl him over, gashing his head on one of the jagged rocks that littered the snowy trail. Claws raked at his cloak, tearing it to shreds. Sharp teeth wielded by powerful jaws ripped strips of flesh from his flailing limbs and his terrified, pained screams drowned out the baying of his assailants until he succumbed.

The fawn lay still in a stain of bright crimson that stood out in stark contrast to the pure gossamer white of the snow-covered ground. The leopard seized her prize immediately, weighting it with her great paws and relishing the taste of its steaming flesh, but not without some caution; she’d smelled its fear long before she herself gave chase, and whatever predator it had fled from may yet have been seeking its quarry.

It had been too long since she’d had the pleasure of a true hunt; the elf she ran with had taken to feeding her shanks of meat cut from his own prey. She did not turn it down–meat was meat, but it was good to remind herself of her own dominance from time to time in this valley that was so very like the one in which she’d been sired.

She lifted her head and mopped at her bloodied maw with her broad tongue, taking note of dark shapes mounting the ridgeline. Wolf, her instincts told her at once. She stood her ground over her meal as they approached and circled around her, raising her hackles and letting out a warning caterwaul. The largest of them answered her challenge, followed closely behind by his fellows. Her claws swiped at the first when it leapt at her, swatting it down into the snow with a horrible gashed face. Another managed to close its jaws over her hind leg, dragging it out from under her and sending her sprawling. One of its fellows snapped at her throat where she lay, maw open wide, but the feline was faster and it retreated with a yipe, one eye dangling grotesquely from its skull.

Scrambling to her feet, she fought off her attackers with flashing claws and gnashing teeth, but she was getting tired. Blood was leaking profusely from the wound on her leg, and the half-starved wolves would not be deterred. The proud cat roared her defiance, making her final stand, lunging and swiping at her lupine foes but gradually they wore her down. Battered and weakened, she threw her forelegs about her latest attacker, raking and biting but his slavering maw found her throat, puncturing it with fangs like icicles, and shook his head fiercely, savaging her until her sight grew dim and the world faded to black.

Celothor bolted awake with a startled gasp, clutching at his own throat in agony. “Linde,” he whispered tremulously, then found his voice and called frantically. “Linde?!” He reached out, whispering the words of the spell that bound them together but it was in vain. The connection was no more. His mouth hung open in shocked horror, silent for what seemed like several minutes. Then all of a sudden a terrible scream tore from his throat, wailing with anguish before rising to an unbridled rage that left him panting when he found he could scream no more.

Tears streamed from his face as he collapsed onto the slight pale-haired woman who lay next to him. But she didn’t stir, having drifted into the deep slumber provided by the tea she took, and he would find no comfort in her arms. Spitting and fuming in anger at her for putting him in this state and at his own self-absorbed negligence, he cursed her name and thrashed at the bed they shared before burying his face in his hands and rocking himself in an attempt to regain his composure. After it finally became apparent that he was for all intents and purposes alone, he gathered his things and departed the loft, leaving her for what he told himself would be the last time.