A Wolf Among Many [E & E]

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by F L Y, May 27, 2014.

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  1. @Erranruin and @EMajyyks



    It had been a two hour drive from Kabul before Jenavere and her talkative father had finally reached the outskirts of a small, rural village. They had just landed in Kabul, Afghanistan yesterday, but decided it was best to wait a day before traveling to their real destination. It was a village called Hekat where a young witch lived and catered to the residents of the village. Mr. Petrova claimed she was superb at stretching out her spells so they lasted longer as well as creating perfect magical seals. He was going to drop Jen off for three days and then do some business back in Kabul. Brisone Petrova was an older man with wispy grey hairs behind his ears and a strong love for drinking games. He had a gruff voice, but there was hidden power behind his boyish smile. Jen was a bit peeved he was leaving her, like any twenty-three year old would be, but once he had told her how happy he was... She couldn't help but let that anger go. It was only three days--what could happen?

    Mr. P seemed to be engrossed in a conversation with himself, but he was speaking to Jen... She just wasn't listening. If you payed close attention though you could hear him going off about faeries and the desert ones that lived in these types of countries.

    "These villages are dry, warm, and perfect for the little buggers. I think--"

    No, she was trying to sleep. Sorry dad, but jetlag is killing me. Her neck was also killing her. It was pulsing against her jugular, making her throat seem swollen, and the wound covering her right thigh was burning like crazy, almost like it was being pricked with pins and needles; it felt infected, but the doctors claimed everything was in working order... Jenavere blocked out the road where her thoughts were leading and took a deep breath. Her head fell against the window of the truck, her eyelids fluttering closed and her father's voice faded in her ears.

    "Only fifteen more minutes kiddo..."
    #1 F L Y, May 27, 2014
    Last edited by a moderator: May 27, 2014
  2. Dirt on his skin and blood in his coat and bullet wounds littering his flank. That was definately how Amacus liked it. It had been an almost instinctual knowledge of the war that was to come that had drawn the wolf here, he had been drawn to the carnage irrevocably and had delved right into the battle. Not even a day ago small sects of supernatural creatures had begun a war alongside the extremist's own rising rebellion against a western power that they saw as a dominating and controlling entity in need of crushing. And Amacus had been warmly welcomed into the opposite side. He was no idealist but he wanted to wage war not persecute those without a means to defend themselves and the number of civilian casualities the rebels were racking up was beginning to appall even him. Honestly he agreed more with the enemy in terms of idealism and morals, there was too much interference. But like he said, he wasnt there for idealism, he was there for the battle and to chase the wild.

    The first street battles had erupted suddenly like all violence was wont to do. At one point Amacus had used his flank to block oncoming fire, both magical and non-magical, and after he still had strength to tear ruthlessly into the enemy defenses. Already all his comrades in arms were fearful of him, sending him sharp looks of distrust and terror every now and again, his name whispered in low and tremulous conversation. It was the same all over and truthfully Amacus felt safer in a camp full of soldiers who hated him than amongst friends he cared about. Now that was when he was truly scared.

    The fighting had died down for a few hours but just then a shout was heard from the streets and a communal groan came from all the fighters present. This was going to be a bloody day. Amacus just grinned a feral half-grin as his red fur began to push through his skin and his hulking body bent slightly into a more beastly slouch, his claws protruding from his fingers and his eyes glowing a menacing yellow-gold.
  3. The witch was practically made out of kindness and rainbows, which was completely opposite to what society thought witches were like. Black cats and crowds were not her thing, especially cats. Her name was Ponfre and her skin was dark, a mole rested between the crevice beneath her eye and left cheek, her hair was as dark as oil and streamed down her shoulders like a goddess. The way she worked with her hands... Grasping flowers so delicately, but murderously pulling off their petals to place in her pot of soup. Ponfre was quite a sight for sore eyes. Her voice was velvety and when she spoke incantations Jenavere swore up and down the entire village hushed to let her finish.

    And then there was the blonde witch. Completely engrossed in the Arabian woman's work that she hadn't even felt the need to touch up her appearance. The desert wind had blown back her long corn-colored hair so in the end she had been forced to put it up into a high ponytail to keep loose strands away from her face and her work. Her skin was tanned, but seemed to lack it's glow at the moment. Maybe it was because the young woman was forced to go outside in the blistering sun and pull weeds, an exhausting job to say the least, or maybe beneath those large bandages the wounds had soaked up all her beauty. She had been complaining about the pain all day. So finally, Ponfre shooed her outside to collect healing herbs and flowers so she could make her own brew to suffice the fire beneath her skin.

    In the end though, Jenavere had managed to worsen the pain by mixing up the lines of the incantations and then collapsing as her exhaustion peaked and her body won. She napped for an hour and then got up to find Ponfre gone. Jenavere was always very curious, but she knew better than to stray too far. She just wanted to take a long walk, stretch her legs, skip some desert rocks, the whole shabang!

    There was another village nearby the one Ponfre lived in and Jen decided the walk was about a mile and a half. Earlier her father had mentioned the American soldiers were in the country, but she was reassured that there would be no conflict breaking out during Jen's study time. Jen had only rolled her eyes at that comment. Now, she was grabbing a canteen, slinging it over her shoulder and exiting the small man-made hut until the warm, thick desert air slapped her right in the face. As soon as she walked out whispers ran through the village. From child to mother to father, everyone was curious to know if Jenavere was also a witch and if she was a good one at that. She waved to them all and this seemed to send them into a flurry, until everyone was back to their normal routine.

    Fifteen minutes later she was halfway to the next village when a shout could be heard from her desolate position. The water she had been chugging down spilled slightly as she analyzed the shout. It wasn't happy, excited, or even surprised. No, it was fear and that was the disease that spread through Jen as her feet continued to carry her toward the village.
  4. It all happened very quickly. The American soldiers had bunkered themselves down into an abandoned house near the outskirts of the village but apparently they had been discovered and it was once more into the fray. As soon as the first shot was fired Amacus grabbed the assault rifle to his left and carelessly vaulted through the window to his back. And so the battle began. It was harsh and tough guerilla fighting and many innocent individuals got caught in the crossfire. Amacus told himself he didnt care. He was a wolf, he survived and hunted and killed, that was his life and that was his nature. Or so he told himself as his heart ached for every woman and child that fell around him.

    The battle was furious as Amacus charged through the buildings and houses. Silent as a cat as he stalked prey until he was upon them, breaking their necks with one twist or just stabbing them through the chest before moving on. Eventually he just launched himself properly onto the streets, not even dodging as balls of fire rained down from the sky, turning into a wolf in full and pelting across the centre of the street with his grey fur smoldering in flames. He used his teeth now to bite through bone and metal, blood caking around his jaws.

    The two opposing sides faced eachother down on the streets, soldiers and magicians hiding behind pieces of rock and wall as Amacus bounced inbetween them, causing mayhem where he went.
  5. Once the battle seemed to intensify Jenavere couldn't help but hurry her pace and run full speed to the nearest building. She hid behind the north wall, intrigued by the supernatural and hand that fought. Did the humans know what they were up against? Their assaults and field power was ten times more advanced than that of the mundane, but it seemed the American soldiers could hold their own. For how long though?

    The blonde wanted to help. She was unsure what they were fighting for though and she was neither prepared nor dressed appropriately for a battle. Actually, she stuck out like a sore thumb, flip-flops, yellow mechanics type jumpsuit with the arms tied around her waist (due to the intense heat and decision to tan), as well as a simply black sports bra. Her father had told her to pack with intentions of getting dirty so she picked or the most unappealing articles of clothing she could find. Jen looked onward towards the battle, wedged into a small alleyway where she could see what was going on, but couldn't be seen by anyone at least 20 feet away. Why am I here? I'm going to get myself killed. An explosion pretty close by caught her off guard and a shriek exited her lips as another went off after a five second delay. It was like an action movie, but with real danger. Danger that she could be reeled into. Jen popped her head a bit around the corner of the building, inspecting the area for any soldiers or supernatural. She wanted to get closer, but she also wanted to turn back.

    Decisions, decisions. Might as well fulfill this once in a lifetime opportunity and then make a break for it. There was gunfire in the distance and Jen thought the part of her brain that figured out right and wrong was probably broken because her feet carried her closer to the chaos. Once she was hidden once more behind some debris, the young woman could sense the heat of the battle was only 10 feet away. She was right in the heart of it all... And she wasn't scared. No, she could pick out the supernatural and she could watch the way they used their powers or enhanced attributes. She could study them from afar. A warlock was secretly enchanting grenades to her right, a vampire seemed to be making the most of the soldiers and filling his stomach, and then...

    Jen ducked behind the large pile of rubble and wood just before the large, snarling wolf passed. That was not a supernatural she wished to trifle with. That was what snapped her out of her action fantasy and pushed herself to get out of there. She had had enough experience with those mutts to last a lifetime. Okay, maybe it's time to go! She had studied and watched and now it was time to return to Ponfre and get back to work. Just as she was getting to her feet a meaty, stone-cold palm gripped her upper arm like a vice. She shut her eyes, cursing herself for her random five minutes of stupidity. She could've been back in Hekat by now.

    "Well, well... Looks like we got a pretty little spy here." The man's voice was ragged and seemed as if it had been abused by tobacco for many years. The stench did, in fact, stick to the man like a disease and his stained yellow teeth only confirmed her guess.

    "I'm no spy. Let go..." She hissed at him, trying to pull out of his grasp, but he had a good hold and the shake of his head made Jen's stomach drop, his lack of words made her blood run cold, and as he pulled her into the open battle she swore her muscles were frozen with fear. "I'm a witch! I can seriously hurt you!" Her body finally reacted and she kicked furiously, but he had grabbed her other arm and lifted her off the ground with ease. A gust of wind crawled down her neck and she realized he was sniffing her.

    "Witches blood tastes like sugar..."

    Jenavere was unaware of her full potential and was simply stuck, kicking and struggling in his embrace. What witchy stuff could she do?! Maybe this was her part in the action movie... To die. "Let go!"
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