Nyte_mare
I am Your Nightmare
- Joined
- Oct 19, 2012
- Posts
- 1,559
This story is Closed for LoganDarkHolme and myself
Blackhollow, nothing more than a blip on the map, whether that map belong to a mercenary, a gypsy, a merchant, or travelling royalty. Blackhollow was not a place that one visited, let alone lived. Yet the town, that blip on the map, did have it's residences, as well as a Tavern, a church, even a healer, if one wanted to call the old drunk that. There were people that called Blackhollow home. There were people that just passed thru. And there were the monsters that seemed to roam, and flourish in the countryside, the forests, that surrounded Blackhollow. Remote, that was a good word to describe Blackhollow. Just the name alone was enough to send a weary travelor to the next town, which was some miles away.
She had been born here. The night she had come screaming into the world, the healer was not yet a drunk. No, that would come several years later, after his wife was slaughtered by the Beast. The Wolf. The WereWolf. The half Man, half Canine. But that is a story for later, or not at all actually. This is not about him, the Drunk that is. This is about her.
The night she came screaming into the world, her financee, was already 7 years old. Vharcan was a trouble maker from the very start. Headstrong, intelligent, wily, cunning, and strong. He cared less about the babe that had just been born, their love would not come until much later, much much later.
Vharcan had other things to think about. Hunting. Hunting for food, hunting for a game, hunting for the excitment, mattered not. He was a hunter, a predator, or so he liked to think he was. He was good. He was quite good actually, but in reality, he would not be good enough. Vharcan was 19, when he went on the hunt for the ulitmate Beast, the one that the people of Blackhollow, and the surrounding towns spoke about, always when within the safety of their own homes. This hunt, for the Werewolf....it would become an obsession for him. His hunt would not be successful that first time, nor many times thereafter. But the obsession never left him. He would hunt, find, and kill that Wolf.
Meren, Meren Rider, a simple name, for the babe that came screaming into that night, that cold winter night. Despite the frost, the darkness, the chill that hung in the air, she was a burst of heat. Flaming red hair, even as a babe, deep dark eyes, tinged in gold, and an attitude to match. She was fearless, Meren was. She would face anything, anyone. That was what had attracted Vharcan's attention. He was 22, she was 15, and... she was not afraid of him, like so many seemed to be. The Hunter had managed to garner himself quite the reputation.
Vharcan liked that.
By the time she was 20 and he 27, they were deeply in love, and quite the hunting team. He had used her natural fearlessness to cultivate the hunter deep inside of her. By now, they had either driven off, or caught and killed, several horrific monsters that had roamed the shadows surrounding their beloved Blackhollow. Beloved to them, it was home.
Monsters, wild beasts, even the criminals that sought to make Blackhollow home. All were prey to the Hunters, Vharcan and Meren.
But the one Beast that eluded both of them, the Werewolf, the Lycan, the Man whose blood was partially Wolven.
That Wolf was the one thing, the one creature, that Meren feared. Not for herself, no. She was as fearless as always. She feared for Vharcan, for his obsession to capture and kill the WereWolf was consuming him. She feared that he would make a mistake, that he would take one too many chances. She begged him to think first, to take a step back before again stalking the Wolf.
He refused.
The night that the howl had called to him, the night that Vharcan swore he would capture and slaughter the Wolf Beast, the night that he kissed her as he left, refusing to allow her to come with him, that night.......
He never returned.
Meren had found him the next morning. His throat ripped out, a look of pure horror in his so very dead eyes.
It was said her scream of rage and despair rivaled the howl of that very Beast of a Werewolf.
Vharcan was gone. Her entire life had been wrapped around him since she was 15, now, about to turn 21 and she was utterly alone. The only Man she had ever loved, ripped from her. Ripped from her by a Beast, a Beast that she swore, on Vharcan's grave, she would capture and make suffer.
Suffer as she was.
Feel the pain she felt.
She left the home she shared with Vharcan the night after what was left of Vharcan was laid to rest. She used the coin that she and he had saved up, saved for their marriage, saved for their life together, and purchased a rather large Keep, of a elder man that lived outside of the town she once called home. It was large by the standards of what Blackhollow had and was. The larger Keeps and homes more than often were found in the larger, more prosperous towns. But as much as Blackhollow was a blip on the map, it had it's wealthier people. This old man was one. He was dying, and the idea of his home being in the possession of such a lovely young lady as Meren, made him quite happy in his last days.
For her, the place was perfect, and she set to work turning the basement into the dungeon she would hold the Beast in when He was caught. Oh and He would be caught, she had made a promise to her Love, to Vharcan. She would catch the Wolf and make Him suffer.
She was a Hunter after all....
Meren:
Last edited: