Through the Dark Forest, Hunting Red (Closed)

To a canine, the world is a vivid canvas painted not just with light, but sound and scent.

Imagine then, if that richness of information was processed through a rational mind. One that had purpose, malice… emotion.

Thiess stalked the hidden paths of the forest, each vision, sound and scent flitting through a mind that was channeling now the savagery of a land enraged, but was still tempered by the higher processes of human intellect. From above, only the dimmest of light broke through the heavy canopy of forest leaves, leaving the forest effectively in darkness. The darkness was not a problem. About a few hundred paces in front, he heard a fish leap up from a stream that had half-dried from the last long summer. Food. Food could wait. Northeast in less than 50 paces, a he caught the scent of a new sprig of aconite that had taken root --would in time, be a potent enough bane. A threat. That threat could wait.

He was here for a purpose, and one purpose alone.

Obroten housed a contingent of templars. The mayor had requested the archbishop for the detachment when members of Theiss’ werewolf pack had begun to go rogue --a corruption the pack was trying to find the cause of themselves-- and began attacking both people and livestock. The red-hooded templars, known throughout as the “Wolves of God” (an insult, Theiss thought), arrived and began an indiscriminate purge that reached even to the normal wolves their pack had sworn to protect. Thus had the war begun. A clash of wolves, as it were.

But there had been a new development. A templar unit from Prisolis, the town on the other side of the forest, had fallen in ambush a roughly two weeks ago. There was nothing new about that. What was new, was the fact that one of these templars had survived –and that he was one of the higher ranks. The pack’s informants did not know who exactly, but they did have one bit of information: that a courier from Obroten was being sent, in possession of an elixir that would prevent him from undergoing The Change and aid in the wounded templar’s healing.

Theiss, one of the senior members of the pack, had been tasked to intercept the courier, and if possible, determine which of the templars had recently been given Luna’s Gift, thinking that whoever it was could be… "convinced" to further the goals of the pack.

He had been stalking the courier for the last three days now, making sure that they were as far away from the edge of the forest that his assault would not raise any alarm that would be detected easily. The courier seemed wary, and had once or twice managed to evade his pursuit for a few hours. However, with every nightfall, he would always be able to hunt the courier down --humans tended to depend on their torches in the black of night. The smoke and crackling pitch would have called out to him even without the firelight.

The courier, tending the smallest of cooking fires, was too involved now in preparing the meal to notice Theiss. Deciding it time to initiate his plan, he deliberately stepped on a twig. Even as the snap still lingered in the air, the courier spun to standing with a metal hiss of a sword drawn. The courier’s hood swirled in the motion, blood red in the low firelight.

Theiss stepped away from the forest’s shadows, raising gauntleted hands. “Peace, friend,” he said. He smiled, letting the courier recognize his long lean face, the long blonde hair he wore in a ponytail, and his blazing blue eyes. The courier noted the familiar garments he wore, as his raised hands parted the templar’s cloak Theiss wore, the red hood pooling around his neck.

A wolf in Wolf’s clothing.

Lara had pushed herself forward harder as night began to fall. She was aware that every nightfall was a new knot in the hangman's noose twisting around her leader's throat. Death held no threat for a templar, especially not one so pious and distinguished in service to the Lord as Brother Mirot. It was the curse that stood between Mirot and the heavenly host, the black and ravening devilry that worked even now to wrench his body and mind toward the beasts.

That was something to be feared. Instinctively, Lara's hand cupped the vial hanging around her throat, heavy and strangely warm between the curves of her breasts. This meal, a handful of dried venison rehydrated in a bitter, hot herb broth, would be her third in the forest, and Lara knew that if she woke early enough in the morning, she would not need prepare a fourth. Youth brought her strength and a singleminded determination that those more wise may have found shaken by that subtle dissembler reality.

Snap. It was instinct, not fear, that brought Lara spinning to her feet, the short, heavy sword of the order's initiates gripped in her hand with the casual-seeming readiness instilled by her training. Her cheeks flushed with shame as she recognized the cloak, and knew that this must be a brother in arms.

She did not recognize his face, though that was not necessarily strange- theirs was a far-reaching and ancient network, and she still green enough to have not yet known the honor of introduction to each and every compatriot. Still, ever wary of tests, Lara did not yet lower her steel.

Instead, she tossed back her hood, revealing her face and allowing an unobstructed view of her surroundings. Her amber-gold eyes, the shade of late-summer grain, shone with a wary intensity, enhanced further by the reflection of her meager fire. That same light danced in her hair, lighting the ink-black curls with a sleek gloss. Her fine, high brow furrowed in uncertainty, lending a gravity to her even, fine features that seemed almost unfit for their youthful beauty.

Lowering her pointed chin in a curt nod, Lara pushed the mass of curls off her full, rosy cheeks with one hand. "My apologies, Brother. I was not aware another would seek the same path through the woods." Letting her sword arm relax slightly, she took a step aside to allow him closer to the fire. "Sit, warm yourself. I would be honored to make your acquaintance here, over shared bread."

Surveying the woods behind the young man, Lara studied silently, wanting to be certain he was her only visitor. At several points over the last few days, Lara had felt the prickle in her spine that suggested she was not alone. She had dismissed it as a curious animal, or her own worries for Brother Mirot, yet...

Ridiculous girl, she chided herself with a firm shake of her head. Another templar would not have followed you. He would have introduced himself outright, and either shared your journey or sought another route, the better to evade capture. Despite her sensible rejection of that creeping question, something still niggled at the back of her mind, even as she sheathed her weapon.

So the courier's a woman, Theiss thought, amused. No, a girl. This would be easy.

As he stepped completely into her view, Theiss’ nose told him that she was not having her menses. This would have actually helped him in tracking her, as his predatory senses would have picked up on the scent of blood. He could however, detect the faintest scent of lavender about her. Hardly common among the templar ranks --prohibited even; the idea was that they should be distinguishable from each other only by the features they were born with: their physique, hair and facial details. Jewelry, elaborate clothes and perfume --even simple rings, earrings and scented soap-- was banned. You are not as holy as you would like to think, Sister, Theiss thoughts smirked.

Hunkering his lean form beside the campfire, Theiss offered thanks at the piece of bread she offered and denied himself the venison as a small misdirection. Removing his gauntlets, he pricked off small pieces of the bread, popped them in his mouth, and chewed. “The elders back in Obroten made me follow you, concerned at how much time you’ve taken. They had a woodcutter familiar with these forests lay out a shorter route for us to take. Come with me and we’ll be at Prisolis shortly after dawn.”

Theiss, smiled as he continued speaking, letting the girl see his perfectly normal teeth. “You’re quite quick on your feet, little Sister, but it seems you’ve taken the roundabout ways,” he said, feigning concern. “Is anything the matter?”

Though part of her was pleased to have the meal to herself, the fact that the other templar did not wish to share her meal only added to her concern. Surely, he knew that travelling through the night would be cold and dangerous, and that they would be best served by their bodies if they were well-fed?

And though the suggestion that she was not moving quickly enough bruised her pride, it also served to raise suspicion. She'd been told by the prior that it would take at least four full days to traverse the woods, and she was certain she had not deviated from the prescribed path- so careful to set her stride parallel to the sun's path every dawn, Lara had always had a good sense of direction.

Nodding as she sipped at the stew, Lara found that the "templar's" question gave her a fantastic lead. Sighing gently, she lowered her bowl to her lap. "I am but concerned, Brother, for the condition of Sister Liselle. Her wounds are serious..."

It was a conversational trap. There was no Sister Liselle, but the name did have meaning to the templars- as their Monsigneur's treasured spaniel. Watching her companion's response carefully, Lara shifted her grip on the bowl slightly. She held it now lightly in one palm, a potential missile.

Theiss couldn't help but smile at the girl's pluck. He would have been caught by the line, he knew, but Luna's Luck seemed to be on his side that time. Their informant, an assistant to Prisolis' butcher, had recently complained about the Monsigneur's dog during a debriefing's idler moments. "I swear," the informant had growled. "The damned bitch was about to give me away, snarling at me like that. You know how the lesser beasts could smell The Change in us. I'll never hang around the templars now if I knew the Monsigneur was in for a Concourse."

Theiss allowed a pregnant pause, letting feigned panic fall across his face. Eyes long used to running down prey via body language recognized the templar's muscles tense in readiness, her grip on the bowl tightening. Then, again, Theiss took a jab at the feisty templar's pride: "Really, Sister, you indulge in silliness so, I'm surprised they picked you for such an important task!" He laughed; took another bite of bread. "What has the Monsigneur's dog got to do with all this?"

He dusted crumbs off his hands as he chewed and swallowed the last piece of his bread, then crouched to stand up. In midmotion, lost in the prattle, he said, "Now if you've got a drink of water to spare... All this stale bread does dry up the..."

Theiss paused.

Luck, like the moon, is somewhat fickle, ever changing. One moment it shines brightly in fullness, only to hide behind the deepest of clouds in the next.

The girl had enough provisions on her to last for a week.

He had nothing to speak for but his cloak and his clothes.

Lara's apology froze on her lips. She had made a mistake, and felt shame prick at her throat and ears, wondering if it was even worth offering an explanation. Lowering her eyes and swallowing hard, Lara's grip on the bowl relaxed.

She stared at the ground, the concerned, indulgent tone of the elder templar making her feel like a child. Instinctively, her shoulders rose, and one slender hand moved to tuck a mass of curls behind her ear. How ridiculous to suspect him, to set such a foolish and childish trap, earning nothing but righteous condemnation in the process!

Eyes fixed on the ground, Lara reached for her waterskin- and then stopped. Why didn't he have any water? Or supplies?

The girl's tempation only grew as the elder templar hesitated, perhaps coming to the same questions that now troubled Lara herself. Looking up sharply, amber eyes quickly drew a veil of shame over her suspicion.

Lara set her bowl aside and picked up her waterskin. "Of course, Brother. I apologize for my mindless joke, and am grateful for your presence to guide me..." Even as Lara offered forth her water, her other hand crept toward the pommell of her sword. This man was not what he seemed, and Lara would know why...

The stink of tension in the air was so thick Theiss could taste it on his tongue, richer, definitely, than the days-old bread he'd been served earlier.

He took a step towards the girl. With the firelight behind him his grin was a slash of white in a shadowed visage. The girl's eyes were cautious as she offered him water, the leathery bag just slightly out of his reach. He saw the girl dig her heels in, her hand inch towards her blade. "No need to be wary, little Sister," Theiss said in a low voice. "I'll just be taking the water..."

In a day, she will reach Prisolis, Theiss thought. If it must be, it must be...

His fingers brushed against the waterskin, and instantly, every fiber in Theiss' frame was taut and ready to spring. A heartbeat... Two...

NOW!

Theiss lunged at the girl, managing to grab a hold of the waterskin while avoiding the blade of the templar's sword unsheathing. The sword's point was sharp as a dying breath, cutting through Theiss' leather jerkin and ripping a large part of the stolen templar's cloak he wore.

"Well, Sister, it seems that we have found ourselves past words." Theiss was grinning maniacally now. The grin split into a laugh ragged and insane as Theiss's body began to twist and shift uncontrollably. His arms began to lengthen, his body grew thick muscle that the damaged leather of his garment could no longer contain. His face contorted, sprouting maw and teeth, with only his blue eyes remaining the recognizable feature.

The crazed laughing segued into a long ominous howl even as a wet layer of shaggy fur pushed through Theiss' skin, which the predator shook dry, even as he spoke in a voice that was no longer fully his own. "Come now, Sister, allow me to know you."

There was no time to feel vindicated. Lara managed to find her feet as Theiss began to change, frustrated to find her sword not yet shining with his blood. Not yet, the templar thought, one hand behind herself for balance as she dropped into a fighting crouch.

"You will know only the embrace of the damned, filthy beast." Her voice was low, now, a soft and egging tone. "But I will be most pleased to send you to your welcome." With a toss of her head, Lara matched his wild grin, even as instinct clawed frantically at her sanity.

She'd seen such things before, they all had- dead or caged, their bodies used for education and experiment. Still, the size of him was daunting, and the voice never ceased to unnerve her. Lara knew the devil spoke with many tongues, but to hear a creature like this form the same words as a thinking, reasoning, feeling man- it put a chill to her spine.

Watching him, Lara thought to let him make the first move. Though her training bade her to charge, she knew this beast had a massive advantage, both in size and in knowledge of the woods. He was also likely faster. Lara had but wit, skill, and the Lord on her side.

It would be enough.

"Arrogant wench!" Theiss roared. "You know nothing about damnation!" he roared and leapt at Lara, claws outstretched.

The girl twisted to avoid the grabbing claw as it tore through the lower edges of her cloak, which fluttered in the space she had previously occupied. She followed through with an upward swing of her blade. Theiss tucked his legs in to avoid the slash, hit the ground rolling and dragged his claws along the ground to slow his momentum.

His legs, now structured akin to a wolf's and made for sudden bursts speed, braced for a heartbeat before snapping him forward into another leap at his opponent. Slashing this time, Theiss' claws raked at the templar's exposed back, completely ripping off Lara's hood this time.

The girl was quick though, and even as she gave a grunt of pain, she spun again with a chopping blow that cut into Theiss' side.

Theiss slammed into the ground, the momentum of his leap making him roll awkwardly a few times along the forest floor before thudding to a stop, back turned to Lara. He was curled up and unmoving.

For a long moment, there was a silence.

Then Theiss began to laugh. He groggily came up to a crouch and held up a claw. The jagged fingers had a slight trace of blood that he licked as he growled, "You taste sweet, Templar."

But the fact that he had wounded the girl was not important. What he intended the girl to see was the short length of cord he held between his fingers. One of its ragged edges trailed in the intermittent breeze, and somewhere short of halfway a small vial filled with liquid glittered as it caught snatches of firelight.

A snarl of rage that could have quite easily been borne from Theiss's own lips parted Lara's. It was the second hint that not every lesson in the templars' almanac had fully found root in her temperament. Though the bloodied marks in her back stung, Lara raised her sword high, every muscle fiber vibrating with the intent, nay, the desire, the lust to kill.

To find the blackened heart of the twisted beast before her with the point of her steel, and deliver it, stilled and severed, to Prisolis.

"You will flee me, then, like the cur you are? You will turn with that bobbed tail between your legs and run?" Her disdain dripped from each rage-crisped syllable, and her hands flexed around the hilt of her sword, letting the reflected flame lap at the bloodied steel.

"Know this, dog. If you run, I will find you, and kill you. And from your cold and cowardly paws I will take that vial, though only as a trophy. For one of its many compatriots will have no doubt made it to Prisolis long before."

The appeal to his pride and to his fear was of no use to Theiss. He had long been a soldier --personal concerns were secondary to the survival of the pack. Still, he was beginning to admire the girl's pluck, if anything. She certainly stood her ground despite being at a disadvantage...

To bend such a will, he thought... Place it in service of the pack...

Theiss laughed. "Yes, of course. There would be reinforcements. In which case, then, I would suppose, you would be missed..." Theiss tightly wrapped the vial's cord around his hand. "...but not too much."

With a vicious growl, Theiss leap again at Lara, twisting in the air as he went up over her head to land heavily on the ground on all fours and slashing at the girl's feet. The girl narrowly avoided it by jumping back, even as she swung her blade out at the beast in front of her.

Theiss kept up the assault as they began to edge into the undergrowth and away from the campfire, snarling, snapping, slashing; claw and maw an endless barrage always just barely out of Lara's reach as he was out of hers...

Lara had expected less of the wolf. He was an animal, a creature sustained by primal survival drive and, perhaps, in the older ones, a certain low cunning. They were supposed to be fierce, but slow-witted, easily riled and trapped.

Theiss was proving to be a most unpleasant deviation. In fact, as she felt her own anger rise, needled by her frustration at the evenness of their match, Lara made the first of the two mistakes that would prove her undoing.

She let the creature drive her from the fire. In their dance of advance and dodge, they moved further into the forest, the light from the fire receding until it was little more than a glow between the trees. It cost Lara precious degrees of clarity to her vision, and compounded the beast's advantage of superior knowledge of the territory.

Lara released a hiss of lost patience, her plush lips drawing back in a singularly feral hiss. Enough of the game, and the parry, and the constant seeking of the perfect strike. The animal would die, and now.

It was that impatience that led to the second mistake, the one that would deliver Lara into Theiss' hands. With a backwards whirl, Lara sought to build the momentum of a three-quarters turn into the slice of her blade. However, she had neglected to first sweep behind her with the toes of the opposite foot, ensuring a clear and level path.

And so, the bolt-hole of some lesser prey, perhaps last night's dinner, swallowed her foot, taking her down in a whirl of red and white and dully-flashing breastplate. All the power she had intended to harness turned against her, and the momentum she had built brought her head against a root with a sickening, hollow impact.

As darkness and silence swept over Lara, the glow of the fire growing ever more distant, the rush of breath and crunch of leaves fading into inconsequence, Lara should have cast a prayer, an apology for her failings, into the ether. She should have accepted the swipe of claw and crunch of maw with the penitent contrition befitting a templar.

With what could have been her very last moment in the earthly realm, Lara did not reach toward God, humbling herself. She felt, instead, only a wash of rage and disappointment. She had lost.

Theiss watched as the templar fell. He stood his ground for a while, wary of the same feint he'd done just moments ago. But no, the girl stayed down. Theiss laughed at the ridiculousness of it --all her fury, only to be felled by her own fault.

He walked up to her, the scent of her sweat and her womanhood intensifying as the distance closed. Standing over Lara, Theiss began to admire the curve of her hips... The swell of her bosom. He leaned in, sniffed at the soft, black hair. Theiss found his mouth watering, felt a familiar pressure building in his loins.

He shook his head, to clear it of his Beast's thoughts. There is a mission to be done. That didn't mean, however, that he could not enjoy it.

Theiss took his torn cloak and ripped it to strips, binding the girl's hands behind her back and her legs together. Pulling off the girl's boots, he took Lara's bootlaces and used them to further strengthen the binds on her arms and legs.

He took the girl up on his shoulders and easily carried the unconscious templar to a hidden house in the forest his pack used as a waystation. It would take a sennight for The Change to take hold of the Prisolis templar. Theiss still had three days --two at the very least, for caution's sake-- to learn his name.

He could take his sweet time.


Inside the house, Theiss undid the ties that held Lara's arms and legs. Taking a length of rope he hung her on a lamphook fixed to one of the house's main pillars, high enough that only the balls of her feet touched the floor. He bound her arms carefully, locking the arms together from wrist to elbows so that the pressure would not be concentrated on a single point --he needed...wanted her to last long.

Assured that Lara could not break free, Theiss closed his eyes and concentrated hard on The Discipline, the quelling of his Beast. He roared in pain as muscle mass burned, bones liquefied. Fur matted with sweat and blood fell in clumps to the floor. He stayed there for a while, breathing heavily, recovering his energy.

When his heartbeat had evened, he cleaned up the mess he'd made and took a long drink of water --the troublesome thing! Not bothering to get a shirt, or change his torn pantalons at the very least, he walked back to Lara. He gripped a handful of the red cloth of her templar's cloak and pulled it off her with a savage tug.

Lara felt consciousness reach for her, probing fingers parting the cool mists she'd become shrouded in. There was an ache, a stretching feeling building in her shoulders, and she wanted to shake herself of it. Her body stretched, a display of lithe, graceful power, each slender limb tightening, pointing, back arching in a delicate, suggestive offering.

It was only when she found that she could not move her arms that panic joined consciousness, the two now tearing Lara clumsily toward wakefulness. A thought nipped at the edges of her mind, a memory of threat, of defeat...

Then, the jolt of her body as her cloak was torn from her, and Lara returned unpleasantly and suddenly to awareness. She inhaled sharply and opened her eyes, the amber-gold color quickly flaring with the same rage and distaste she'd known when she closed them. The false templar was there, a man again, and he'd taken advantage of her fall to bind her.

She would not be the first to speak. With exaggerated casualness, Lara rolled her shoulders and tested the strength of his ties. He was good, she reflected, in a quiet and still part of her mind reserved for distant admiration. It was the space she would find herself directing this scene from, sooner than she knew. She stretched her neck and pointed her toes, her pretty face assuming a position of mildly expectant boredom.

Satisfied that she was as comfortable as she could be, Lara tilted her head inquisitively, and focused on Theiss. A specimen of masculinity, every bit as tightly muscled as any of the templars she'd admired- from a chaste distance, of course. Perking one eyebrow, Lara chased all admiration or curiosity from her mind. This was a new battle now, set on a different field, but she still had confidence in her ability to win it.

"You're awake," Theiss said. "I'll admit I'm a bit disappointed --I so wanted to wake you up myself." He allowed a predatory grin to carve itself onto his face. "I'm sorry, but we had both been too involved in our scuffle to exchange pleasantries. I am Theiss, your humble servant." He bowed formally, and his voice carried a mocking tone. "Would the lady be so kind as to provide me her name? It would make negotiations more pleasant."

Theiss stepped closer to Lara and began to undo the clasps that held her breastplate in place. He nuzzled at her neck, flicked his tongue to taste her sweat. "Has anybody told you, templar, how pretty you are?" Theiss said as he pulled her armor away, laid it aside. "Or maybe someone has. In any case, I know of the small vanity you indulge in," Theiss tapped his nose to emphasize a point. "You have the smell of scented oils on you. So very faint, it almost drowns in the funk of your fury." He took the time to admire the swell of her bosom as she was left in her shirt, not hiding his leer.

"It would be a shame to rob Nature of such sights as you. You men despoil so much on your own already." Theiss brushed a finger on Lara's cheek. "Perhaps, we could come to an agreement, then? Tell me the name of the templar we have... 'converted' and perhaps I could be persuaded to set you free."

You will remain still. You will remain quiet.

Two directives to herself, two simple rules. She managed not to look at the beast as he bowed so mockingly, her amber eyes carefully fixed on a middle distance. Lara did not fear the pain that would certainly come, though her stomach curdled to think he would engage her...carnally. She was trained to endure, her conditioning at a peak. Her physical vessel was inessential, an encumbrance to spiritual communion. The beast would nearly do her a favor by ridding her of it.

You will remain still. You will remain quiet.

He removed her armor, nuzzled her neck. It became harder, suddenly, to obey her own rules. Not to recoil physically from the intimate caress, not to hiss some vitriolic barb. Her rage pressed almost palpably at her tongue, struggled tangibly to lift her still-free feet to offer a resounding kick to his thigh.

You will remain still. You will remain quiet.

Reason barely won the day. She did not kick, she did not bite or taunt. She kept her eyes, now lit with grim self-congratulation, fixed on that nowhere point. He would kill her, almost certainly, in his quest for information. She was not unprepared for this- in fact, martyrdom seemed quite fine a legacy to leave. If he wished to deliver her unto her savior, she would not fight him. Nor would she speak, nor would she move.

You -will- remain still. You -will- remain silent.