[u][i]Refaltus-The Causeway[/i][/u]

Refaltus, like his brethren, was adorned in a heavy cloak and a thick dusting of fine black ash. Also like his pack-mates, Refaltus was prepared to give his life to bring down the walls of Bain & Hoyle Castle.

His pack, known in the mortal tongues as the First Devoted, had already fought and died bravely in this holy mission. Wave after wave had already crashed against the walls of the castle like mighty breakers, bringing rock and mortar down along with the defenders that fought to stop them. The dying fervor of each werewolf shone brightly in the night sky, burning in mighty bursts of ardent blue flame. All fueled by the souls gifted to die for the will of the Lupus Naturae, and the promised coming of the god-wolf. 

For his part, Refaltus had not faltered as his brothers and sisters died in bloody droves before they were able to deliver their final gift upon the walls of the castle. All manner of weapon and magical armament had been brought to bear against the First Devoted. In truth only the sheer numbers and zealous resolve of the werewolves had allowed them to press the attack even this far. The causeway was now a highway of shattered wolf corpses, their gore making the cobblestones slick and treacherous. 

Refaltus navigated amongst these bodies even now, trudging through the broken and destroyed figures of his pack-mates like so much mud. Somehow he had managed to get to within a dozen yards of the main gateway without being wounded, or adding his own body to the growing mountain of First Devoted. Around him, silver bullets, voracious hellfire, and the silent and drifting presence of what could only be described as Death incarnate, moved with swift and definitive deliverance from the realm of the living. 

The young werewolf’s heart quickened, somehow even faster than it already sang within his coal-black chest. The massive, iron-barred archway of the main gate loomed before him. Even as the defenders still rained death down upon the causeway, none appeared to have noticed Refaltus. The shattered battlements above the gate were strangely devoid of any living soul. Refaltus did not smile at his good fortune. His long muzzle closed in a thin-lipped expression of utter and deadly resolve, and the werewolf pressed forward towards the gates with all the swiftness and poise of a man ready to die for his cause. 

As the iron bars stood before him, Refaltus willed his soul to release itself, and fuel the destructive power that had been laid upon earlier that day. For a moment he felt the coming release, felt the first brittle brushes of paradise, when everything changed.

There was a shift in his vision. In fact, all his senses changed in dramatic fashion, and Refaltus found that what he had once perceived no longer existed. With eyes swimming in a vision he could not yet comprehend, he gazed upon a woman—no a [i]girl[/i]—sporting bright pink curls and icy blue eyes. 

Refaltus looked about, utterly confused. There was a dark coastline, with ethereal waters lapping the shoreline. There was the girl, standing there, seemingly yanking the souls of werewolves out of somewhere Refaltus could not see clearly.

[i]Is this death? Is this the paradise I was promised?[/i] Refaltus thought with palpable dismay. 

Then, the pink-haired girl spoke. Her words brought more confusion, but for some reason the question she posed compelled him to answer. 

[b]"Wait, just so we're clear...who [i]did[/i] send you guys out here?"[/b]

“We are here to bring about a new world,” Refaltus replied, his voice filled with the conviction of a true believer. “The age of the god-wolf is yet to come, and we, the First Devoted, have been granted the gift of being the heralds for his coming.”