The audience was startled, frightened murmuring seeping through the crowds of performers as they listened to the Wish Master’s words.”Twelve Souls Lost? How could he lose twelve, when he had never before lost one?” “How much danger are we in? “ “Are we even safe now?” But as the waves of despair washed through the crowd, not a single drop sunk into the mind of the casually leaning Crow. In contrast to the fire-ferret cowering on her shoulders and the mindset of nearly the entire crowd, the girl was not bothered in the least bit.
In fact, underneath the shadow of her thick hair, a small, menacing smile emerged.
Though smaller than most in her current state, the girl had nothing to fear. What this revelation provided was a new means to use her abilities, as the Wish Master was surely going to need her hunting prowess to track and identify this new threat. Few in the carnival were as skilled or as deadly as she.
She felt the wind in her hair as she left the crowded dome, her skin prickling slightly as she re-entered the open air. She identified the figure of Vol, having calmly watched the presentation in a similar state nearby. Nodding with a knowing glance to the wolverines at his feet, she continued on past the frantic workers, the eager performers, the feverish assistants on her way to her tent. She, too, had that calm demeanor, that lack of fear that those beasts internalized within their feral hearts. She, too, had a performance to ready for.
But as her eyes adjusted to the cool, dank air of her tent, the fabric sliding along her arm as the door closed behind her, she found her enclosure to be quite dissimilar from how she had left it. The air was still alive with wild hoots and trills, the aromas of rich soil and vibrant jungle matter wafting into her nose. But the pathway had darkened, the fireflies and magic lights fading away as dancing torches took their place, shadows prevalent among the spears and tribal statues that now littered the borders. The small breaks in the foilage lacked perches for the many colored birds; in fact, the amphethere curled in her clothing burst suddenly from the folds of fabric, diving into the trees to find the cages and carriers disguised through magical means. Instead, larger cages of thick steel bars were hauled in, carrying freaks of nature, the manticores, chimeras, and other fierce beasts usually reserved for the taming shows were placed in plain view of the would be audience, along with other sinister beings that would be described as nothing short of freaks. Crow’s mind raced… it couldn’t be that time now, could it? No, her wildest blood wasn’t due for weeks at worst, and there was no scheduled reason for a change from her norm.
Yet as her eyes pierced through the overwhelming shadows, she found the ivory ember of her “handlers’” eyes glimmering in the inky blackness. Her nose, too, could faintly detect the dusty wisp of raw stone, a smell she should not have been smelling for some time. “Begone, stone-wyrms,” she called out into that vibrant ink, her collected voice betraying a hint of her anger as she stared into those white-amber sparks. “Now is not my time.”
“Ahhhh, but it issssss,” the creatures in voices of grinding slate, the golems emerging from their hiding place. They were two, kin of kin, creatures of the clo00ak of the mountains. It was likely they had come from some portion of Azure, their stone bodies supported by pure magic, seen wavering about their rocky “torsos” and “legs” and “arms,”’ though the features were such a grotesque version of the humanoid figure that these descriptions were merely vague approximations. These appendages, however, were massive, clamping talons, closing like beartraps should they so please. But within these arms were 3 faced stone masks, like the tribal headpieces about her, that conveyed their words and attentions through a pulsing inner light, such items currently focused on her human form.“ There aaaare tooo many tamers out todayyyyy, and ourrrse mastersss want you to provide ssssomethiiiing… a little diffffferent!”
Crow dove as the stone talons burst from their bodies, flying as detached hands to where her body once was. She ducked into a roll, dodging another flying palm as she ducked into the bushes, out of the golem’s immediate vision. With a grace like the wind she passed through vines and trees, her attention barely focused on the foliage as the rocks flew by, by, by.
Her silhouette moved through the trees with feline grace as the earth elementals sucked stone straight from the ground they stood on. But as the creatures prepared their second volley, the shadow amongst shadows began to shift...grow…change…. Her skin prickled as she ran, her hair lengthening, thickening, wrapping about her like a giant cloak. Her feet gripped with more and more intensity, her toes extending and developing thick pads in the rough dirt. Her arms...shoulders...body grew logistically, muscle matter growing as bestial blood flowed through her veins. The darkness cleared as her pupils grew, then dilated, seeing the world about her more clearly, accented by the rich analysis of the natural smells.
The silhouette jumped out of the bushes, tackling the first golem, the forceful assault driving the creature to the ground. Thick claws tore at the stone, ripping apart chunks of the natural armor as the stone giant fought feebly against her overwhelming strength, a pitiful affront to her hunter’s prowess. But her success was interrupted by the impact of a boulder against her side, sending her flying off the golem’s breathren. The stone bits about her began to resonate with each other as she pulled herself to her feet, eyes raging, blood raging, anger raging inside her -- they leapt up, alive, from the ground, slamming into her furred body as she roared with feral intentions. The stone sunk into her fur like slime, fusing together, hindering her movement as the assembled creature clamped those giant appendages about her, her movement halted with a sharp yelp as she hovered, trapped, above the ground. The golems chuffed amongst themselves as they drew their parts back into themselves, those tri-faced masks glimmering with their infernal light. She barked a few times as they led her to the back of the tent, unceremoniously dropping her onto the dark soil as large steel bars lowered from the ceiling -- a net, of sorts, that rendered escape a futile dream.
“……Oh but a wonder we have for you today,
Far beyond those freaks of the more normal sort.”
“Are you a coward? Or are you a brave?
Won’t you see the beast we have captured in chains?
How feral, this terror, who once used to roam,
That honed mind of a hunter trapped in this here dome?
Her fur slips into shadows, Her claws, they will smite
Would she have found you before us you’d be gone in a bite!
Won’t you come to see nature in primal delight?
Won’t you come to see nature in primal delight?”
From the back of her tent, she could hear the caller inviting humans into this place of shadows, using the lines she had heard him create an hour ago, when he had paced back and forth with a sheet of paper in his left and a pen in his right,mumbling incessantly to himself in an attempt to create the most alluring welcome. And in they came, stalking through her tent, pointing and oohing and ahing at the creatures they found before them. Their stink filled the air, as did their laughs, screams, and murmurs of speech, overriding those rich aromas of wild freedom that had finally reemerged. Their path streched past cage and pedestal, tank and pit, a whole host of demonic beings illustrating the concepts of fear and terror through the expressions of their wide eyed beholders as the path streched her way to and around her current cage.
The enclosure itself flowed outward from itself like a mushroom cap or an umbrella, 360 degrees of confinement for her aching soul. The mouse and the ferret were long gone, having dropped off in the earlier chase; she was the only one on that barren floor. Her animals knew her intent was not to hurt them, yet dared not to test her fury, remaining in their own reclusive hideaways for the duration of most of her changes.
She watched with silvered eyes as tiny humans walked to the edge of her cage, poring over her massive size, her sharpened claws, her shifty gaze. Children gasped at the “moonstah” and hid behind their fathers’ legs; few mothers dared to enter her territory at all. The few women quickly hustled away, sometimes earning a fierce, toothy smile from the werewolf, teenagers joked and poked fun, occasionally throwing a piece of food, a plush toy, or other carnival paraphernalia at her snarling head. Some even dared to spit, sometimes making her rush the cage in brutish anger. But after a few hours or so of dealing with such treatment, she found herself sitting boredly, Her ears perked as she listened to two humans in particular, brawny men with camo overalls.
The first took off his orange hat, whistling as he looked her over. Waving this cloth at the borders of the cage line, she snapped her teeth, white canines closing with a click as she growled. “Ain’t she a brute,” he commented, nudging his friend, who wore an identical veridian headpiece. “Aye,” Green hat responded almost absentmindedly, his fingers brushing against the bars as he too eyed her down. She didn’t like the look in his eyes - one of a hunger for accomplishment over skill, the being captured by the desire to hold her lifeless pelt in their hands. The other was no less friendly, and no less riddled with greed; orange hat confirmed this,” Think what yuh’d have to do ta beat a bitch like this’un down. Hell, you’d probably have to starve n’ whip every week or so, but damn she’d win ya some, don’t ya think?”
“Eh,” he responded,”I’d rather have her on mah wall. Ya ain’t ever gonna find ahnother as big as this’un, and she’d make ya enough for a few wintahs at worst.”
“Nah think about it,” said Orange Hat,” to get yaself some more of the brutes, just starve hah out, find a dog brave enough to knock hah up, and ya got the best whelps in ta business!
Snarling, Crow leapt against the bars at their carelessness, at their utter disrespect for a beast of her caliber. They laughed at her attempt, made a few more comments, and left, pounding each other on the back for their “wit” and “merhit.” Typical human hunters, only worried about the profit of a creature over it’s basic needs and emotions. Any prey worthy enough to eat or creature worthy to tame should be given respect; it was in understanding, not submission, that her “pack” of sorts willingly followed her. She returned to the center of the cage, laying down as the next wave of smooth-skins came to laugh and jibe at the werewolf’s sorry folly.
The day continued as thus: waves would enter, waves would leave. She would listen to their conversations, duck at their thrown articles, leap and slash for the amusement of creatures far, far beneath her. At about lunch they threw in a bear, half starved and fur matted with it’s own blood. She couldn’t control what they did with the animals that weren’t hers, and though she felt sorry for the fate of the poor beast, she could tell by the glints of grey amongst it’s fur that it was too crazed by spikes and torture to listen to any reasoning she would have to give. She ignored it for as long as she could, but the beast wanted blood, and her hunger was becoming overwhelming. The lunchtime audience witnessed the fight, a primal dance of blood and bone, ended with a slash upon her own shoulder and a bite into the creature’s throat. She howled and ate victoriously, adrenaline and hunger driving her emotions forward as she cared not for manners or scrutiny, blood flowing from her cage to the feet of the audience as she ripped open and devoured her feast, her wounds being subtly healed by a spellcaster hidden in the foilage, likely the one who had put the bear there in the first place. An hour or so after the creature was placed in the mock arena, the only remnants were bones licked clean and blood soaked fur upon the ground. They threw in a boar at one point, but that one scurried to the edge of the cage immediately; temporarily sated, the werewolf found no reason to bother the creature, as it was already frightened enough. She could probably make sense with it later, if it still lived.
Later, prompted by a bored audience, the boar was prodded into a rage that ultimately led to it’s demise. Many of the humans left at the gory sight, but few filled their places; her ears pricked at the voice of another taking residence far, far from her, performing outside her tent. From the relative quiet of the few guests walking about, tired freaks shifting in their cages, and bones breaking within her teeth, the wolf was able to catch the light, inviting tone of a siren, putting her own caller to shame:
“...If thou yearns for a charming smile
Oh here you shall see
Only thy with such exquisitee
None can enthral like I...”
Twas the being who called himself Andracos, if she judged his voice correctly. He was well known at the carnival for his antics, his dangerousness, and his almost calm relations with the wish-master himself. She knew of his escapades as he certainly knew of her own, and the few hunts they were permitted to do together had given her a strong respect for the individual. Though her ears drooped slightly to hear of his snake charming - a feat in it’s own right, even for her, and a wonderful show to watch, if not for her own containment of this day - they quickly lifted as she heard his voice and imagined his performance. He was skilled, yes, but as they had never talked about the days in which she was trapped like this, she had no desire for him to visit a fellow hunter trapped like a hare in a snare. It was almost a fear, really, for her own hunter status to be stripped by such an uncontrollable situation as this. Perhaps she needed to get stronger, better, until even stone golems would be unable to stop her.
It was these thoughts that captured her mind as she listened to him perform, long until past his conclusion and “meet and greet,” a clever way to fulfil his bargain. But after that show, when people once again began to pour into her tent, pore over it’s inhabitants, and she had to perform her half-charade for the pathetic creatures, those thoughts eventually left the domain of her mind.
It was later, much later, when darkness of the tent crept out to join the darkness of the night, that Crow finally stirred from her position. The carnival had ended, but the golems had taken a little liberty with their orders, laughing with scratching voices as they simply sat in the open, firelit path, making movements as to remove the cage without actually moving it enough to let her out. She had tried dashing and had ended up with a stubbed nose, and so was now patiently waiting with bored eyes for the golems to run out of fun and return their spirits to their masters. She was laying down, stretching with a widened mouth when it came, the aroma of the paper and ink twirling and soaring through the air far before the letter arrived in the tent, settling down on her exposed teeth. The stone creatures, recognizing the magic touch, instantaneously raised her bars, leaving in a hurry from the otherwise empty tent. With a surprisingly gentle grasp Crow removed the letter from her jaw, barking authoritatively as she did so. At her command came a fox from the foliage, startled but trusting of her status as it sat submissively at her feet. She handed the paper to him, nudging her hand to the side in an order to stand away, taking the moment to shake the blood and dirt from her fur and, dodging tribal masks and flames, rinse off in a magically fake waterfall.A second shake hereby cleared the rest of the filth from her fur.
She recovered the letter from the fox, dismissing the vulpine creature as she read over the letter. It was from the Alpha himself, demanding her abilities - a demand she was all to happy to fulfil. To leave the cramped corridors of the cage and the tent and even the carnival was a recognition of her gifts, and a task she would proudly do for the Wish-Master...Even if she truly had a choice.
Crow stalked out of the tent, adopting a loping run as she passed by other tents in the process of cleaning up. She wasn’t trapped in her bloodrage anymore, nor did her blood run too rampant to change back, but she felt freer, more self sufficient in this form, and at this moment she did not care how many people she unsettled with her feral appearance. She passed where fires had been born and feats had been performed, sales had been made and souls had been stolen. She smelled the smells still lingering, of carnival sweets and savory treats, she passed whole swarms of cleaning gnomes bringing the carnival back to tip-top shape. She ignored glances of workers frightened or curious, solely focused on the task of reaching the edge of the establishment.
She did not bother with the front gates - she cared not for permission from those not worthy of being asked, and preferred to trust her own abilities instead. As she approached a gate she sped up, her loping evolving into a pure, heart-pounding run. The panels grew closer, closer…. her clawed paws pushed off the ground, propelling her cleanly over the fence and into the wild beyond the carnival. She howled, a resounding cry of freedom that resonated far into the distance… but despite her desire to trek out into the unknown, to explore, to hunt, to seek, to pursue….she had a job to do.
Adopting the loping run once more, Crow treked along the carnival's edge, sniffing for clues and searching for any hint of the danger that had been stealing her fellow workers. She didn’t notice anything at first, simply wooden panels like the one she had left, magical traces wafting up from the planks to discourage any from entering or departing uninvited. There was normal grass, a rougher sort that still felt as sweet as a caress to her canine feet. There was normal wind, carrying the melody of swaying plants and whispering flowers to her delightedly pricked ears. There was even a bright, inviting moon above her, smiling from it's celestial domain, a radiant beacon of the wild beauty of the earth. It was here that she found herself overcome with emotion: could there be family here, a full pack of those who understood and cherished the gifts of the hunt? Even though the human town was nearby, she had heard of packs residing peacefully or secretively near human settlements, and she longed to join the hunt with creatures who would fully understand. She left the immediate border, leaving the relative "safety" of the carnival, seeking solace from the business of the artificial environment. Having put some distance between her and the establishment, she clambered aboard a large rock. Raising herself on her hind legs, she raised her snout to the moon, releasing her soul into the night sky. Her howl seemed to dance with the wind, gusts flowing through her fur as she called out for familiarity, for family, for that feral love of the dark dank earth itself. She sang for the hunt and the pursuit, for the flight and the chase, for the kill and the release of life from predator to prey. A long, slow haunting note captured this in it's musical grasp, wavering into the night, soaring through the primal pitches in a song of pure desire...
But the moon offered no response of her kin. From the town came cacophonous calls and barks of tiny dogs, their calls far from the complexities of her soaring cry. From the wilderness came the few howls of ordinary wolves, understanding, more rich, but that true kinship she sought was absent from their cries. Her voice grew sadder, her tones grew somber, her voice seeking the response of any of her bloodmates, her song fading from rich feral melodies to a single melody to a long, lonely note, that accompanied and disappeared from the symphony of voices that now filled the night.
Disappointed, Crow loped back to the confines of the carnival, ears pricked should she hear even the trace of a familiar song. But on her way back, her nose picked up a strange smell. It was reminiscent of Ceci, the annoyingly righteous angel who had somehow found herself sworn into service with the Wish Master. It reminded her of Arina as well, that wispy smell of angelic feathers familiar to her trained nose. It was hard to track, as if the creature only hovered near the ground, though the scent was stronger every couple of meters, as if the creature had set down looking for some specific spot. Following the smell explicitly led her in circles as she sought the strongest wafts, as most were carried away by the wind. But the general path of the smell led, by chance, closer and closer to the carnival.
Intrigued, Crow followed this path, losing it every so often only to pick it up again. The trail led her right to the carnivals edge, where the magical nature of the fence shimmered violently, having been disturbed by some unlucky touch. Immediately beneath it were a few small feathers, broken and frayed as if from a quail grabbed by the wing. She lowered herself down onto all fours, taking in the pure smell of whatever had left these marks and this trail.
The smell was intense, but its qualities were far from properly describable. To put it simply, it reeked of magic, but in the same way that curdled milk still smells like milk, or charred wood still smells like wood. Different, yet the same - the smell of fallen angels. Snatching up the feathers from the ground, the werewolf followed the suddenly identifiable smell about the edge of the carnival, eventually stopping at a small pile of dirt, thrown together as if by someone trying to cover up a dig site. Perplexed, crow shoved the hardened tips of the feathers into the dirt before diving into the soil herself, her large paws making quick work of the already turned dirt. She had only dug about half a foot before she felt the strong desire to turn away from the hole, a powerful suggestion to go away. She shook her head at this madness, willing herself onward, deeper, deeper into the ground. It was far more than a suggestion now, a foot in, it was a demand that Crow had to grit her canine teeth against, whimpering slightly to herself as she pushed against the magical spell, until her claws refused to break up any more soil, their surface brushing against something , yet she did not feel the friction of a rock against her hand. The wolf took her hand out, peering down into the hole she had dug.
It wasn't that deep, certainly not enough to account for the weariness she felt having dug it. The refuse pile was full of small stones and burnt herbs fragments, notably sage, rosemary, and thyme. She didn't understand the meaning of this, but it did cover the angelic scent she had noticed before. However, the hole itself glowed with a faint mantis green, almost as faint as an aura... Or how she imagined them to be. Taking her hand down into the cursed hole, she brushed the dirt/herb mixture about, but could not physically move her paws farther in the hole. She snuffed softly at her discovery, before grabbing her feathers in her teeth and abandoning it altogether, searching for similar piles about the carnival's exterior. Just as she predicted, she had gone perhaps an eighth of a mile before she encountered another such pile, disguising burnt herbs and ash underneath a dusty, muffling dirt concealment, yet all was awash in the scent of fallen angel. Not quite regularly, but frequently she found such piles about the entire border of the carnival, a startling discovery given the disappearance of the workers Seil had indicated. Furthermore, the fences all seemed to waver in a disturbed fashion near these piles, though what the true effect of these piles were, she did not know. Taking a small sample in the grasp of her palm, Crow took a running leap back over the tall fence, determined to find the Alpha and alert him to this new discovery.
