Young violet eyes stared in horror at the spot where her parents once stood. A cruel howl filled small, pointed ears. Shaking slightly, the child slumped onto the floor into a kneeling position.
No, stop!
Clawed hands reached for the slender throat, stopping only when a whimper came out. Furry arms retracted back to the creature's sides.
Run!
In one sudden movement, the girl was pressed against a wall. Tiny hands that told of a future beauty grasped futilely at the smothering arms. The beast before her looked her in the eye. The half-man, half-beast loosened its grip as violet orbs met similar violet orbs.
Nows' your chance!
The elven girl pushed the larger figure away. She was running now, going as fast as her little legs could take her. A figure bumped into her, yet she still ran. Dark locks wildly framed her face, nearly blinding her.
Hide!
Strong arms wrapped around the child's body, ceasing her movement. She let a shriek, still kicking desperately in an attempt to continue to run from the thing after her. A soft voice rang out. The man was saying something, it sounded like words – but they weren't her words. She calmed down and listened, thinking that in her panic she had misheard him.
“Wo ist lhre mutter? Warum sind Sie allen?”
She was wrong.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Nisari's scream broke the serene peacefulness that had come to settle over the small clearing. Small animals that had worked up their courage to approach the sleeping figure scampered away, silently vowing to 'never try that again'.
Panting heavily, she searched around frantically for her harp. It was beside the very reason she had came here. The river. It's soft flow had appealed to her wild side almost instantly.
The surrounding forest was lush and green. A great comfort to her untameable heart. Her slender hands grasped the harp. Gently strumming the thin strings, a soft melody resounded in the clearing.
Some of the startled creatures stuck their heads out, attempting to hear the music better. When Nisari's violet eyes had glanced at any of the creatures – for but a moment – they would try to hide again, sometimes bumping their heads. Little things like this made the elven beauty like being alone. It would be hard to share stuff like this.
As even the note's echo began to fade, she moved into her bedroll for the second time that night – oblivious to the man over a hundred yards away, her eyes imprinted into his mind.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Deshyr was a peaceful little farming town. That was going to change shortly. In a hamlet surrounded almost completely by forests, it did not matter how nice the people are. A single howl filled the air and left the inhabitant's souls with a chill.
Only a few minutes ago, it had been a man. Just a man sitting in the middle of a tavern, eating his meal. Now, it was definitely not a man. It was something...something feral and wolf-like.
The nearest waitress - who had come by to check if he was okay after he dropped his fork - now lay on the floor. Her blood dying the wooden boards an unnatural red colour. All sober men tried fleeing the small, suddenly cage-like room.
Only about a handful of them were made it.
The mindless growls fueled the urge to run. Mothers grabbed children and ran into the night. A few men had enough wits about them to saddle their horses. A messenger was sent to the next town.
He didn't make it. The blood-thirsty being had worked on its victims in a strategic, thinking way. It was almost like he was following an old war saying, 'Cut off the escape route and if that wasn't possible, cut off any help.'
A robed man stood in the way between the beast and his prey. A few words came out of his mouth, repeated faster and faster, as the wild-man howled in pain. “Ate a besta profana!”
Bones crunched and retracted as the man's form returned to that of a man. Lifting his head to look the stranger in the eye; he gasped. The face that looked back at him wasn't one of a healthy man as he had expected. He doubted anything that wizened and sunken could speak like he had heard. Familiar words reached the dark haired man on the ground, translated easily from his many years among the nearby colonies.
“What's a beast like you doing out of hiding? Most of your kind chain themselves up before kontrolle leaves them.” The man's voice had a teasing tone to it, as if he was surprised at the kneeling man's reaction. “What's wrong dead man got your tongue?”
“How can you speak so casually about the disease I have? Kill me if that is your wish! If it is by your hand I will not fall to regret. It can not be cured. Why bother living when someone has bested you anyway?” The man spoke tall, even though he on the verge of hysteria and the ground looking into the sunken sockets with his own angered violet orbs.
“Just who told you that? There is always a way to cure some things. If there isn't exceptions exist. In your case there is one thing you can do.” Then, to illustrate his point the most wizened of the two held up one finger.
“Just tell me what to do! Anything is better than this!” Laughter came from the other one. “You think this is funny?!” The slender man lunged for the magician. His hands stopped a few centimeters away from the edge of the black robe.
“I will warn you once. Never try to touch me.” After receiving a hesitant nod he continued. “Kill the elf in the forest to the West. Her life is the key to your control.” Black robes faded into shadows.
The man began to rise unsteadily. There was no choice available to him in this matter. It was kill or be killed in this world.
He knew what he must do.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Nisari rose with the sun. It took her a few minutes to untangle herself from the twisted blanket. She decided it would be best to start her day off after catching some fish, so she headed down to the stream. Its lulling trickle calming her instantly as she meditated.
Her sleepy eyes came to rest lovingly on her harp. 'It might be nice to play while I wait for my line to catch.' the elf thought. Sleepily moving towards the instrument, her hands ran over the handle of her metal mace. 'You can never be too careful.'
She didn't know how right she was.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
A tune rang in the tortured man's soul beckoning him towards the maker of those heavenly sounds. Panting heavily, he reached the sound of water running from one place to another. There sat a small figure, strumming a wooden harp and producing the most wondrous sounds. He placed one foot down, heading towards the girl, almost certain of who she was. The next foot went down with a loud 'crunch'.
The female turned as fast as a startled person could. Her eyes locked with his. It was only a few short seconds before they both couldn't take it anymore and looked away. Those seconds were all it took to know who the other was. Figuring it best to get it over with, the man walked closer to the startled girl as she clumsily backed away. Letting out a noise of frustration one hand reached out to pull the other up by her long black hair. Smirking at her yelp he realized killing her would be easier than it had first seemed.
“It's been a while, Nisari.” At his words the struggling girl gasped, finally accepting her weird dreams for truth.
They were her past. Hidden memories unlocked only by desperation combined with the alien words coming from his mouth. Closing her expressive violet eyes she tried to block out the painful sensation his grip had caused. Nisari forced herself to speak, even though it came out small, her words were heard. “Who...are you?”
“Me?” The man howled with laughter, bringing back more painful memories for the woman, “I'm Cybron, nice to meet you, elf-child.”
He could feel the body tense through his hand in her hair. All of his instincts screamed at him to move. The wind was knocked out of him as the end of her mace connected with his unprotected side. A few ribs cracked audibly as she gathered her wandering mind and ran.
Cybron swore colorfully as he grabbed his crushed side. His violet eyes, so similar to hers, shone with a flicker of hatred. 'Oh, how she would pay for that.'
The nearby fishing rod was almost tugged from its unstable perch between a handful of rocks. The only thing steadying it was his delicately boned hand. Looking at the object with an entirely different emotion than how he was feeling a short while ago, he pulled the line from the clear stream. On the end was a fat trout.
Smiling to himself, the man began to clean the squirming fish. He would eat well this morning while his prey would run. If he was lucky, she would miss something and leave a clear trail. He was willing to bet she didn't even know how to cover her tracks.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The elf went crashing through trees in her desperate attempt to be free of her pursuer. Her jumbled thoughts began to become a mantra of 'He has ears like me. How can he be real? Why wasn't he a beast-man?'
She never had a chance to answer her panicked questions for she was soaring ungracefully towards the ground. Letting out a soft 'Umph!' she braced her forearms and rolled towards a screaming child. His mother – Nisari assumed that was what she was – put a hand over his mouth to stifle his cries. She looked up into the eyes of the people surrounding her. All of them were panicked.
She didn't dare ask what was wrong – she didn't need to. Nisari already knew. There was only one thing that could drive this many people from their homes. The beast-man. 'Cybron', she corrected herself. 'He has a name.'
Getting to her feet she began to gaze at the state these people were in. Some of them were in their nightclothes, others dressed comfortably in a pair of slacks and loose shirts. Most women had ripped skirts or dresses. There were about fifteen people total, all of them refugees.
Nisari looked up at the sky. It was a little past midday. Cursing her luck silently she realized her line had been left in the river and her harp on its banks. 'It's best not to mourn them when you could have been left to rot.'
Sighing she realized she was right. It was better her possessions than her life. She leaned back onto the soft ground and closed her eyes. Nisari's mace was not far from her. Not with a man like that in the same forest.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Cybron eagerly tore into his food raw. He had figured it would be easier to not wait for it to cook. The man reveled in his ability to be free from the stress of setting up camp. It is wasteful to not take advantage of this chance after all.
He lay down on her bed to sleep after a good meal. It had taken a lot out of him transform into his half-wolf form and back to a human one. Soft chanting entered his ears. The words were barely heard by his tired ears. “Lance o selo denteado da lua cheia.”
A scream that was wrought from pain and panic came out of his sore throat. It could be heard for miles in every direction surrounding the clearing – including the place filled with frightened refugees. Desperately trying to comprehend what was happening to him, he forced his body to move – to find the person responsible for extending his torment.
Letting loose another cry, this one from his forced change in mind and body. Nisari's scent surrounded him, setting the hunt in motion.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Nisari shook uncontrollably at the howls. Each one a warning of the danger approaching. Grimm-faced people walked quickly by, most of them having the etiquette to avoid the figure on the ground. It only took a few looks at the mothers scared for their children and the older children taking care of their younger siblings for her to build up a resolve.
There would be no more running for her.
With shaking hands she took up her mace. 'These people don't deserve to be hunted like animals.' rang out her devotion in her head. Nothing could keep her from defending these people.
It took but a moment for the hunter to catch up with its prey. The fated moment marked by claws and metal, fur and cloth, fear and blood, elf and werewolf.
A strike resulted in a parry. A swing brought forth a roll. These two were locked in a painful stalemate - one that seemed to stretch for eternity. Neither willing to tire for fear of what would happen if they did, or the knowledge of what would happen after. A heavy swing from the iron mace, invoked a counter attack from the beastly man.
A joyous sound came from the animal-like throat as claw met flesh only to be replaced with a grimace. His victory short-lived as the mace struck the tender flesh of his torso. The look of pain on the beast's face brought forth an attitude unknown to the elf. “Not so tough now, are you!?”
It was odd hearing words come from the hairy snout. “Not scared anymore are you, my sister?” the beast retorted. A shocked look crossed the elf's face. “You didn't think we had the same looks because we felt like it, did you?”
A fierce ripped itself free from her throat as she brought her weapon back for another strike. 'He's lying,' she thought, 'there's no way that could be true.'
'He's not lying.' Somewhere inside Nisari there was the voice of reason, a voice that was telling her to accept his words. They seemed crazy. Nothing that crazy could be a lie, it's just...wrong.
The clash continued. This time though, Nisari was raging a battle inside her as well as outside. Cybron began to regain more of his control and with control came his fighting skills. Reaching suddenly at the moving mace he grasped the end.
Effortlessly, he snapped the spiked ball off, leaving Nisari with a jagged stick. Laughing cruelly he brought his furry fist back to strike one final time, not paying any attention to the slender elf. In her mind, the new weapon gave her an advantage, as well as his state of disregard.
The woman ducked under his fist as it swung and brought her makeshift sword into his furry chest. Time seemed to stop as the blood washed over her hands, still gripping the handle of her broken mace. Mindful of the slippery liquid that now flowed freely from the wound she pulled her handle out of the dead man. Sparing a glance at his corpse she saw he smiled slightly. Nisari silently wished him more peace in the realm of the dead than he had attained in this world. Turning her violet orbs upon herself she saw her injuries. A few scratches here and there with the odd major wound.
Placing a hand over her shoulder she prayed for help to come before morning. Though if it didn't come, she refused to think about.
Her paining eyes slid shut as her weakening form fell to the ground. Her body had lost the strength to stay conscious.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
A traveling merchant came across a harp that night while moving from the trembling town of Deshyr towards the famous trading town Mengaard. He walked with only a pack on his back, a walking stick in his hand and his husky companion by his side. Pausing only to drink at the beautiful stream and gaze at the abandoned harp he kept on his journey.
In a few minutes he came across a bloody sight. Two bodies lie on the ground unmoving. After emptying the contents of his stomach, he moved towards the prostrate figures. One was a beast, the other a bloody elf. Feeling for their pulses, first on the beast then the beauty.
There was a faint one on the girl. Getting to work he bandaged her shoulder where her limp hand lay. Trying to be as gentle as he could, unsure of her ability to hear his words. “You're going to be fine. Don't worry.”
A single tear slid down Nisari's porcelain cheek.
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