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With the wolf atop him dead, Beris felt annoyed that he let his arm take a hit like that. It would take time to repair the damage, especially since it was going to be a field dressing not a proper fusing. He was about to bare weight when there was a familiar sight tossing him up over it's shoulder.

"I owe ya wolf-blood." The words were spoke on weary lungs. Beris was taken by surprise, not only that, he took a hit to protect the wolf-blood now throwing him over his shoulder. The shaman was glad to see he didn't get anything less then an injury along the calf. With a disgruntled groan of annoyance, Beris spat out harsh words about the situation. "Damnedable arm. I'll have to figure run fuckin field dressing on it...next time he can take the blasted thing. It'd be easier to replace it anyways. Grr..the days I miss being able to heal faster." There was a lot of anger focused on his mistakes, the things he could have done better. Instead of taking the full force, he could have side stepped, played the longer fight out and taken down the wolf. 

Drenched in wolf blood, the shaman looked over at the werewolf that saved him while they sat nearby in the attic. "How's the leg?" The shaman had already begun preparations to use his knife as a means to channel fire to use to sear his bone back together. It would be better to do it sooner, lest blood loss kill him via coma. Setting the knife down on the floor, Beris started channeling his essence to pool fire magics into the metal of the knife, focused around the tip of the blade to be more precise in fusing the bones. The shaman would have to take it easy for a while once the bone was fused back. Once it was set and fused, next would be using his magics to regrow the muscles and skin of the arm. But first was the heating of the knife.

"Is the leg badly wounded or is it a scrape?" Beris's attention was on the knife for now, trying to gather fire into the metal.

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It was too late; his mistake had been made. Wren suddenly found himself on his knees, the unconscious comrade still slung across his shoulders, with his head caught between two rows of ivory sharp teeth. His panting echoed back at him within the beast's cavernous mouth, mixing with the measured breaths of the wolf. He felt one of its dagger-like canines poking at his neck, and knew that, if the alpha were to snap its jaws shut, this singular canine would be the instrument of his death. It would pierce his flesh before the others, possibly puncturing his jugular before the strength of its jaws cleaved his spinal cord in two.

These macabre thoughts were not without company, playing simultaneously with his life's memories. He remembered being a child, so, so long ago, and tasted smoke on his tongue as he watched his father fire a gun, then, moments later, his younger brother bending backwards at an unnatural angle. He remembered his mother very vaguely, with her long, auburn hair, and the cat that used to follow her around the house. Basic training had been a breeze, the memories a cool breath of air within the beast's humid mouth. An instant later, his mind returned to that fateful battle with a dragon at his side, and watching his leg shatter to pieces before his very eyes. The blood had spattered all over his uniform, and his face, and his hands were red with death. The dragon had planted herself firmly over him, a steely glint in her eyes- eyes that he had been assured were unintelligent by his superiors. In all of this, she had been the only faithful constant. Even now, Cricket's influence was the only thing keeping the scream locked in his chest. 

Wren was trembling when the wolf backed away, a chuckle on its maw. Men were not wolves, it assured him, but the veteran had been playing the role of lone wolf his entire life. He took a shaky breath and straightened, then took a step, then another. The weight of Trellis bore heavily on his legs, but he needed to keep moving forward. 'Just take it one step at a time, Wren,' he told himself, looping his arm around the back of Trellis's leg and locking his fist on the man's forearm. 'You need to survive this.' As commanded, he followed. 

Cricket let the throaty growl fade as the wolf retracted from her rider's head. It was a warm-blooded thing, with soft skin and talons, and, when the moment was right, it would suffer. 

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FRYGG FYNNVARTHR

When the aeromancer carried both the lady and the archer up into the second-floor garret, Frygg was initially relieved. It was only on closer inspection of Khakina's slightly torn garments did he notice the interplay of red and black which splattered her collar. There was an abnormal distension around the woman's neck, and it took him but moments to note the almost fluid-like quality of it, as if she were made of the same material as her shape-shifting companion. In fact, the skin all around the area seemed to flow like oil, except thick, congealed, while still retaining a shimmering quality under the light of the fireplace. Something wasn't right, and the otherworldly effect made him anxious.

Thoughts of the eldritch creatures of Whispernight came to mind as he stared at the woman; something was definitely not right with her. He loaded a bullet in anticipation. So many times had those foul creatures fooled him in the past — he would not let it happen again.

Then came the sounds of scratching from the outside walls, the kind that was likened to that of the wolf who had assaulted Khakina. The beast had climbed with feral claws hooking into the side, and ambushed the woman. Was the same thing about to occur? Quietly he stepped back as Dan tended to Khakina, and raised his firearm towards the open window. If those beasts knew how to scale stone walls, then the group was not out of danger yet. His trigger-finger was twitching, itching even. Whatever monster was coming would meet a silver bullet, and that was a promise.

A head popped up into view; however, it was not that of a wolf's: it was a man. Face unshaven, expression somewhat crazed, and drenched in blood, Frygg couldn't help but focus in as he was lifted up into the attic, furs dyed crimson, one arm missing from his side. It was the same person who was fighting outside, earlier — the one who originally had roused the group from their slumber.

"Are you okay?" the rifleman asked, lowering the barrel, eyes widened. This was ridiculous. "How did the man even get up here?"

Soon, that question was answered; whoever had helped the man into the group's temporary shelter was now pulling themselves up. Frygg's eyes narrowed in at the hands which were gripped onto the sill. They were covered in hair, fingers adorned with sharp nails. Then, he received a shock of his life: a fanged face, muzzle and all, crowned with pointed ears popping up into view, fierce yellow eyes reflecting the flames of the hearth. Frygg couldn't believe it: the being who had helped a member of their group... was a werewolf.

After ensuring that the injured fellow was in the building, the shaggy gray beast had brought himself into the attic as well.

Frygg was speechless. It was not that he didn't care to mention it to Dan, but the mere fact that no one had taken notice to the huge beast in front of them. The monster was standing a few feet from him, Dan, and Khakina. At this range, it could attack any one of them.

Breath strained, and slowly, ever so slowly, he walked backwards, careful not to elicit the attention of the creature. With no rushed movements whatsoever, he once more raised the gun, eyes down the sight, gripping the firearm firmly in his grasp as he took aim. Its legs were ravaged by wounds, and he could have shot right then and there. He willed his finger to pull the trigger, but his body didn't respond. Frygg couldn't resolve the conflict of emotions that came over him. Clearly, the creature was a denizen of Whispernight; however, despite its heinous nature, it had saved one of them.

The boy's mind was at war with itself, not knowing whether to take the shot or lower his weapon.

 

◆             ◆             ◆

SNIPE

The wolf was breathless, laying against the wall: Beris was not a light man.

"You owe me nothing, human," the werewolf replied, warmed by the man's geniality. "You saved me firrst."

"As forr my legs, they'll be alrright — been thrrough worrse. You should be morre worrried about yourrr arm."

It was true, the man's shoulder was a bloody mess. The fact that the man was even able to stay conscious through all of that pain must have been a miracle. There was something strange about this man, the way he walked, talked, acted around these wolves. What did he mean by 'the days when he was able to heal faster?' He didn't look too old, despite a grown adult. Snipe would have to inquire about said behavior later. The man had a feral spark in him and a lust for battle like no other. Could he too have been... no... perhaps?

Still, the group didn't have time for banter, the rest of the pack was fast approaching, and they had to get out of there before they were surrounded. Snipe lamented: he wished he hadn't told Frost to go back. He could use an extra set of eyes, watching his back, especially in these stranger waters. Could he trust these people — like he had trusted the ones he had met before? It was impossible to know if there were any wolves in sheep's clothing among the lot, and it certainly was a risk to even be here in the attic. Still, it was better off that Frost wasn't here — he would be safer on the rooftops, out of sight, and out of trouble.

Eyes turned towards the figures in the room: there was a floating man, a woman, and downed man, and an individual backing slowly away, gun aimed straight at his face... wait. The brown haired boy had quivering green eyes, and had the sights locked on the werewolf. This — this was not a good situation.

"Hold on," he muttered to the shaman. There was a situation that needed to be dealt with.

"Kid," Snipe said, getting up from his comfortable spot. "You misunderrrstand," he sighed, dusting off his pants as he limped slowly towards the kid. Whether or not he shot was up to him, but Snipe was definitely not going to go down after saving one of the rifleman's comrades. Closer, closer he walked, a somewhat careless expression on his face, but amber eyes locked on the kid's fingers. If the boy shot, it wouldn't be good for the pristine, white walls now, would it?

Now even the hovering mage seemed to take notice, drawing his sword. It figured why no one trusted Snipe — he did look just like the enemy.

The withdrawn blade would be a secondary concern of the wolf's: a drawn gun kills faster. Closer, closer he approached, and when the boy was in an arm's length away, his expression changed to that of fierceness. Kid wasn't so smart now, was he — backing himself into a wall? Swiftly he grabbed the muzzle of the gun, and aimed it upward, a bang resounding as the gun went off. Noise didn't matter at this point, the wolves were already coming. Next, he turned the muzzle to the kid's chin, and pushed him to the wall, using the rifle to trap the man by the neck.

"But firrst, don't point that thing at me," he growled. Sure, Snipe was once human, but as a cursed being, sometimes his new nature got the best of him. He was annoyed, on the edge of becoming angry, but he restrained himself — just for the kid. His inner-beast told him to tear the boy in two, but Snipe knew better... for now. "We arrre on the same side okay?" he sighed, "Can you agrrree to that, you know, putting it down? Don't want anyone to get hurrt."

Turning towards the shaman, he gestured with his head: "Look I helped your friend," he sighed. God, he immediately relented. Stupid move... absolutely idiotic. Now, he undoubtedly just showed them that he was no different from the lycanthropes that prowled the streets....

Then something stole his attention away from it all: a huge, protrusion from a woman's belly. Perhaps she was impregnated on the journey here, Snipe surmised. Then again, such violent movements were not necessarily indicative of human offspring. Next came a harrowing surprise, a clawed paw and black jaws erupting from a tangle of flesh and strange black bile. What the hell was this woman?

 

◆             ◆             ◆

FRYGG FYNNVARTHR

There was a brief moment in the wolf's choke-hold where the werewolf faltered. This was Frygg's chance.

With a rush of force, the boy pushed forward, knocking the wolf over with surprising strength. Sure, he may not have had the strength of the wolf, but he used the creature's lack of attention and leverage against the wall to his advantage, putting both feet on the wall as he shoved the front of his body and arms forward against the monster. Down the two toppled, human atop the downed beast. Grabbing rifle back up from the creature's clawed clasp, he knelt up, and prepared to shoot, until something caught his eye: Khakina's form warping into something even more demonic than the unnatural beasts that roamed Cobran.

Indescribable, terrifying: a blackened wolf erupting from what appeared to be an undead amalgamation of human and tar. Now he knew why the werewolf had been distracted — Khakina's body ballooning, literally doubling as her entire being stretched and contorted. The woman was not human — the lady was no lady. Khakina was an actual monster, straight out of the pages of Kuratel.

Frygg jumped back, and brought gun up, not knowing whether to shoot Khakina or the emerging wolf first.

@Fennis Ursai @HollowCipher @Zashiii

Edited by Artificer

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Dan was quite a bit surprised. This furry should be trying to rip them apart, but it was... talking to them?

Dan floated closer. "On the same side? If we're on the same side, you fleabags sure have a strange way of showing it. Maybe it's cuz I'm out of town. Is it customary around here to attack your allies?"
Then he put Frygg's gun to the kid's head. Dan very nearly took the furry fuck's head off right there, but he didn't shoot. Instead he was trying to talk Frygg down while holding his gun.
Dan was confused. And very curious.
Kid. We don't have time for this.
Genipperteigna was right. Dan needed to check on Wren.
He stopped moving closer, but kept the sword out. "Alright. Convince me. I'm in a rush, so talk fast. You've got on
e chance."
Dan blinked rapidly for a moment. He wasn't going to lose control now. He'd been getting better at containing Him, he wasn't gonna falter just from stress.
I say if we aren't convinced in 3 posts from this one we slaughter him and go. Leave Peruggia or something.
??? Posts? What the fuck are you talking about?
Never mind. I'll let you know. This is giving rise to anxiety, I can feel you wanting to both stay here and go after Wren. 

Before Dan could mentally respond, Khakis gave birth to a furry. WHY did she give birth to a furry? It looked curiously EXACTLY like the one she had eaten.
Dan moved to a position to where he could see both furries simultaneously. If the one on the floor made a single move, he would open its throat. No hesitation.

And then on top of that...
Frygg, for fucks sake.
"Listen. Only shoot if one makes a move, okay Frygg?"

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Drained and weakened, Khakina was on the floor struggling to raise her body. The sudden tearing of Specky's body has left her in such a poor state. While it was not her own body that was hit, the damage to Specky's body left devastating effects on her neck replacement. She was already wheezing, breaths labored as if gasping for air. Monstrous as it maybre Specky is simply a tool and it has its limits. Sure it can split itself into at most four variating functions but then the quality greatly suffers. Sure it takes the polymorph ability to absurd levels but it can never compare to the original thing. Even if it has healing properties, it cannot keep healing her forever. The neck replacement was already too much on poor Specky. And that large wolf tearing its insides was the last straw. And worse it feeds on Khaki's magical energy meaning Specky can drain too much and potentially kill her. 

It was a flash of insight to try to absorb and digest the wolf as nourishment. But it was due to her carelessness that presumed carcass was alive and it must have panicked resulting to the disaster before her. No, truth to be told all this has been a disaster right from the start. And even the disaster named Frygg knows what's right. Yes, shoot the real monster. Because right now, only Khaki is the real monster around here. Not the wolves, not the soldiers, just her. She should have been more careful and now she's paying dearly for her mistakes. 

She faced the gunbarrel, her face expressionless even when facing death. Her hand brought her ever present flask to her lips that she somehow managed to fish out her coat pockets despite her precarious situation. With a painful swill, she spoke, "No Dan. Let Frygg take the shot. If I die a monster so be it. But remember I was out there saving Laurence while you couldn't. I risked my life to keep him alive. Will you shoot your friends savior, the same way you did to back then? At the very least kill the wolves first for your safety than you can decide on my fate. I, Lady Khakina will gladly accept it. But I know you won't make the same mistake twice."

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Beris spat against he floorboards. He grew careless, and this wolf saved his ass when it came to the wire, he earned the shaman's respect. Though the other's were slow to follow. As the boy drew gun and the situation escalated, Beris stood up prepared to take his glowing red knife into the fray. Though it looked as if the wolf had the situation under control, for now his focus shifted back to the knife until it escalated once more. The shaman was swift, moving to take a swift fist to the two gun-wielders only to stop, watching a wolf emerge from the woman's body. His feet traveled fast moving to tackle the wolf to the ground with his weight, his good arm, and his legs. 

Beris would charge over, changing the focus of flame from the knife to his palm, attempting to focus the flames into his hand to use it as a striking surface for a touch based burning. As he moved swiftly, Beris would attempt to pin the beast down. His approach would be quick and straight forwards, using the beast's moment of gaining it's bearings to his advantage. When close enough the shaman use his weight to pin the wolf down by going for a leaping leg lock, using a quick hop and his strong muscles to try and wrap his legs around the underside of the wolf and wrestle it to the ground. From there he would move to a position where his chest was against the beast's back, next he would wrestle to get his good arm against the wolf's neck or even it's eye where his flames would begin to heat up the skin and begin to burn the creature's skin. If that wasn't fast enough, brute strength would surely do it in. Flame infused fists generally do the trick. 

As he made his attempt to shouted to the others when he was close enough to make his leap, "If I HEAR another gunshot not aimed at an attacking wolf, I'll kill the man responsible for it! If you harm the lycan I'll leave you bleeding in the snow!" There was a feral flame ringing in his voice, anger got the better of him and blended with his lust for combat. This whelp was a long line in mistakes that had taken place already. If things were going to get better there needed to be a change in momentum. That started with securing the attic and tending to wounds. Which he would get to once the threat of this wolf was dealt with.

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WHITE WOLF — [γ.1]

In his blindness, there was freedom, bindings of mucus sliding away — he was halfway out from what he could tell. His senses were dulled, but he knew he was out, slicked body hitting the floor with a thud. Quickly, the wolf scrambled to its feet, but slipped, coughing out the insidious black disease which had crawled its way into his body. Then, out of nowhere, he heard dull thuds, the quality of which was muffled from the liquid in his ear canals. Something was coming, but he could not react to it for he was still recovering. A human arm wrapped itself around his neck as legs bound him by the sides. The wolf struggled, twisted, and turned, but could not get whatever was on him off. Then came a singed hand on his neck, and the wolf could not take it. He howled, yelped, growled, made all sorts of noises. Such torture was horrific. To first be drowned, and then immolated. Such was the cruel, cruel method of death, and finally, succumbing to his injuries, the wolf perished on the floor.

(And with that, all three of the wolves of the initial party were dead. [γ.1], [γ.2], and [Δ.1] have fallen. Their coats do not have any magical qualities like that of the alpha wolves, but materials can still be salvaged. [γ.1] is in the attic, [Δ.1] is close to the base of the building, and [γ.2] is farther out, in the snow. Such materials include, but are not limited to, meat, claws, teeth, eyes, skin, etc. Seeing how rations are low, food might be recommended)

@Fennis Ursai @HollowCipher @Zashiii

Edited by Artificer

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ONE-EYE — [α]

As he led the group forward, the alpha caught the faintest tinge of some scent on the air. Taking a breath in, he knew what it was almost immediately: Blood. Fresh blood. While the smell was normally reinvigorating, there was no elation from said presence. No, this blood was not that of a human, but rather that of wolves. His wolves. Focus shifting towards whatever lay down the dark passage, the beast could feel fury beginning to rise. Then, around the bend of the sewer way, at a junction of four tunnels, he saw four corpses: two half-submerged in the icy slush, one in front of him, and another on the opposite side of the room. One eye opened wide in disbelief; these wolves had been some of his best men. Killdeer, Lightfoot, Threeleg, and Redcoat all lied there, eyes glossy, bodies rigid, perfect coats now marred with long, wide slashes. Seeing Lightfoot's head hanging by a third of the neck was no solace.

"SSSTOP!" he bellowed to both the wolves behind and the human slave, voice trembling as if barely holding back his unbridled rage. He walked around, walked on ice, paced around the entire area. He nudged Killdeer, the wolf who lay in front of him with his snout. Dead. These were good soldiers — good men. Ice began to expand in frosted lattices from his feet, power humming with power, crackling with microcrystals which grew, shattered, and reformed. Whoever did this... they would pay.

"Find... the killerrrrr!" he roared, voice booming, flecks of saliva flying from his lips, furious command echoing off the sewer walls. He was beyond the point of anger.

The alpha stormed around the corner to the right, and with that, his men slowly but surely followed. They were not leaving the area until they found the trail of their new query.

Lifting his head up, One-Eye sniffed the air, probing for the scent of whatever living being had did this.

 

◆             ◆             ◆

ARON STONEHEART

The thing about dwarves is they were small, unassuming, and could hide in the darnedest of places. The nexus where he had slain the four wolves was roofed by a ribbed vault, four passageways meeting at the hub. He knew the godforsken alpha was still with whatever was left of his men back at the old hideout, and he knew if he waited above on the impost block of the archway, the damned beast would most likely come down that way. Then came the sound of footsteps which echoed down, and with that, Aron, crouched, still and unmoving like a gargoyle on its perch, axe in one hand, sword in the other. His clothes were drenched in the frosted sewer waters, serving the sole purpose of masking his scent.

Eyes were narrow with contempt as he saw the alpha wolf by, caring not to look up, but rather down and around. In the darkness, Aron could just make out the silhouettes of a few figures, pupils still adjusting to the minimal light that was present. Still, even with supposedly excellent eyesight, the alpha wolf was too stupid to use it properly. The killer was up here, he wanted to say — taunt the mongrel for what he did to his men. When the creature barked, he didn't even shudder. All that he could think about was driving five inches of cold steel into the beast's skull, the skull of the real killer.

As the wolves scattered below, the warrior was ready to drop in for the attack, but then he heard a lumbering gait, one which did not belong to any dog. It belonged to a massive creature, and for some reason, it was somewhat familiar. Ears then caught a familiar, metallic clanging, the scraping of some metal prosthesis. Carefully moving his head past the pillar, Aron looked down, confirming his suspicions.

"Wren," he thought immediately, eyes open with surprise and relief, "The damn rider is alive." Looking on the man's shoulder, there was a hooded figure, but the dwarf could not make it out in the slightest given the darkness.

With that, thoughts of self-sacrifice, martyrdom, and revenge were tossed out the window. He was not originally planning on escaping the hell-hole alive; however, seeing one of his men gave him a new goal: escape.

Silently, he prepared to descend on the hounds in the rear, hopefully giving the dragon the ability to move freely after said liberation. He wanted to signal Wren to get ready, but then again, anything unnatural would most likely end up in disaster. It didn't look like the man had a weapon, so it would be difficult. Aron had to be careful: one wrong move, and everything would go to hell. They were outnumbered, and even if Wren did have a dragon, they were against six wolves, one whose unparalleled taste for viciousness made the pack as dangerous as twelve.

This was not going to be easy.

@roboblu

Edited by Artificer

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Alright kid, I said 3. We've let 4 go by.
4 what?
Never mind. Point is, its time to go.
But, he hasn't said anything. Or done anything.
You wanna find out if Rin is okay or not?


Dan knew Genipperteinga was right. But things up here were getting... a little out of hand. Frygg was attacking a wolf that refused to attack, Khakis gave birth to a half digested furry, Beris wrestled the furry and... it looked like he burned it alive. And threatened anyone who attacked the non-hostile furry.
In any case, Dan needed to see what was going on with Wren. It did not take that long to search one room, even in the dark. But, he couldn't leave the attic unattended either. Therefore...
Dan took out the crystal from before. "Come. Peruggia!"

The crystal shone, and in the light came a new face.
 

Spoiler

8JHdtT6.png

Dan's loyal Pumpkin Knight familiar, and on occasion butler, who he named Peruggia.
Peruggia turned immediately and bowed slightly at the waist to Dan. "Master."
"Peruggia. I need you to do me a favor. Stay here, and help these guys with anything needed until I return. Any wolf that comes up here, kill it unless it does not attack. That one there-" Dan pointed at Snipe. "-Do not attack unless it does. As in physically causes harm. And... Make sure that one-" Dan pointed to Frygg. "-Doesn't shoot that one-" Dan pointed to Khakis. Or what was left of her. "- or anyone else that isn't hostile."

Peruggia nodded once. "Yes, my lord. Where are you going, may I ask?"
"I'm going to check on an ally. If I am not back within 30 minutes, something has gone wrong or something is taking longer than expected."
Peruggia nodded again. If one knew him enough, one would see concern in his face. Still, the masters orders were absolute, and he would do as instructed.
"Good. I'm counting on you here, man."
Peruggia responded by stepping between Frygg's rifle and Khakis.

With that, Dan sped back down to the basement.

Still dark as Hades' asshole. However, they were not presently under attack, so Dan decided to stay. He felt the air around him. Nothing. At all. However, it was noticeably colder this time... weird.

Dan took the crystal out again. "Lupin. I require assistance."

The crystal shone again, and this time a glorious flaming phoenix appeared in it. Lupin easily illuminated the room with his mere presence, and Dan saw a sight that chilled him. Sleeping bags torn open, but no blood? His mind immediately went to abduction, or eaten whole. He then noticed something that was very strange. There was... ice on a tunnel. Or in, rather. Perfectly fit to it. Furthermore, it showed no signs of melting, despite the room still being above freezing. The air around it was still misting a bit, indicating one of two things: Either this was dry ice, or it was recent. Upon touching it, Dan confirmed it wasn't dry ice. So this was freshly made.

What do you think?
I think this is a bit too coincidental. This was DEFINITELY not here last time we came down. Now Wren is missing, and this is here blocking a tunnel? It hasn't even been 7 minutes. Nah. Bullshit.
I was thinking the same thing.
We're thinking alike. Thats... a bit worrying.

"Hmmmm....." Dan thought a moment. There was an exceedingly high probability that Wren was down this tunnel. However, the others were wide open too... He felt as though he should get the others, but he didn't want to leave Lupin down here alone. He briefly considered sending Colonel Blood to get everyone, but it didn't take an Apollo kid to know that moving Khakis in that state was dangerous. The slightest jostling would be a problem. He would need to go himself. Maybe bring Khakis down with his wind powers. 
He was NOT about to bring Lupin in the attic. His flaming plumage would set the entire place on fire. It was only due to Lupin himself knowing this and not flapping his wings that he didn't down there. So, Dan decided.

He held the crystal out again. "Arsene!"
The crystal shone brightly, and in the light next to Lupin, was the Wompas Cat Arsene.

Dan levitated higher and petted his massive kitty. "Hey buddy."
Arsene lovingly rubbed against Dan with his head. The force of this however, was not something Dan prepared for, and so was knocked right out of the air. Arsene then proceeded to lick Dan as if he was also a dog, which caused Dan to giggle. Despite Arsenes massive size, his tongue still tickled like crazy.
Dan was able to concentrate long enough to dissolve into air and get out from under Arsene. There wasn't time for an entirely unfair and one sided tickle fight.
"Hey, I'm gonna get the others. Lupin, start on that wall of ice. You think you can do it?"
Lupin nodded. "Now. When I come down, I'll need you to use your healing on someone."
Lupin cocked his head. "No, trust me. You'll know who when you see her."
Lupin nodded, and blew out a pillar of flame. It wasn't as wide as the tunnel, but Dan was pretty sure that wasn't important.

He turned to Arsene. "While I'm gone, make sure nothing comes and attacks Lupin. If anything does..." Dan grinned, with just a hint of sadistic madness. "Ravage them."
If it were possible, Arsene grinned even wider. He nodded and turned to stare at the open tunnels.

Dan raced back upstairs. "Hey uh, guys? I think I know where Wren went. But something isn't quite right. Maybe you guys should come down to the basement?"
He looked at Khakis. "Khakis... I'm gonna fix you up. Do you trust me?"

Edited by HollowCipher

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FRYGG FYNNVARTHR

Finger still on the trigger, Frygg raised his weapon with reluctance, grasp trembling. On one hand, his mind was screaming to shoot the horrid husk that was Lady Khakina, but on the other hand, he couldn't bring himself to do it. Her voice — the same quality as so many who have fallen to the plagues of Whispernight before — sounded genuine and human despite grotesque appearances. Then again, who could say if she was a fiend in disguise — a monster with a stolen voice, one that did not belong to her, but rather used as a lure to ensnare said victims? The ooze had so easily eaten a wolf more than twice its size, and just looking at the frozen expression of terror on the dead dog's face was enough to elicit fear in the boy. Still, would his teammates honestly fall prey to such vile filth?

His breath was unsteady as his heart was still pounding, hands shaking with aching trepidation. Speechless — utterly speechless as he snatched his bag.

He couldn't take this. Khakina was his teammate, but then again, a complete stranger. Same with the rest of them. As much as he wanted to help, he couldn't stand to be in the abomination's presence. If his team members were to trust both a lycanthrope and a being who was clearly not human, then so be it.

Dan, having disappeared into air and reappearing sometime shortly, could take care of them, right? Sure, the boy was just a teenager; however, he seemed so sure of himself and was confident in his abilities. Frygg didn't doubt the boy could hold himself, even against the sinister forces of Whispernight. Stepping off of the werewolf he was sitting on, the rifleman stumbled, backed away against the wall, heading towards the stairs without breaking eye contact with Khakina, keeping the wolf-man in the corner of his vision. He felt bad for the one-armed man, having to have killed the white wolf which burst out unexpectedly... the shaman was clearly injured already, but still, he had no hesitation when it came to doing what needed to be done.

If only Frygg had that kind of quality — the ability to do what was right when it needed to be done. Everything was so comical. While he was already in his twenties, it didn't seem like he had aged a bit since childhood. The gun was just a show, wasn't it? A simple facade, a mask of bravery. He wasn't qualified at all to be a fighter, he was was still just a boy who still grieved for his family, still shedding tears months after the fact. Fists tightened as he realized how stupid it all was. Thousands of children across Genesaris have lost loved ones to the terrors of Whispernight, forever scarred by its relentless assault. Who was he to think that he was the only hurt one on the continent, that he was the only one in pain? Was it selfish of him to even embark on such a journey, a self-entitled boy on a quest to try to get revenge for his brother — his mother... for Kuratel? Everything that he said he was standing for, he questioned. What the hell was a metalworker doing out in monster-infested ruins anyways?

The woman's eye's were glassy, as if desperately fighting against her fate, and yet Frygg could not bring himself to sympathize with her. Too deep did his own scars run for him to even trust such a creature. He was not naive like those so desperate to find humanity in the savagery of Whispernight.

Sorry, Khakina. He will never trust you.

Whatever they said now would fall on deaf ears, the boy having already made up his mind. Walking down the steps, he did something stupid, and took towards the front door. He would take this journey back home, where ever that was now. Thoughts of the white wolves became second only to his desire to leave. Foolish, yes, but Frygg was a fool, one who walked into the raging blizzard.

He would go on his own, and no one was going to change his mind. The rifleman would rather die fighting against monsters than trust a single one.

Never again would he place his faith in something that pretended to be human... not after what happened in Kuratel.

Like a dagger to his heart, the memory pained him. "Brother."

@Fennis Ursai @HollowCipher @Zashiii

Edited by Artificer

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Khakina breathed out rather loudly in attempt go show her relief. The disaster man-child had almost killed her this night. She was close. So close to dying. She muttered her thanks towards the retreating figure of Frygg before rolling towards the dead furry.

While she relished the notion of using rolling as her main mode of travel, the sticky pools of crimson on the floor made it harder to do so. At the end of her roll, she was bathed in reddish hues turning her macabre visage into a more revolting one. She crawled on top of the furry and checked its pulse and its breathing. Khaki will not fall for the same trick twice. After she made sure that the dead wolf was truly and literally dead, she began her operation. Straddling the furry, she twisted its head so that it faced her and methodically pried its locked jaws open. With a loud umph, she thrust her bloody hand inside the corpe's mouth, the Specky inside her neck seeming to thrum in joy with the action. 

While it the method is quite repulsivr and uncouth for a lady of her stature, Khaki had no choice in the matter. Only Specky's absorbing capabilities is capable of replenishing her lost organs, blood and mana reserves. Inside the wolf's mouth, Black tar ooze seeled out of Khaki's hand and into the furry's insides where it began the process of absorbing the corpses flesh. Soon, it would patch Khaki's neck with a fresh baby tissues but the spot would still be tender and would probably bring her aching pain until daybreak. The only upside would be the leftovers of Specky's absorption, the fresh wolf pelt that with a little bit of sewing would make a fine new coat for Khaki.

"Khakis... I'm gonna fix you up. Do you trust me?"

At Dan's words, Khaki was forced to look up from her task. While the kid was a little bit distracting, she figured he was just trying to help. But she could use the help. "Dan, please heal me while I suck the flesh out of this furry. Hurry before the other furries come.

Edited by Zashiii

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Dan nodded. Frygg fucked off somewhere without so much as a word to him or anyone else. Fine then.

Nob.

Dan, like a son of Zeus- Dan realized just how butthurt that pompous dicklord was going to be when he found out Dan could control wind. Dan found this thought extremely funny.
Anyway, like a son of Zeus, Dan took control of the wind, and lifted Khakis and the now definitely dead furry up. He then moved back downstairs, being careful not to jostle Khakis. 

Down in the basement, Lupin was still working on the wall, and Arsene was keeping watch. Arsene turned and looked at the three of them, grin still as wide and unsettling as ever. Afterward, he turned back to the open tunnels.

"Hey, Lupin. Got your patient."
Lupin stopped using Flamethrower, and turned his head to them. Dan laid Khaki's down gently, and Lupin walked over to her. Upon seeing Khakis' condition, he looked at Dan, as if to say You want me to fix THIS? Dan simply nodded to her, and Lupin lowered his head over Khakis' neck, deciding to start there. Nothing happened for a few seconds, until glistening tears started falling from Lupin's eyes. They splattered lightly on Khakis' neck, and she would feel a warming feeling from them. The moment they touched the injured area, it would start slowly closing, the flesh regenerating and knitting together at a highly accelerated rate. Each tear only gave a 2 second burst of this, but Lupin kept going. In a matter of seconds, Khakis' neck would be fully restored. After which, Lupin looked back up at Dan, only to find him checking the progress on the wall. Lupin had made grand progress, however, it was not yet thin enough for him to smash through. Lupin made a slight sound for Dan's attention, and when he looked, Lupin glanced down at Khakis' torso. Or rather, the massive fucking gaping hole where her torso used to be. Lupin looked back up at Dan, and then back down to Khakis.
Dan understood. This was Lupin telling him That this was a bit beyond him. Dan knew Lupin COULD do it, theoretically, but it would probably end up draining the entirety of his bodily fluids to do it.

Dan nodded. "She can focus on her torso now that her neck is fine. Finish the wall, if you would please, Lupin."

Lupin nodded, and returned to his previous position. He reared his head up, and brought it back down, resuming melting the massive ice block wall.
Dan couldn't help but grin. Khakis was fix- well, she was stabilized... sort of. Frygg had apparently peaced out out the door, but that was HIS stupid ass decision. All that was left was to find Wren. And he already was 92% sure which direction he had gone.

Kid... What if he was taken?
Taken?
By like traitors? Or Furries?
You think wolves were down in the basement this whole time? REALLY?
I'm just saying, its a possibility. We might end up walking into a prisoner situation, here. We haven't lived this long by being careless. You're going into an unsecured, enclosed location. It might be best to go intangible, or at least hover over the ground.
If I'm just hovering, they'll smell me. They can't if I'm air.
Intangible it is.

Look, I get the caution. I do. But do you think the General would pick this building if it weren't secured and well searched beforehand? Why would he do that if there were any chance of us being slaughtered in our sleep?
....... Perhaps..... Because this was a set up the entire time.
REALLY. How fuckin' paranoid ARE you?
I think this is set up a bit... conveniently. Think about this. I believe it's pretty obvious Wren was TAKEN. Unless that dragon has ice powers, I think the ice wall speaks for itself. The fact that he didn't come and tell us where he was going would imply that he was either forced, or rushed. If he were rushed, I would think a gunshot would ring out, or at least a yell from him. But nothing. Kid, Wren was taken prisoner. Its obvious. But, why haven't any of them come after US? Its obviously a prisoner scenario, don't be surprised if we find him bound and gagged in a cell somewhere when we get to the end. But, the fact that no attack was made on us is... interesting.

Dan had to admit. Genipperteinga made several good points. Further, if Wren was taken as a prisoner, why? Would it not be easier to just kill him? Sure, they'd need to deal with Cricket, but her power was a bit... limited in enclosed areas. Feasible to deal with. The more Dan thought about it, the less he liked being here. He was starting to regret signing up for this, but he knew that regret accomplished nothing. The bottom line was, he was here, and Wren was most likely in trouble.

He looked at Lupin again. The rest of the ice seemed to be warming up even before the fire reached it. They would be through it in a matter of moments.

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The boy storming out was for the best. Beris would kill him if he decided to fire at the wolf-kin, if they boy couldn't handle how real this was going to get then he needed to either go somewhere to hide or toughen up and get with the program of gaining allies that were better equipped for the situation at hand. Though it was tough, it was life. Beris had seen good men fall, good brothers, raiders, bandits that he ran with, all fall to the harsh realities of life that they weren't ready for. Either the boy would die in fear, or die on his own terms broken..though it was rough it was for the best. A weak link breaks a strong chain. 

Beris would get off the dead wolf, followed moments later by the 'creature' engulfing the wolf. Khakis, one of the people he traveled with. It was good to know he was among unique individuals. Then reality his him as well, his arm was still broken. With a sigh the shaman walked back to the heated blade, focusing more flame into the metal. "Fuck..times I wish I still had a smoke laying about." In his good arm, Beris motioned down to grasp the knife, using it as a temporary medium to project his flames which he would use to precisely send flames into his bones using a technique to help encourage quick growth, though it would be shoddy medical work at best. 'Magical field dressing' as it were for the time being. 

Beris would take his knife to the cracked bones where the heat would quickly dissipate and seek shelter in his bones. Within a matter of second the red tint was gone from the blade and his cracked bones now lit up like a neon display. Next would come the hard part, having to weave a stone casting around his arm while the pain of fire was fresh in his bones. There came a series of hiss and grunts as the shaman tried to work through the pain to set his arm. "Ahh..gods above.." This was his punishment for being reckless. A punishment he'd hoped not to endure twice. Though it would take time, Beris would weave the same base for his arm as he did the walls though the stones that made up his cast would be less packed to allow for the second part of the casting to set in. Pain was going to be a close acquaintance with Beris for about the next hour. All he could do was to pray to the old world that he didn't black out. 

Through his hissing, Beris was able to get a few words over to the wolf-kin nearby. "Oi..holding up alright?" Morale was going to be at a very low point, to manage it now would be getting a leg up on a storm coming in very soon. 

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The passage soon opened into an arching vault of sorts, with high ceilings and ornate doorways that must have served as a connection between the castle of Cobran and its surrounding villages. 'It makes sense,' Wren thought, trying to distract himself from the weight of Trellis bearing down on his shoulders. 'The weather here has never been mild. The king must have created these tunnels to reach his subjects during snowstorms.' His heavy breaths chilled in the cold, dungeon air, creating a mist around his face with every painful step. Something was digging into his shoulder, causing him to shift the magician's weight a little to the right. 'Does that mean ... we're headed toward the castle?' The thought of what awaited him in the castle chilled Wren- he hadn't considered the possibility of wolves using its thick, strong walls for shelter. He supposed he would cross that bridge later, and instead turned his focus to his immediate surroundings. He tried to memorize the path they were taking, the dimensions of the tunnel, the slope of the terrain - anything, really, to help him escape if the opportunity arose. 

Their pace intensified after the alpha found a few of his fallen packmates, and Wren struggled to keep up with his comrade still slung over his shoulders. The murder gave him hope- perhaps one of his own men had escaped, and was raining retribution down on the wolves. The veteran's soft brown eyes, still covered in an iridescent sheen, scanned the passage as they progressed. It was difficult for him not to gasp when at last he saw a red-orange form hiding up above, and it was even more difficult to keep Cricket from turning her head; but, with some mental focus, Wren was able to continue moving forward, even as he saw the orange form circle around behind them. He tried to glean more information from the dragonlet's flicking tongue, but came up with no unique identifiers. It was one of party, wasn't it? Wren wasn't sure what other creatures were lurking in the darkness, but he needed to try something, and clearly the stranger was preparing for a strike anyways.

His mind began to race. What would he even attack with? His staff was affixed to his pack, and he had lost his gun to the sewer. Feeling desperate, the veteran shifted Trellis's weight again ... and felt that object digging into his shoulder again. 'Does Trellis have a weapon on him?' Wren wasn't sure what kind of weapon the magician might be carrying, but it was something. And 'something' was all he needed. 

The veteran feigned a stumble, with Trellis tumbling over his head in the process. He managed to grab hold of whatever weapon the magician had strapped to his belt, but Trellis would likely wake up with a few aches and pains from being tossed onto the cold, dungeon floor. The fall would have distracted the wolves to the rear long enough for one brave dwarf to attack, leaving Cricket open to tousle with the alpha. 

Edited by roboblu

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SNIPE

The fall seemed to have taken the wolf-man by surprise, and the way to boy landed knocking all breath out of the beast. The damn kid wasn't heavy, but the gun had pushed hard against Snipe's throat whilst the boy's elbows dug in between his ribs. Skull knocked against the floor hard, sending a constellation of stars straight into sight, and then, before the werewolf even knew it, the kid had crawled off his body.

Touching the palm of his hand to his brow, Snipe gave the boy a glare as Frygg skulked down the stairs, out of sight and out of mind. He was somewhat impressed that the kid even had the power to overtake him, but then again, the Lady was extremely distracting... in all the wrong ways.

Speaking of which, he turned back towards the woman, eyes widening ever so slightly as her hand down the dire wolf's throat. Only Valjer knew what the woman was doing, arm plunged deep into a fresh kill. Normally, when such game is killed, you'd butcher it and eat the flesh, but it seemed that the woman had other ideas in mind. Ears caught the faint, unearthly gurgling noise emanating from the dead dog's corpse was a hint; however, Snipe didn't want to entertain any theories as to what was happening.

On 7/30/2018 at 7:45 PM, Fennis Ursai said:

"Oi..holding up alright?"

Head turned towards Beris, the man who had both saved Snipe and was saved by Snipe. His one hand clutched a knife glowing red with the heat of the hearth, and on the other side where his arm was torn soon glowed all the same.

Magic.

It was comforting to know that they had one well versed in the arcane arts that was not a teenager. Surely, the man would have more wisdom than such party.

"I've been better," Snipe admitted, giving a dogged half-smirk as he got up calmly. His legs still stung from whatever blasted winds had hit him earlier, but he still had much energy left in him. Additionally, now was not the time to show weakness. This was the Cold South, and the Cold kills all the weak. Still, there was the several issues that pressed him in the back of his mind. What were they going to do about the two injured party members? Could the new group trust him —a werewolf? What were they going to do with the pack closing in?

Knowing all to well of the dangers that were coming, he gave Beris a dead look in the eye: "We get away from here — get somewhere safe. Where is your mage heading?" The teenager was descending the flight of stairs with Khaki in tow, so surely the kid had some sort of escape plan. Snipe could help fend off a few wolves, but he wouldn't be able to protect both of the injured.... he needed that mage. No double, no cheap familiar. The wolves of Cobran were ruthless, and they'd kill the stragglers with ease as they almost had accomplished with the shaman and the lady.

Limping over to the one-armed man, he extended his clawed hand out. The man was going to need some help getting down the stairs given his injuries, no?

@Fennis Ursai @HollowCipher @Zashiii

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