Ironworks Gaming Forum - View Single Post - Part 5>>>The Shadow of Love (an LoF adventure)

Cyril Darkcloud · 02-03-2005, 09:40 PM

Banewolves

In hunger they come, eyeless sockets filled with the black of the hatred borne by the grave toward all that lives. In hunger they come and in hatred they arrive, one from the north, another from the south, a third from the east and a final appearing from the west, to join that one whose slaughter of the horse meant for the woman has released the warm blood of the living into the cool air of evening. Five, there are, a pack of the dead, and each of these, the already dead is dead with the collective death of many, and their growling is a growling as of five packs, and their hunger, hungering after flesh, is mighty for it is the hungering of many. In hunger they have come for the grave hungers without ceasing, seeking ever to swallow the living, swallowing always and yet never sated.

Flight is not possible, not merely because all avenues of escape are blocked, but because sight has begun to fail in elven eyes, and hearing grows numb in elven ears and the exhalation of the grave begins to fill elven lungs. Banewolves are these and they have scented the blood of the dragon in the body of an elf. Terrible are the wolves, for they bear the fierce and unrelenting monotony of the grave in their bodies and their growling. The monotone of their growls is effective over even the heart of a dragon, however hidden that heart might be, and as a mighty heart hidden behind elven ribs grows numb, great jaws open wider, and lifeless muscles tense.

Sight fails.

Hearing fails.

Movement fails.

But feeling remains and what is felt are teeth. Teeth that tear. Teeth that carry the numbness of the grave into the limbs and bones they seize. A bracelet falls off a destroyed wrist and a change of form sluggishly proceeds and the hot blood of a dragon adds its bitter warmth to evening’s cool. Soon even the feeling of teeth is gone, but the tearing continues, as does the sinking of blood into the ground. Hatred feasts well this night and a mighty protagonist disappears from this tale, a great stain of blood over one of the ley lines his mission was to protect the only sign that betokens what has happened here.

Banewolves are these. Great has been their feasting, but their hunger remains unsatisfied.

ooc: Arcades the dragon is no more.

[ 02-03-2005, 09:44 PM: Message edited by: Cyril Darkcloud ]

02-03-2005, 09:40 PM	#80
Cyril Darkcloud Lord Soth Join Date: February 7, 2002 Location: New York Posts: 1,980	Banewolves In hunger they come, eyeless sockets filled with the black of the hatred borne by the grave toward all that lives. In hunger they come and in hatred they arrive, one from the north, another from the south, a third from the east and a final appearing from the west, to join that one whose slaughter of the horse meant for the woman has released the warm blood of the living into the cool air of evening. Five, there are, a pack of the dead, and each of these, the already dead is dead with the collective death of many, and their growling is a growling as of five packs, and their hunger, hungering after flesh, is mighty for it is the hungering of many. In hunger they have come for the grave hungers without ceasing, seeking ever to swallow the living, swallowing always and yet never sated. Flight is not possible, not merely because all avenues of escape are blocked, but because sight has begun to fail in elven eyes, and hearing grows numb in elven ears and the exhalation of the grave begins to fill elven lungs. Banewolves are these and they have scented the blood of the dragon in the body of an elf. Terrible are the wolves, for they bear the fierce and unrelenting monotony of the grave in their bodies and their growling. The monotone of their growls is effective over even the heart of a dragon, however hidden that heart might be, and as a mighty heart hidden behind elven ribs grows numb, great jaws open wider, and lifeless muscles tense. Sight fails. Hearing fails. Movement fails. But feeling remains and what is felt are teeth. Teeth that tear. Teeth that carry the numbness of the grave into the limbs and bones they seize. A bracelet falls off a destroyed wrist and a change of form sluggishly proceeds and the hot blood of a dragon adds its bitter warmth to evening’s cool. Soon even the feeling of teeth is gone, but the tearing continues, as does the sinking of blood into the ground. Hatred feasts well this night and a mighty protagonist disappears from this tale, a great stain of blood over one of the ley lines his mission was to protect the only sign that betokens what has happened here. Banewolves are these. Great has been their feasting, but their hunger remains unsatisfied. ooc: Arcades the dragon is no more. [ 02-03-2005, 09:44 PM: Message edited by: Cyril Darkcloud ]