(no subject)
Who: Fenrir Greyback and his pack
When: 23 December
Where: A remote village in the north of Britain
Status: Complete
The howls that rent the wintry air had to have sent shivers of fear into the people of the tiny village that lay nestled in the valley just below. Only one sort of beast would be so ferocious in the icy dark, and whether the Muggles huddled in their cozy houses believed in the wolfman or not, Fenrir Greyback was sure that in some deep, primal part of them, the prey buried inside the flesh knew what was on the loose.
He stood a bit apart, resisting his own transformation until the last possible instant, wanting his voice to give commands, enjoying watching the shifting bones and hides of his men, and feeling above them all. Even as a wolf, he was larger than them, but as a man, he stood above them looking down, and it gave him some small, petty pleasure to know that they could not fight the changes the moon called from them, while he stood there unchanged until he willed his body to do so. Finally, the last of them stood before him, looking up at him with no trace of humanity left in their animal gaze. A few of the wolves' tongues lolled out of their maws, and he knew they were hungry and eager.
"Boys," he began, "this is your true welcome home. Tonight, we hunt on native soil. Tonight, we announce our presence to the wizards, and we'll be delivering them a message as well. This pack is strong, this pack is fearless, this pack is remorseless, and, o'course, this pack is loyal- to me." A feral grin stretched his lips. "Now, do what you will. Hunt well, brothers- this night is ours!"
The pack's muzzles lifted, loosing another series of baying howls into the night, stretching toward the swollen moon above. On Greyback's signal, they streamed down the hillside, a blur of fur and teeth invading the sleepy town below. Greyback stayed a man as long as he could, but when the first screams of terror sounded, his beast came roaring through. This transformation was more raw and rough than usual, as if the animal inside could wait no longer to be released, knowing that finally he would be ravaging for the pure joy of it, and not on another's command. Tonight there would be no restraint. His front paws hit the snow-crusted ground, and his own howl spilled forth. The beast took over.
The rest of the night passed in a flurry of senses, as it did when he allowed himself to be completely animal. There was the smell of prey, the taste of fresh meat, the sound of whimpers rising to screams, the feel of hard ground and soft flesh under his paws, and the sight of hot, fresh blood splashed against the freshly fallen white snow. At the end, the village lay in shambles. If anyone survived, he did not scent them out. The snow beneath his feet was painted red.
Message sent, my fine lords and leaders.
When: 23 December
Where: A remote village in the north of Britain
Status: Complete
The howls that rent the wintry air had to have sent shivers of fear into the people of the tiny village that lay nestled in the valley just below. Only one sort of beast would be so ferocious in the icy dark, and whether the Muggles huddled in their cozy houses believed in the wolfman or not, Fenrir Greyback was sure that in some deep, primal part of them, the prey buried inside the flesh knew what was on the loose.
He stood a bit apart, resisting his own transformation until the last possible instant, wanting his voice to give commands, enjoying watching the shifting bones and hides of his men, and feeling above them all. Even as a wolf, he was larger than them, but as a man, he stood above them looking down, and it gave him some small, petty pleasure to know that they could not fight the changes the moon called from them, while he stood there unchanged until he willed his body to do so. Finally, the last of them stood before him, looking up at him with no trace of humanity left in their animal gaze. A few of the wolves' tongues lolled out of their maws, and he knew they were hungry and eager.
"Boys," he began, "this is your true welcome home. Tonight, we hunt on native soil. Tonight, we announce our presence to the wizards, and we'll be delivering them a message as well. This pack is strong, this pack is fearless, this pack is remorseless, and, o'course, this pack is loyal- to me." A feral grin stretched his lips. "Now, do what you will. Hunt well, brothers- this night is ours!"
The pack's muzzles lifted, loosing another series of baying howls into the night, stretching toward the swollen moon above. On Greyback's signal, they streamed down the hillside, a blur of fur and teeth invading the sleepy town below. Greyback stayed a man as long as he could, but when the first screams of terror sounded, his beast came roaring through. This transformation was more raw and rough than usual, as if the animal inside could wait no longer to be released, knowing that finally he would be ravaging for the pure joy of it, and not on another's command. Tonight there would be no restraint. His front paws hit the snow-crusted ground, and his own howl spilled forth. The beast took over.
The rest of the night passed in a flurry of senses, as it did when he allowed himself to be completely animal. There was the smell of prey, the taste of fresh meat, the sound of whimpers rising to screams, the feel of hard ground and soft flesh under his paws, and the sight of hot, fresh blood splashed against the freshly fallen white snow. At the end, the village lay in shambles. If anyone survived, he did not scent them out. The snow beneath his feet was painted red.
Message sent, my fine lords and leaders.