Post by empath on Sept 13, 2005 9:19:42 GMT -5
wolf
Lightning ripped across the sky, illuminating the feral landscape with its eerie blue-white glow and thunder shook the earth. Clouds billowed black as pitch, and the wild wind howled like a demon as the storm raged savagely through the night. It wreaked havoc on the homes of man and beast alike, tearing up aged trees and ripping slates from the rooftops.
The Children of Man hid in their houses, praying to their gods for salvation as their dogs howled in fear, and trembled with their Masters.
The night belonged to the Spirit of the Storm – Chaos Herself, powerful in her Majesty. She called out to the Wolf Pack, lean and hungry as always, who gave tongue hauntingly to the crescent moon. It had been much too long. It was time to hunt….
On the wings of the storm, the SheWolf led the pack into the night. They knew that they were but phantoms, the spirits of animals long dead, but with this knowledge came the awareness that they were far from gone from these desolate hillsides. On nights like these, they would run with the Storm, gathering power from the confusion around them. On nights like these it seemed that Man would hunt them down no more and they would forever run free.
The Bear was there, stretching and scratching as she woke hungrily from the depths of sleep. Wild Boar and Cat too, haunting these storm-worn hills in spirit form. They stalked the night, hungry predators hunting the ghosts of long-dead creatures and snarling un-heard curses at the Children of Man who had dared to intrude in their space. When man was finally no more, they would remain.
The SheWolf remembered Man. The memories were too fresh in her psyche to ignore. His scent was abomination to her. They had run down her Pack, cornered her terrified cubs and tortured her mate. She remembered that day all too well. The screams of her little ones would be etched deep into her mind forever. The curses she had thrown at those abominable apes that day still held their power.
She knew what she would do. In the Chaos of the Storm, there would be no release. The Children of Man would once again know the power of her Majesty. Calling again to her Pack, she ran with the wind towards the village, adding malevolent force to the storm as it raged unconstrained through the night.
As the villagers cowered in the shells that once were their homes, they could have sworn they heard more than just the howling of the wind through the furious night. Wide-eyed with fear they held each other close and whispered the unthinkable…. Something stalked them… something feral and hungry. Was that the Pack?
****
They said afterwards that there had never been a storm like that in living memory. The survivors sought refuge in the ruins of the church, although even that was so damaged that it offered scant protection from the elements. It was all they had left. Their homes were reduced to rubble, their barns and byres ransacked.
They called it the Storm of the Century. Tales of the heroics of the night were recounted for years to wide-eyed children on their grandparent’s knees. Little did they know it, but the storm that night was nothing compared to what was to come. One day when the Spirits of the Beasts grow strong, they will hunt through an even greater storm……… taking their rightful place as Lords once again in these desolate lands, and reducing the remnant of Man to the feeble ape that he really is.
Lightning ripped across the sky, illuminating the feral landscape with its eerie blue-white glow and thunder shook the earth. Clouds billowed black as pitch, and the wild wind howled like a demon as the storm raged savagely through the night. It wreaked havoc on the homes of man and beast alike, tearing up aged trees and ripping slates from the rooftops.
The Children of Man hid in their houses, praying to their gods for salvation as their dogs howled in fear, and trembled with their Masters.
The night belonged to the Spirit of the Storm – Chaos Herself, powerful in her Majesty. She called out to the Wolf Pack, lean and hungry as always, who gave tongue hauntingly to the crescent moon. It had been much too long. It was time to hunt….
On the wings of the storm, the SheWolf led the pack into the night. They knew that they were but phantoms, the spirits of animals long dead, but with this knowledge came the awareness that they were far from gone from these desolate hillsides. On nights like these, they would run with the Storm, gathering power from the confusion around them. On nights like these it seemed that Man would hunt them down no more and they would forever run free.
The Bear was there, stretching and scratching as she woke hungrily from the depths of sleep. Wild Boar and Cat too, haunting these storm-worn hills in spirit form. They stalked the night, hungry predators hunting the ghosts of long-dead creatures and snarling un-heard curses at the Children of Man who had dared to intrude in their space. When man was finally no more, they would remain.
The SheWolf remembered Man. The memories were too fresh in her psyche to ignore. His scent was abomination to her. They had run down her Pack, cornered her terrified cubs and tortured her mate. She remembered that day all too well. The screams of her little ones would be etched deep into her mind forever. The curses she had thrown at those abominable apes that day still held their power.
She knew what she would do. In the Chaos of the Storm, there would be no release. The Children of Man would once again know the power of her Majesty. Calling again to her Pack, she ran with the wind towards the village, adding malevolent force to the storm as it raged unconstrained through the night.
As the villagers cowered in the shells that once were their homes, they could have sworn they heard more than just the howling of the wind through the furious night. Wide-eyed with fear they held each other close and whispered the unthinkable…. Something stalked them… something feral and hungry. Was that the Pack?
****
They said afterwards that there had never been a storm like that in living memory. The survivors sought refuge in the ruins of the church, although even that was so damaged that it offered scant protection from the elements. It was all they had left. Their homes were reduced to rubble, their barns and byres ransacked.
They called it the Storm of the Century. Tales of the heroics of the night were recounted for years to wide-eyed children on their grandparent’s knees. Little did they know it, but the storm that night was nothing compared to what was to come. One day when the Spirits of the Beasts grow strong, they will hunt through an even greater storm……… taking their rightful place as Lords once again in these desolate lands, and reducing the remnant of Man to the feeble ape that he really is.