Myth Weavers is pleased to announce the Dungeons & Dragons Create a Villain Contest! Members may create a villain using any edition of the Dungeons & Dragons rules, and the final entries will be voted on by the community.
First place wins a new copy of the Dungeons & Dragons 5th Edition Players Handbook!
The contest runs from July 1 to July 31, and voting will then run from August 1 through August 7. The winner will be announced on August 8 and contacted via PM. Contest details and directions may be found HERE!
Avery nodded, dipping his fingers into the blood, and then in a moment of most likely VERY unsanitary, bringing them to his lips and tasting it. It was a bit unconventional, but it would have to do. And hopefully, enough of an edge to let him track despite the conditions they were in.
"All right," Bo said. Whatever he found, he wasn't willing to send Chavez to the wolves unprepared. The immortal was determined to make sure it was as safe as possible for her. Chavez was determined, but not well-armed against the supernatural.
Moreover, Bo did not like being electrocuted to death. It was one of the most unpleasant ways to die.
"We should get back out front before Cedric makes a bigger mess of my living room. He might know something about this too."
"The Cold River," Michael answered Whim's question. "We don't want to meet them if we can avoid it." He shivered at the howl. He didn't want to think what that might mean. "Avery, anything I can do to help?" he asked.
Cedric, without someone to compete against, had abandoned his necromantic dealings for the moment. Bo's living room was thus left mostly untouched, except for a strange blood stain on the floor and some black breadcrumbs on the couch. Well, this was what apprentices were for -- Spike would be thrilled.
"Evening Bo!" Cedric said, helping himself to the food at hand -- some kind of small Vietnamese-style sandwiches that involved taking a bunch of vegetables, some sauces, and wrapping it up into a finger-sized roll of fired dough. "Did Michael go to howl at the moon or something?"
Knowledge flooded through Avery's mind, knowledge and instinct. He could smell the blood, and he knew where it led. Northwards, away from the river. Even through the rain, the scent trail was clear as a bell. Tracking it would not be difficult.
"Might be a bit too late for that." Whim said softly, breaking through the werewolf's reverie. They had company.
They came loping down the street, four of them, four shaggy beasts that were so very out of place in the dark London streets. Mortals who saw them would think them dogs, and in truth feral dog packs were not so very uncommon in London. But there was something about this quartet, their flashing eyes and feral, muscular builds, that left no doubt that these were not dogs. They were wolves.
The first was a dark-colored creature, a handsome specimen with a pale splash of white across its throat and breastbone. Behind it was a smaller, rangier beast with russet fur and an unnervingly feverish look in its eyes. The third wolf was grey in color, with one ear ripped half away, and long, graceful limbs. Finally, the fourth was closer in size to a mastiff than a wolf, a good two hundred pounds of muscle and bone, black-and-grey and with jaws capable of cracking bone.
They had been loping down the street, their heads close to the ground, pausing once or twice to let their muzzles hover just above some grate or part of the sidewalk. Then they saw the three Halloween-partiers, and after a moment in which the little pack looked at their handsome leader, they closed the distance. And then, between one step and the next... they were not four wolves, but three wolves and a man.
"Now this sounds like a lead-up to a joke. So the Garmnir Smoke's Thunder is walking down the street with a pretty boy and a... witch." The speaker was as handsome in his human form as he was as a wolf, attractive even as the dark fur slid back into his skin and his bones twisted him into an upright form. Slim but wiry, his body corded with muscle, he had a certain roguish air about him, with his twinkling green eyes and uncombed dirty-blond hair. He wore torn blue jeans and a T-shirt with the St. George Cross upon it, and heavy boots. "Whim, that goth necro girl, is it? Ah, and you... we've met." He nodded to Michael, a wry smile across his face.
"As long as none of us walks into a bar, we should be fine." Avery said, eyes slightly unfocused. "So, what are you doing here Lucas? Enjoying the night air, or up to something else?" It was actually kind of surprising, despite being confronted with an anshega, Avery's tone was almost...friendly.
"I can hazard a guess or two of course." He smiled, eying up his fellow alpha. "Which could make this a rather interesting evening."
Michael regarded their new companions coolly, nodding in respect to the one that spoke to him. He tried not to look afraid, though he wondered how they’d get away alive if these wolves wanted them dead.
He watched Avery talking with Lucas, and figured that as the only Alpha here, he was probably right to speak up first. Hierarchy was important; being addressed by an underling first might have set Lucas off. Or it might not - Michael didn’t really know him well enough to judge that yet. But it was best to bear the wolf’s instincts in mind.
After Avery, though, it was time for Michael to answer. “We have, briefly,” he said. “I hadn’t expected to cross paths with you again so soon. How is the bar doing?” All the while he wondered to himself: am I really making polite conversation with a Pure?
"So that's what these are." Cedric said, regarding the roll in his hand. He paused, then looked at the wise immortal. "Why is it called a summer roll?"
"The bowl..." Cedric pursed his lips for a moment. There wasn't much he could do off of only a photograph, but he regarded the photo somberly anyway. "I'm afraid not. You may be better off consulting Morgan, if anyone would know about these things, it would be him."
"As long as none of us walks into a bar, we should be fine. So, what are you doing here Lucas? Enjoying the night air, or up to something else? I can hazard a guess or two of course. Which could make this a rather interesting evening."
"Why don't you share them with the rest of the class, then?" Lucas King said with a bright, feral grin. His eyes rested on Avery, his pose an exaggerated expression of calm. Lucas wasn't calm. He was coiled tight as a spring, his smile forced, his legs bent at the knee as though ready to either spring or to flee. But you wouldn't know it from his words.
Originally Posted by Michael
“We have, briefly. I hadn't expected to cross paths with you again so soon. How is the bar doing?”
"Swimmingly." Lucas drawled. The russet-furred wolf lifted his muzzle to smell the air -- blessedly, the rain had all but washed away Maddie's blood. Almost all of it was gone. Almost. And it didn't really bear thinking on what would happen if the Cold River Hunters found a Garmnir standing over the blood of their packmate. "How's Lucy these days?"
Avery smiled back at Lucas, again as close to genial as he could get having a conversation with an anshega. "Your packmate disappeared." It was a simple statement of fact, and was almost sympathetic. "Now, either an internal conflict went sour, which hey, happens. Isn't pleasant, but happens." Avery's gaze went a bit dark. "Or something else got to her, and we've both got a problem. Because well, your packmate, and I'm an incorrigible meddler."
He then brought his eyes back up to Lucas. "So, which is it? If it's something internal.." Avery's shrug pretty much said everything. "If it's external, we need to figure out if we can put theological politics behind us enough to cooperate, because this miiiight be a bigger issue. "
"They didn't tell me you were smart too." Lucas King said with a wry smile, as he scanned Avery's eyes for a trace of deceit, and didn't find it. A certain tension eased out of his body then, and the situation was easy enough to understand. He was an alpha, and his packmate was missing. Even if she was still missing, finding that the Garmnir hadn't slit her throat came as a relief. "Figure... external."
He was lying. Or at least, he wasn't telling everything. Why was the pack out in force? But it was clear as crystal that Lucas didn't know where his packmate went, and he wanted to find her. Nor was he responsible for the blood.
"Her name is Maddy Wishthound. Fire-Touched, bit older than pretty boy over there, long brown hair past the shoulder, wears glasses." Lucas described his packmate laconically. "Don't suppose you've seen her running by?" How do you know we're looking for her? Was the unspoken question.