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> Per Aspera Ad Astra: Through Hardships To The Stars, A Story of Trials, Faith & Dreams
BretonBlood
post Oct 31 2017, 04:10 PM
Post #41


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Joined: 9-March 15



Amazing descriptions as always, bringing the Feeding Bag to life and making it feel how I imagined a tavern in the city would be.

An interesting situation, with the full moon approaching, will Lycus plan to do something with that, or will he wait until after, or is her going to try to pull off some miracle before the full moon?

Also Cocistian... a familiar name. wink.gif


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“People love that cliché ‘Time heals all wounds’ but live long enough you realize that most clichés are true. It’s amazing what even the smallest passage of time can accomplish…the cuts can close, the imperfections it can smooth over. But in the end it comes down to the size of the wound, doesn’t it....”
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Darkness Eternal
post Nov 6 2017, 04:06 AM
Post #42


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From: The Hunting Grounds



Renee: Oh yes! Let’s find out if this is all going to work the way he planned.


Acadian: Thanks! The Feed Bag always made me hungry. I could only imagine the smells and sights of being there.
Hmm. Perhaps a mixture of both? Lycus can make use of both his muscles and ingenuity. Thans Acadian!!

BretonBlood: Full moons and the transformations. Certainly Lycus’ major issue at the moment.
Cocistian. Glad you caught that. We’ll be seeing some familiar faces. Soon.

Previously on Per Aspera Ad Astra: Lycus and Kerstus dine at the Feed Bag; Lycus learns about a gang called the Bravilian Brigands and forms a plan.

=10=
~Werewolves? Where? Wolves? Men that are wolves?~


My father and I were quiet after our talk at the Feed Bag.

Whole days passed when neither of us said anything to each other. He was too empty to talk, and I was too angry. There was much fury in me; I couldn’t control it. My mother saw it, the way my mouth would tighten and twist, the looks I had. Whenever I took my axe to chop some wood for a fire, I would slide into a cold rage, hacking savagely at the tree or the deadfall or the broken limb, until we had twenty times as much kindling and firewood as we needed. Sometimes I would be so sore and tired afterward that I would lie down and go right to sleep without even eating. With the imminent Change and the circumstances combined, it formed a furious tempest in my mind and spirit and I knew I had to leave.

Sometimes in my wanderings I glimpsed other people; farmers in their fields, swineherds with their pigs, a milkmaid leading a cow, a courier carrying a message down a rutted road. I never wanted to speak to them either. It was as if they lived in some distant land and spoke some foreign tongue; they had nothing to do with me, or I with them. Besides, they were a superstitious lot. My hound-like odor and exponential growth of hair in my ears would raise questions and unwanted comments. I had this feeling of an ominous hush and solitude would not leave me alone, would not fade away, clung to me like some enveloping garment which, try as I might, I could not ease from my shoulders. I was alone; I could relate to no one, share none of my secrets, for Shavaash was many miles away in Leyawiin, and I could not leave for too long for my family needed me now more than ever.

But they didn’t need me around on full moon nights.

I planned to abandon them for a day or two, for their sake.

I told my father that I wished to set up a new trapline; the old route had worn out its lure, the rabbits were getting wary. My father thought it was a good idea; my rabbits helped in the stew, and he could scarcely refuse. Besides, as I knew, there lurked in his heart a basic albeit leaden decency and he knew I had earned the right to be left alone. One afternoon sometime later, I finished the last work on the mill. My father gave a silent thanks to Stendarr for the skill of my hands, like he always did as a boy when he completed a difficult work. I told him if any trouble arose, there was a sword he could use located in my chambers. Then without further ado I retreated into the Great Forest, carrying with me only a knapsack of folded clothes and nuts, dried meat and water along with a wellworn map.

Here, unlike the tamed land around my home, it seemed a true wilderness, for the green landscape was astir with wildlife: foliage, trees and shrubs sprang up beyond the edge of my vision, and from the forest’s windswept roof birds exploded, booming as they sought the sky. Squirrels and rabbits crisscrossed the path all along the way. Once a red fox considered me from his perch on the trunk of a fallen oak; seated panting, grinning, his tongue lolled out between rows of small wicked teeth.

The full light of the sun began in the midafternoon of the following Loredas, a day after I set out for the forest. I had been wandering there ever since, far from civilization, where I immersed myself in nature and prayed, taking sustenance from water from the streams and chewing on almonds and meat to still the cramps that racked my stomach. I had to keep eating, since fasting would never hope to quench all beastly longings. Whether this time it was the pressure of the work I had just completed, I did not know, but at night alone I seemed beset by urges and needs. I walked out and sat down amid an oak, trying vainly to rid myself of these coarse and hot desires.

Visions of the flesh of men, women and beasts tempted me, inflaming my passions in a way I had rarely known before. Lust and animal hunger stormed my senses like a sick fever. I thought of a tavern wench I had seen often in the streets of Weye—a doxy, every pauper lad's Loredas piece, a light-skinned peasant lass with a rhythmic bottom and round saucy eyes.

Heavy-breasted, flat-bellied, she stood naked before my mind’s eye, running away from me. Try as I might I could not banish her, keep her away; my meat and roots availed me nothing. Do you want to taste me? she whispered to me with those words she had wheedled others, and as she fled from me with a teasing laugh, with delicate white fingers stroking the lushness of her hair, and then her breasts.

“Oh, why!” I said aloud, and rose to my feet, but even so the desire would not vanish, would not fade. Sweating, I embraced the cold scaly trunk of a tree. “I need to control this!”

Control. I needed control for I feared who my next victim would be. Who?

This was the next question to which I addressed myself, and which caused me a severe and worrisome perplexity. Hunger alone may well have served to explain this oddity. Certainly, pure animal hunger would find its quintessential expression in this base act—the slaying not of a virile and stalwart man or group of men but of a fragile, weak, and helpless young maiden but a few years out of childhood. Yet once again, logic and naked fact compelled me to admit that this reality and possibility has caused me to rearrange, at least provisonally, some of my traditional notions about this condition—whether it truly was a gift or a curse.

I slept the rest of the afternoon and through the night. The next day, I awoke feeling groggy and weak. In the depths of exhaustion—at least in the depths of my exhaustion, I have found—there comes a moment when the spirit makes a flight outward toward consciousness and reason, before breaking up into crazy splinters, or being extinguished by sleep. At this point all of the senses, worn raw by tiredness, were for an instant uncommonly tender and as receptive to the mildest stimulation as new skin over a recent wound. I drank some water and chewed on roots, meats and nuts, and later wandered some more, where I sat reading my journal, propped against a tree.

It was while I was skimming over a few entries from the time Kraven died in the Hunting Grounds that I sensed a change in the atmosphere. The light paled, the stark shadows of the full trees grew hazy and dull, lost definition; far off in the forest a flock of sparrows, late visitors, ceased their cheeping, became still in the false dusk. Around me the trees were plunged into evening shade. I looked up then to see the sun wink slowly out as it was devoured by the black clouds. There was no surprise in my heart, no fear, only revelation, a sense of final surrender, and I rose to my knees and shut my eyes in prayer, wood smoke sweet in my nostrils, half drowned in the cave-like sudden silence of the wilderness. For long minutes I knelt there in the somber unearthly hush; sightless, I felt the dark like a vapor around me, cold like the edge of steel and touched with a graveyard’s mossy damp feel. “I’m so hungry. So thirsty. Hircine, I need flesh to sate my desire, so that undeserved fate shall not befall my loved ones again.”

Hours of the day fled. Night came.

In the distance, like a signal, I heard the noise of an arrow loosing, a single faint whisper that echoed back and forth amid the hollows of the forest, dwindled, died, then fell quiet. Some solitary hunter: had he too seen the sun vanish, loosed in terror and anticipation at the faint haloed spheres floating in the heavens that promised night? Now when I opened my eyes light moved softly back across the floor of the forest, daubing the carpet of leaves with silver and orange bursts of moonlight. A cool feeling flooded over me, the bats in the air began their clamor; the moons rode across the black sky triumphant yet serene. I was suddenly touched by a wild anticipation and excitement.

As the first multicolored slivers of moonlight came peeking through the clouds, I ventured further into the Great Forest—my new sanctuary—hoping to unleash my true self away from the eyes and ears of any villagers or any innocent passerby unfortunate enough to come across me. As I looked for a suitable spot, I stumbled upon a curious sight: a bundle of hair tangled upon a branch. Long blonde hair. I picked it up and brought it to my nose. Seconds later a cry cut through the forest. The scream that echoed through the night was like the sound of claws scraped in anguish across the bare face of the heavens.

It was a woman.

I too found myself too shouting, abruptly and uproariously and on the verge of tears, my humanity deserting me as I began uttering strange sounds which I just dimly realized were bestial noises. And then it was all over. The scene dissolved before me as if suddenly and mercifully drowned: the woman screaming, the moons, the night, gone; the forest, my sanity, my vision, all gone; the lot of them vanishing in hot, red heat of animal fury.


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"Every human spends a night or two on the dark side and regrets it. But what if you only exist on the dark side? We just want the same things that you do: a chance at life, at love. And so we try and sometimes fail. But when you're something other, a monster, the consequences are worse. Much worse. You wake up from your nightmares. We don't."
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BretonBlood
post Nov 6 2017, 06:46 AM
Post #43


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Joined: 9-March 15



Simply amazing! Loved the descriptions as always, it really brought home the fact that his senses are getting better as the full moon gets closer.

Lycus was smart to come up with a reason for leaving for a few days without his parents questioning it. Of course, will he be able to continue this for long? How many times before they get suspicious?

And finally, a woman screaming? Right before Lycus begins screaming? Another werewolf in our midst, methinks.... A blonde werewolf at that... I am hoping my guess is right as to who this may be, if it is indeed another werewolf. We shall see.


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“People love that cliché ‘Time heals all wounds’ but live long enough you realize that most clichés are true. It’s amazing what even the smallest passage of time can accomplish…the cuts can close, the imperfections it can smooth over. But in the end it comes down to the size of the wound, doesn’t it....”
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mALX
post Nov 6 2017, 02:10 PM
Post #44


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Joined: 14-March 10
From: Cyrodiil, the Wastelands, and BFE TN



=9=
~Commencement of Trouble~

I can tell you struggled with the writing of this chapter due to the heavy content you were imparting here. In the places where the descriptions were the most convoluted and hard to follow; the story was taking a deep swerve in plot = one of those amazing plot twists you are famous for!

Example:

QUOTE

I shivered violently, as if someone had thrown open at my back in the dead of winter a portal on Skyrim.


(very hard to imagine visually; breaks the momentum of the chapter a bit trying to capture your meaning at first = a smooth visually imaginable description here would have probably worked better)

I did understand what Kraven was feeling though; and it made sense with the turns the plot was taking = even to the point where it felt like what he was feeling was actually driving the plot forward. Really amazing writing; and despite the awkwardness of a couple descriptions I can feel the wheels turning inexorably in Kraven's mind. I can see his plan for the fight with the Orc, that was blatant in the last chapter too. But that won't stop these men; his plan has to cover a lot more than that fight if his mother is to be safe. And regardless he hates and is sickened by that weakness he sees in his Father = I think he will do what he can to save him too, just because of who he is.

Awesome Write !!!!






This post has been edited by mALX: Nov 6 2017, 03:13 PM


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Acadian
post Nov 6 2017, 08:24 PM
Post #45


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Nicely done!

Like BretonBlood, I'm anxious to learn if the blond hair and woman's scream do indeed mean another werewolf and, if so, if she is who I think! I'm trying to hold my hopes in check for the moment in case I'm mistaken. . . .


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mALX
post Nov 6 2017, 09:39 PM
Post #46


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Joined: 14-March 10
From: Cyrodiil, the Wastelands, and BFE TN






=10=
~Werewolves? Where? Wolves? Men that are wolves?~

Holy Crap! This is one of your best written chapters EVER! You were at your best in every way in this chapter with your spectacular world building about the werewolf transformations beginning with the scent of dog strengthening as the moon that would transform him was approaching; the hair in his ears thickening and lengthening as that moon approached. Then how the moon took on a different look to him than any other moons; that darkening where his vision is actually changing to the biological functioning of a beastial preditor = this chapter is HUGE !!!! Your imagination and creativity is the greatest I've ever seen it here = AMAZING WRITE !!!!!!!!!

Where is that bowing down emoticon, you absolutely have earned it with this chapter !!!!!!!!!!








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Renee
post Nov 12 2017, 07:05 PM
Post #47


Master
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Cripes man, wow, what a change! That was intense! Such a shame he couldn't have gone after one of those bad men who are messing with his father. Of course, this wouldn't work in the middle of the Imperial City.

That was really intense though! The story went from placid to paranoid, it kinda caught me off-guard.
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Darkness Eternal
post Nov 13 2017, 04:36 PM
Post #48


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Joined: 10-June 11
From: The Hunting Grounds




BretonBlood: Thanks BretonBlood! As the moons come closer, their senses must go wild.
Hmm there lies the problem. He can get away with it once or twice, but if it becomes a habit it’ll only be so long before they’ll suspect something is awry.
Let’s find out!!

mALX: Thanks mALX. I’ll definitely revise and keep descriptions more simple. We writers do get carried away sometimes wink.gif

The plot can be defined by this: Lycus comes home. Fixes other problems while trying to handle his own. There will be more smaller episodes we can call “side-quests.”
He’ll indeed have to make long-term plans for the Bravilian Brigands. And he may or may not do it with some help!

Acadian: Heh. Hold onto your hopes. We’ll discover more on this chapter. Thanks Acadian!!

Renee: Part of a werewolf’s lifestyle is discretion. Lycus will have to essentially live a double-life now. He would`ve made short work of those men but at the same time he’d be marked for life by the entire population. And Lycus wouldn’t want to put any innocent people in danger as he’s done before. Thanks!


Previously on Per Aspera Ad Astra: Lycus leaves his home for a short period and goes out to the Great Forest to transform. Upon transforming, he hears a most curious sound.

=11=
~Werewolves? Where? Wolves? (Wo)men that are wolves?~


A thin sliver of morning sunlight came in through the treetops and burned on my face like the glowing edge of a heated knife. That, coupled with the scent of the poisonous monkshood and primrose, caused me to sit up in alarm.

Gods! Where am I?

I cradled my head in my hand as I rose to my feet, and looked around the forest I found myself in. My distress all suddenly devoured—as I turned my eyes away from these surroundings—by the Nord beauty standing there before me. I felt bitterly befuddled, and when I realized I was blood-covered and naked, a wave of desolation swept over me, but this view soothed me. She was something to look at, a sedative for weary nerves and bones. I felt my mind becoming hopelessly entangled with her face, her wide eyes, her disordered sweat-damp blonde hair. Sunshine streamed down on her through the leaves of the trees. She was dressed in nothing but mire, sticks and blood. She was completely naked. In the freckled light, with the faintest mist of perspiration on her brow, there was something charming and stubbornly fierce about her, though not altogether sexless, and unbelievable.

It looked as if she had been awakened from a deep slumber, too.

The Nord showed me a look that made it abundantly clear I had become savvy to her deepest and perhaps darkest secret, whether I wanted to or not. And in turn, I felt she had the same feeling as I had.

“Who are you?” she was saying, looking confused and drowsy.

“I’m Lycus,” I told her, stupefied. I heard her screaming last night. My memories was hazy but I remembered hunting with another wolf. "Farmer . . . I live around here."

I couldn’t guess her age but she was young; her skin was the color of oiled alabaster, and streaks of sun coiled through her wild mass of golden hair. Her arms were bloodied, and cabled with long muscle under half a spoon of fat, or less. Her legs were long and hard under a firm buttocks that swayed with each passing step. The slanting sun raised a curtain of shadow across her face, and she looked at me as she backed away into the safety of the shrubs to conceal her modesty.

I heard her gulp some air with incredible rapidity. I think she went into that state of hyperventilation and I thought for a moment that she might black out completely. She was cautious.

I could feel the tidal ebb of nature around her in the curling shifts of breeze, the dry crisp crunch of her feet upon the grass-sap smell that curdled into a musk of sweat and deer piss. Her nostrils flared, and she took in my scent. Perhaps to confirm our similar conditions.

“You’re a werewolf . . . I . . .” I said softly. “I don't want any trouble. I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just as confused as you are. You got a name?”

This woman was instantly familiar, but from where precisely I could not tell—until all of a sudden I recalled it from a happier period before my days as a slave reproduced on my mind. By the Nine Divines! was all I could think.

We’ve crossed paths before, several years ago, in this very same forest. It was an evening unlike any other. She was searching for the shrine of Hircine, and seemed insistant on the subject of werewolves. Seeing her, like this, only makes sense. This was Vera Castius. Upon a time, a most-wanted woman in Cyrodiil, presumed long-dead. How in Oblivion did she manage to stay around here after what happened?

Vera turned her head slowly to one side, then the other. At one moment her eyes was as the sun, warm and sparkling; and then she had cast the orange-red of bright summer fire. She looked at me out of a long, hard stare that never ceased.

“What’s your name?” I said, louder. “You know, I think we've met before. Long ago.”

She blinked, and thus seemed more calm as she noticed my discomfort. She looked bored as she seemed indecisive on what to do.

“Damn it.” I felt like an idiot, standing naked there in the open. “Are you going to speak at all?"

Her chest rose and fell briefly: a little huff of disappointment. “Not if I don’t have to.”

“Gods.” I scowled and looked around. I could imagine the grin Shavaash would be wearing about now, and it made me want to punch somebody. “Look. I don’t want any trouble. I didn’t come all this way to hang you, or arrest you, or do anything to you at all. I don’t give a rat’s ass about what you've just killed. I just want to know what happened."

“All right.”

He blinked. She still looked bored. Or perhaps still dazed.

“What do you mean, `all right`?”

“If you want to know what happened, you already know that we're both werewolves and we killed something last night.” She made me feel, somehow, uncomfortable. “And you’ve seen me without any clothes. I’d say there’s nothing more you need to know.”

“Well—” I shifted my weight. “That's obvious.”

She nodded. “It is, isn't it.”

“So . . . . what's your name?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

My scowl deepened. I shook my head and made myself unclench fists I didn’t remember making. “I have a feeling talking to you is going to anger me.”

She gave me a fiery look of her golden eyes. “Then don’t.”

These words, spoken by this woman as she covered her chest, had an effect on my desire which I knew forever after would render insipid the word aphrodisiac. I was beyond simple desire, born away rather in a near-swoon of lust. Couldn’t she know what she did to me with this speech, with those simple, fierce words which assailed like sharp spears the bastion of my own gentility, with its aching repressions and restraints?

I was so overcome by excitement that the entire morning—the birds, white clouds, even the sound of a distant waterfall—was suddenly steeped in glow, as if seen through a glass of beer. I gazed at this woman in her new pose as she walked off—the long white legs merging with the firm cushioned bottom, an ample but symmetrical roundness which in turn flowed slightly down then upward into a milky, lightly freckled back, sleek as a seal’s.

The woman must have anticipated my staring, for she soon twisted her head around and said to me, “Don’t stare at me!” From this moment of slippery intimacy—I took one last, long glance across her shoulders and down her back to the beginning cleft of her buttocks, a tiny nook suggestively fair of hue, then with even more intensity in the air above the rump and on further to the mysterious regions between her thighs, ashine with sweat and dirt—

She turned around to face me now. Angry.

I squinted up at her, and said out loud, “I need clothes. I woke up further off than I anticipated.”

She looked over her shoulder. Something about the slope behind her was apparently a lot more interesting than I was. She crouched down and motioned for me to do the same. I heard voices down below on the road; I found myself looking at her back and then a quarter ton of horse arse. A Legion soldier was riding a bay horse, which flipped up its tail and squeezed out a turd as big as his head.

It plopped on the slope, black-green and wet and steaming faintly in the crisp air.

“And now I ask myself, why in Oblivion would I want to talk to a damn crazy-looking naked woman in the first place?”

“I could tell you,” she said, still seeming to be interested in the soldier patrolling on the road. “But you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Aye, okay.” I glanced toward where she was looking. I caught her eye. “Well I'll just take my leave. I’d say it was nice to meet you again if it, y’know, was.”

I felt her attention return to me. I had a sense for that kind of thing: a warm tingle lit up his back like sunlight.

She sniffed. "Patrols are all over the roads. Bandit activity increased their numbers. It’s not going to work out for you. Unless of course you tell them you were bewitched and was left naked.”

I could hear a big bay’s hooves shuffling unhurriedly among the brush and bracken. It was coming toward me from behind. I turned and saw them move several feet away from me. More horses. More riders.

“Don’t stare at the horses too much,” she whispered.

I went still. This wasn’t a freeze; just the opposite. All tension flowed out from me, and I stood relaxed and balanced and if I could stay here with another member of my kind, that suited me right down to the road-rot between my toes. “Is there a reason why I shouldn’t?”

“Don’t look straight at the horses when they're near,” she said, still with that tone of patient explanation that made me want to administer a suicidal potion. “You have predator eyes.”

“I bet you say that to all the men.”

“Horses get edgy around our kind, dumbass. It'll alert the riders."

I ratcheted my head around to look up at her over my shoulder. “What?”

“It'll alert the riders,” she repeated absently, gazing off toward where Legionnaires rode off away from them. “This is how we predators see the world.”

I was a long way short of giving a damn about details of taxonomy. “Did you just call me dumbass?

From this close, the smoothness around her eyes said she was probably closer in her mid-twenties than thirty. Probably. “Were you being a dumbass?”

“I—” Damn it. “I don't know. Maybe I was?”

“Then why are you complaining?”

I shook my head in frank disbelief. “Woman, people have died for trash-talking me.”

“Not lately.”

I didn’t ask what made her so sure; I had an uneasy feeling she’d tell me. I stared up at her. I had a really good view of the underside of her fine straight jaw and firm, graceful neck, but I wasn’t seeing her. I was seeing an older huntress long departed from life, from several months ago in the afterlife: lithe and fast in the form of a human, and three hundred pounds of muscle, fur and sinew weathered to the color of snow when in the form of a beast.

After the patrols were gone, she burst into action.

This woman faded back into a ravine mouth, then swung out along the base of the north face of a large tree. She moved like a ghost, a wisp of vapor borne by the wind: while it blew hard enough to cover her footsteps, she trotted through scrub that now thickened to bushes. When she stopped, so did I.

The scrub had given way to thick grass almost knee-high that smelled weedy and full of sap like our bodies. She climbed the tree where she finished ungirthing a massive bag, then she yanked it off and tossed it heedlessly over her shoulder like a soiled pillow where it bounced and tumbled down the slope.

She opened the bag, and pulled out a set of clothing; shirt, pants, undergarments, shoes and a few potions. I was impressed; she had been doing this for a long time. She concealed herself behind a bush, where she started to dress. Her makeshift wardrobe took on the appearance of ill-handled rags, or a collection of aging trappings in some old and forgotten dusty ruin. The undershirt she was wearing was clean enough, but it reeked of meals she probably couldn’t remember eating.

Vera emerged from the bushes, and pointed a finger at the bag. "There's something in there that might fit you. Help yourself out. Bring me the bag when you're done. I'm going to cover my tracks, and get rid of the remains." With those words she left my presence and headed further into the forest.

It never occurred to me not to follow.


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"Every human spends a night or two on the dark side and regrets it. But what if you only exist on the dark side? We just want the same things that you do: a chance at life, at love. And so we try and sometimes fail. But when you're something other, a monster, the consequences are worse. Much worse. You wake up from your nightmares. We don't."
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Acadian
post Nov 13 2017, 07:13 PM
Post #49


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Woot! Lycus and Vera! What a magical meeting - full of tension, humor and mystery. Seems like the Slayer of Beasts has met his match! tongue.gif


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mALX
post Nov 13 2017, 07:47 PM
Post #50


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GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


KAAABOOOOOOOOM !!!!!!!!!!!!!



*mALX's head explodes*



VERA !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WOOOOOOOOOOOT !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!



AWESOME WRITE !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!









This post has been edited by mALX: Nov 13 2017, 07:48 PM


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BretonBlood
post Nov 13 2017, 10:43 PM
Post #51


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I KNEW IT! It could only have been the one and only lovely Vera. What a way to introduce her into this story.

I loved the banter between the two, she comes across as much wiser, which she is, than Lycus and felt like a master condescending and training her pupil Lycus because he is a total beginner at this whole werewolf business.

Awesome chapter!


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“People love that cliché ‘Time heals all wounds’ but live long enough you realize that most clichés are true. It’s amazing what even the smallest passage of time can accomplish…the cuts can close, the imperfections it can smooth over. But in the end it comes down to the size of the wound, doesn’t it....”
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