Draven MacKinty vs Galen
McGown
MY Advisor seems to have taken the week off, so again I have nothing substantive to do, so guess I'll write another little story. I think I will do something with that guy who was a werewolf and was trying to kill me, don’t know if y'all remember it... Anyway, I figure I'll write something to resolve that., since I'm bored as hell...
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Draven MacKinty stood in the shadows of the butchers street stand as the procession marched by. A contingent of foot soldiers was leading a half-drunken group of rabble along the streets in celebration of another victorious skirmish along one of the border passes. A few more goblins dead wouldn't make any difference, thought Draven, but let them have their fun. IT was too late for them all, though they didn’t realize it, darkness had already seized control of this land. These simple peasants didn’t realize it because they were weak. Weak of mind, weak of body. Even if they understood the true horror of what was happening, they had neither the courage nor the strength to do anything about it. These folk were sheep in every sense of the word 'Well,' thought Draven running His hand over his fastidiously shaved scalp, 'I am not weak. the time has come to end this madness.' He grinned and took a bite of the raw deer meat hanging from one of the hooks in the stand.
* * * * * * * *
Galen McGown stood in the rippling shadows of the big elm tree, watching the bear drink from the cool mountain stream. Galen had spent the day scouting the borders, looking for signs of the Dark Armies, White Cloaks, or worst of all, and invasion by Gabriel Archon's minions. Though his ties to the land let him sense such infractions from the comfort of the castle, Galen liked to get out into the woods whenever he could. The
stuffy castle air still smelt of death and the tomb to him. Also, much of the time he would rather face that elder vampire from his past again than go through another day with the beurocrats and the Council politics. Besides, he could not always trust his feel of the land, he knew all too well the presence of entire armies could be masked with the right magics. Sometimes the only way to find the enemy was to physically run into them.
The bear finished his drink and snorted loudly, stirring Galen from his reverie. The half dozen rangers on patrol with him were likely hungry, and besides, it had been a while since Galen had gone hunting.
With a snarl, Galen let the feral predator instinct take control. The power of his lupine form began to permeate his bones and sinews, slowly taking over. The mandates, politics, and drudgery of the day to day were world were suddenly very far away indeed. The only thing he could think of was the taste of fresh bears blood. The bear realized something was amiss, but far to late to do anything about. he turned, confident in his ability to face whatever threat was lurking in the undergrowth, only to be met with fur and fangs flying at his throat. With a cry of fear and pain, the bear stood to rear on his hind legs, his paw swinging madly at this bloodthirsty predator. His defenses were too little and too late, the huge wolf shook the life out of him before the old bear could muster any opposition. Galen helped himself to a share of the fresh meat before returning to his human form. His baser instincts satisfied for the time, Galen started a fire and began to carve up the carcass. The rangers would see the smoke and join him soon for the tasty feast that Galen was preparing.
* * * * * * * * *
Half a dozen dark shapes slunk through the deepening shade of the forest. Draven MacKinty could feel the warm raw feral power of his wolf form, simultaneously sickening and exhilarating. The rest of the pack loped along beside him, oblivious to Draven's musing, but intent to follow his will. Draven had killed the old pack leader, after all, it would not be prudent to try to deny him control. Draven was an abomination in his mind, a lycanthrope. But his affliction was not without cause. It was Rowans will that he take this form. It was a curse, true. But it gave him the strength that ordinary men could not possess. His suffering was a necessary evil, a means to an end. It was Draven's divine purpose to use his affliction to destroy the abomination that plagued Barovia, that beast-man who called himself McGown. A creature so despicable and outside the guiding light of Rowan that he actually reveled in his blasphemous state. Such a one as McGown was so far beyond redemption that his continued life could not be tolerated by any Rowan-fearing man. Draven's humanity had been ripped from him one night long ago by the jaws of a werewolf, but that sacrifice has been part of the divine Plan. Now Draven would fulfill his destiny. Galen had left the castle with only a handful of weak men, Draven had watched this himself. Finally the time was at hand. Rowan be praised! Rowan be praised!
* * * * * * * * *
Galen and the men laid out the bedrolls around the dying embers, their bellies full of good fresh meat. Lazy from the meal, Galen stretched out on the mat, his tongue searching for any missed chunks of food on his teeth. A wolf howled in the distance, and Galen had to check himself to keep from answering. His men knew about his wolf-form, but still it could make some people nervous. If nothing else, Galen considered it polite to remain in human form around company. He turned up to look at the clear sky, wondered what mysteries the stars held. Perhaps old Madame Eva would know the answer to that, he thought as he closed his eyes and let sleep overtake him.
* * * * * * * * *
Draven paused to sniff the trail while the rest of the pack lapped water from the nearby stream. This pack was a rogue pack. Unlike most wolves, they didn’t have any set territory, but rather roamed across fast distances, staying where the game was good. Since they often trespassed into another packs territory because of this lifestyle, they had learned to be ever alert and aggressive. The scars that adorned most of the pack were a testament to the battles they had fought over food and land, and the fact that these animals were still alive attested to their ability to send most packs running away whimpering with their tails between their legs. A lean hungry lot, they were. And just the proper tools to carry out Rowan's will against this godless McGown.
With a loud cry, Draven called the pack from their refreshment and set off down the trail. There was an odd smell that seemed to cross McGown's trail every now and then, waxing and waning. It was a rank smell, repulsive and unsettling. It waxed and waned, but set the hairs on his back on end. Draven sensed that the other wolves felt the same way. The pack crossed another stream and slunk into the now dark foliage, silent as death.
Then, his nose was assailed with that peculiar stench. There was no mistaking it now, it was the reek of death and decay. And whatever it was -- was very close. Without having to tell them, the rest of the pack circled toward the flanks of this new scent. Draven bared his teeth in a silent growl and crept forward towards the source of this reek. Then he saw it, in front of him. IT looked like a man, but it was not. As Draven crept closer he could see that most of the flesh had rotted away from this creature, leaving little more that a skeleton. So, McGown was consorting with the undead, those abominations that had cheated death to serve their dark master. This was not surprising, with one so prostituted to evil as this McGown. Well, it would take more than zombie guards to keep the Baron from getting his due. 'Hearken Sinner, for the dead themselves shalt not be deaf to the voice of our Lord' prayed Draven silently as he leapt upon the creature. The skeletal head turned about in a wordless cry as the wolf fangs closed around its neck. 'Nor shalt they escape his righteous fury' Draven spat out the fowled remains of the dispatched monster. The threshold was unguarded, now it was Rowans will that he slay that far fouler heretic, the once called McGown. The rogue pack regrouped around their leader and followed him into the woods, the scent of men growing stronger in their noses.
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coming soon! the exciting conclusion, on the next episode of 'The products of Andy's boredom'
Here is the rest of the story I started yesterday for those who are interested. Also, let me take this time to harass Joe: Keep on finishing up your new guy! or else! or something....
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Galen woke with a start, his ears straining to part the silent darkness. Had he heard something? No, no, must have been a dream. Galen rolled over and closed his eyes.
* * * * * * * * * *
The rogue wolves flitted through the darkness like shadow phantoms, hanging just on the heels of the large wolf form of Draven MacKinty. Draven could sense that McGown was close, and growing closer all the time. He thought back to their last encounter, about five years ago. They had met in the castle, Draven had wanted to warn the new lord about the werewolf danger. Little had he known that this new Baron was one of the abominations himself. McGown had tried to tell him that his lycanthopy was a gift of some pagan god. Well, McGown may have sold his souls to the Dark One, but Draven would not be tempted. Perhaps he would give McGown a chance to speak before he killed him. Yes, it would be gratifying to hear him beg for mercy. But then again, it might not be wise. Humbleness before Rowan, lest thy arrogance be thy undoing, he quoted from memory. Best not risk it. kill McGown, then revel in the victory afterwards. Draven's paws beat silently on the pine carpeted forest floor. It would not be long now...
* * * * * * * * * *
Sitting bolt upright, a familiar scent assailed Galen's nose. Wolves, and close by. He shook the sleep from his head and grabbed the green-hued sword into his hand. There could be trouble. Galen's sharp ears could hear the movements of many animals passing by the camp. They did seem to be coming for him, but they could just be circling...
* * * * * * * * * *
Draven licked his jaws in anticipation, just over that hill. Suddenly, a strange scent came upon him. IT was wolf, but not one of the rogues. And not McGown. Two dozen or more grey shape materialized without any announcement, positioned all around Draven's little pack. Without any noise they closed in. They were wolves, apparently a local pack here to defend their territory. His rogues could fight well, but they were severely outnumbered. This McGown had the devils own luck. IF only this local pack had found them just an hour later...
Snarling and snapping the rogues formed a loose circle as the others closed in. from behind a tree emerged a gigantic wolf, almost as big a horse. Its smell seemed to Draven's a little like McGown's, but that was probably just his imagination. the strangest thing was that there seemed to be a woman riding this huge creature.
The wolf and rider stepped forward, illuminated by a moonbeam sifting through the trees. She was a young redheaded woman, dressed in tattered green and animal hides, filthy with dirt and grime. She laughed as she approached Draven. It was a lyrical wild unearthly laugh, and it made Draven shudder despite himself. And eerier yet, the huge wolf she was riding also made sort of laughing sound, which came out a mix of a cackle and a snarl.
'Greetings, brother', said the strange girl, alighting from her mount. She strode closer, sniffing the air. You are blessed by the forest, yet you still reek of people. It reminds me of someone it does.' She threw her head back and cackled hysterically. 'You and your friends,' she said, adding a gesture towards the rogue pack, have intruded on our forest. Our forest kills the weak.' The huge wolf made a noise that had to be some sort of chuckle. 'My blood brother', said the girl, 'thinks maybe you can live if you run now. But I think it doesn’t matter. You will die either way.' She tossed her wild red hair and laughed again, but the first shrill notes turned hoarse and deep. with an fluid motion, the girls sinewy body transformed into rippling muscles an red fur. With a snarl she leapt forward, followed closely by the rest of the pack.
* * * * * * * * * *
The four rangers formed a circle around Galen. The sounds of animals fighting could be heard in the woods, not too far off. Galen had his sword ready, the enchanted vines forming a protective covering around him. The noise of the battle died down slowly and was replaced by a deep silence. Galen could hear his own heart beating. Then they saw a shape emerge from the woods. IT was a red-headed girl riding a tremendous wolf. Galen pushed in front of the rangers and set his sword point down in the ground. 'Daughter, Son. Greetings'
'Hello, father' said the girl, 'I've brought you a present.' The huge wolf beneath her emitted one his disturbing chuckles. Galen could just make out a small package in the girls arms.
'What have you brought me, daughter?' In response, the girl and wolf laughed in unison as she tossed her burden into the light of the moon and dying embers of the campfire. IT was a human head, shaved of hair.
'Recognize him, father?' Galen's stomach turned. IT was the werewolf he met some five years past. Galen had hoped the man would come to grips with his lycanthropy, but it looked like that his emotional problems were the least of this fellows problems.
'He was going to kill you.'
Galen was not especially surprised to hear that. 'Why did you stop him?'
'Why father, you know that the leader always protects her pack.' She laughed as Galen snarled, his wolf head unconsciously forming. 'You still carry the strong stench of people. you are too weak to protect yourself. Galen had fully assumed his wolf form as began approaching her, his back bristling. 'Now now father, even if you could stop me, you must admit the will of the pack favors me. Galen paused a moment, and noticed that the camp was surrounded with grey shadows, the rest of his daughters pack. 'And besides, dearest father, your weak friends would not want to find themselves in a middle of a fight for the pack, yes?' Galen knew his men were good, but they would be torn to ribbons by these animals. Growling he backed down. 'That’s a good boy. There will be another time, believe me... but not yet. But remember your place here. It is the forest that owns you, the wild pack that owns you truly. You can't hide in that man-castle forever. you know where you belong. One way or another I own you father, I own you.' With another unearthly laugh the girl and the wolves disappeared into the embrace of the darkened forest
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well, guess that’s all the 'work' I feel like today. guess I’ll go to the coffee shop and get my caffeine fix and gawk at the hot babes.