Private Tales Howls of the Damned

[Roul]

The dungeon stank of piss, shit, and mildew. This deep within the black stone fortress of Cerak At'Thul the temperatures dipped uncomfortably cold. No windows here and normally pitch black, Roul guessed, but they lit a few guttering torches for him.

He shifted and the heavy, enchanted chains around his hands and feet rattled.

Supposed he shouldn't be surprised that they had such suitable chains on hand with a full moon approaching. He probably wasn't the first lycanthropy victim amid their little menagerie of freaks. Although the chains were rather large. Maybe they had a minotaur down here, who knew.

He had barely glimpsed the other residents of his temporary abode and heard little besides occasional whimpering from their cells. He supposed he should be grateful. The dungeon's denizens could be screaming in terror. And maybe they would be, he had only been down here a day - or so he thought. That horned-man, Gwyddion, had seen what he was the moment their eyes met. Gwyddion promised it wasn't permanent. Roul didn't have much of a choice.

None of them did since shipwrecking on this isle.

Roul looked up at the soft padding of footsteps.

"Keres?" he rasped, hopeful.

 

[Elide]

Elide never enjoyed the dungeons. In fact, her distaste was so strong that it was a rarity for her to visit. She favored letting those who found themselves locked away rot. And most did, if the stench was any sort of evidence for their fates. It was an unfortunate circumstance that she found herself descending the worn staircase into the pits of Cerak At'Thul's Black Fortress dungeons. For her and for him.

Admittedly, she was embarrassed when she did not immediately sense that the rugged man from the shipwrecked crew was afflicted with lycanthropy. His scent should have alerted her, but she simply brushed off that hideous odor of wet dog and assumed it had belonged to one of the other...creatures...in his merry band of pirates or whatever it was they claimed to be. Her task was to watch over them, which she did. And despite a change in clothing, despite bathing them, she could not rid the air of that god awful scent.

Individually, she trailed them all. Roul last. And only when the moon had crept closer to its fullest stage had she noticed the signs that had been staring her in the face all along. A shift in his mood, he seemed more aggressive than he had been when he arrived. It was nothing short of luck when the guards had caught him and chained him so far beneath the earth before he could shift into the beast he hid.

Approaching the final floor of the dungeon, she crept through the labyrinth of metal doors- feet nearly silent from years of training with the stealth of an assassin. Not silent enough, it seemed, as she heard his voice three cells before his own. She should have kept to the shadows. Observed and then acted.

"What is to be expected of your condition?" She ignored the question he asked and stared down at him, her eyes like a white flame, stark and brilliant even in the darkness of the dungeon. Eyes of the unknown ancient powers and untamed fury trapped within. "I presume this shift is involuntary. Is that correct?"

 

[Roul]

Oh. Roul thought, disappointment tinging his thoughts as the woman emerged from the flickering shadows cast by the torchlight. Her.

He shifted in his seat on the bench - the sole furniture in the cell which he supposed doubled as both bed and seat - and turned away from her, golden eyes staring at the wall.

The way she spoke made his lips curl in a defiant sneer beneath his beard. Such clipped, demanding words from that pretty little mouth, as if she expected no less than total obedience. And those wide, white eyes, watching from that thin, pale face.

An image of claws raking across supple, blanch skin and a spatter of scarlet. Roul could feel the hunger, gnawing within him. A rabid beast slavering at the leash, full of hate and desperately ravenous. It wanted to know.... wanted to know what that pale meat tasted like. He rolled a shoulder, causing the chains to rattle.

"Hmn," he grunted tersely in some primitive affirmation, his words a low growl, "Why don't you come past those bars and find out."

A defiant amber gaze flickered to her, meeting eyes that seemed far too old.

 

[Nicomo]

There is a distant, echoing cry in the dungeons.​

​

"Sword? Sword? SWORD!"​

 

[Elide]

A heavy thud was heard deep within the dungeons. The sound of one of her guards striking the sword-obsessed lunatic in the head to knock him out, hopefully.

She watched, just watched. Quietly observing the half-feral man as he turned away from her. She wondered when his shifting would occur, though she had no worries that they could not contain him here. She was only curious.

So far below ground, it was dark enough to be night. Elide knew, however, that she had an hour or so before the moonrise. An hour to determine the threat he posed. An hour to put him down like the filthy dog he is.

The scowl on her face shifted into a chilling smile. "Very well, my dear werewolf." She purred, her voice dripping with malice. She had no key for the cells, nor would she wish to draw the attention towards this cell with its old iron creaking and the metallic clanging it would make, shutting behind her. Her smile and the burning eyes were the last thing he would see before she disappeared, engulfed in the shadows that seemed to hover around her.

A moment later, the shadows in his own cell flickered and she emerged from within, standing before him in his locked cage.

Her steps were deliberate, predatory, and she reveled in the amber gaze that followed her, just as the shadows behind seemed to do- as if they could come to her defense if he was truly a threat.

"Now, now. There is no need for such hostility." She cooed, her sinister grin widening. "After all, you are in my domain. In my dungeons. In my cell. Locked down with my chains. You won't hurt me." She crouched down for a closer inspection of the man. She appeared to bear no weapons, but perhaps it was because she was far more dangerous herself. "Should I ask my question again, or will you give me the answer?"

 

[Roul]

The shadows cast by the torches seemed to move of their own accord, flickering around the woman as tendrils of smoke. They warped around her and in a blink she stood before him, basking in the hatred of his gaze, as if she reveled in the attention.

Roul’s eyes snapped wider and his nostrils flared. Magic. He should have known.

The lithe sorceress knelt before him with a wicked grin creeping up her maroon lips. His gaze went to her pale neck, eyeing the tendons standing out from her collarbone.

This close, he could smell her. Complex notes, sweet and waxy, that reminded him of lilies.

The hair on the back of his neck rose. His mouth watered. Fingers tightened around links of chain and sinews bunched, coiling taut. The muscles in his jaw writhed as he clenched his teeth and he spoke between them in a rasp.

“You want an answer?”

He bared incisors, a gleam of white amid his matted beard.

“Without these chains I would rip out your throat and guzzle on your blood.” His mouth twitched, “Maybe eat your corpse after.”

A deep breath in through the nose, then he slowly let it out and shifted away from her, facing the wall again.

“Involuntary.”

 

[Elide]

Had there been any feelings of fear, Elide did not show them. In fact, her smile only grew as she watched him struggle against the chains. She leaned in close, close enough for him to act. If he chose to do so, he'd feel something stronger than the metal holding him prisoner. From the corner of his eyes, he could already see the dark tendrils of shadow creeping closer, forming hands far bigger than any human's reinforcing the chains. Keeping him still.

She refused to let her nose crinkle as he released a breath, hot and foul smelling, as she inspected him more closely. Lingering on his eyes, he would be greeted by the raging inferno where her eyes were. A fire that burned with not warmth, but an icy cold flame that revealed an insatiable hunger unbound by the laws of the living realm. A fire that knows no end but death itself. Death herself.

"I figured that might be so." She sneered, mocking his lack of control just inches from the teeth he bared. Despite her demeanor, she still understood a bond between the two of them: the primal instinct to survive by whatever means necessary. "How unfortunate."

Those last words were like spitting him in the face as she pulled herself away to pace about the filthy cell. "How long have you suffered with such an affliction?"

 

[Roul]

“The fuck do you care?” He growled.

Roul tried to turn away, but he could feel dark magic keeping him in place, like the invisible hands of a giant. Annoyance flashed through him, a spark of anger against the kindling in his chest.

Unable to turn away, his amber gaze settled on her, watching the smooth gait of her steps. Alert. Hungry. Violent.

What kind of person chooses to enter the cage of a werewolf ready to turn? An arrogant fool… or someone supremely capable.

Roul wondered which she was and ran a tongue along the back of his gums. The urge to rip her apart roiled within him. Not for her coy cruelty, but out of pure hunger. He felt his flesh prickle.

It wouldn’t be long now.

 

[Elide]

"Dear werewolf, there is no need for such resistance." She did not so much as react to the starving gaze he held on her. Her shadowy hands pulled tighter at his chains, the one on his neck hardest. She tried to yank him backward to look up at her. Into her eyes.

"You belong to me now. Body, mind, and your soul." She chuckled. They had cut a deal with the wardens in exchange for their lives. Of course, Elide would not break the bargain and take his life. But there was much room left in their deal. The Wardens would not have agreed if it did not favor them.

As far as Elide was concerned, the only part she was required to follow was keeping them alive as long as they obeyed. Her own voice shifted from the sickeningly sweet honey laced with immorality. "You will learn to obey, to submit to my every command." Her voice was dark, a whisper promising pain and suffering if he chose to disobey. "Like the dog you are."

 

[Roul]

Rage, primal and savage, searingly cold within his heart. Adrenaline surged through his body and he lunged for her then, in the moment where her shadows pulled him closer to her.

His hand snapped out, wrist scraping against the enchanted iron and tugging flesh with it at the force of his movement. This close to the full moon, even the shadow magic could not hold him back without more focus. His fingers sought to wrap around her throat and pull her toward his snarling face.

"I'd rather die."

Rolf Red-Hand, wild eyed and haunted, struggled with his lupine demon. No amount of pain she could inflict would possibly worse than the suffering and self-loathing Roul inflicted on himself.

 

[Elide]

His lashing about like a feral beast should have sent Elide running like it would any other sane person. Perhaps her heart skipped a beat when he lunged and for a moment, she wondered if her shadows would be able to contain the beast. Still, she allowed him to get closer and even tossed back her long white hair to expose the neck he wished so desperately to crush.

"Oh that is too bad, isn't it?" Her laugh was like ice, face alight with sadistic pleasure. A dark tendril gently caressed the werewolf's face as she taunted him. "I will admit, it is quite delightful to see you in such a pitiful state. A whimpering beast. Caged and helpless."

She moved, circling around him as he struggled against the iron shackles. A predator and her prey.

"How naïve you are, werewolf. It was not a question. You were given no options. You lot are all nothing more than playthings for me. Puppets. And oh how I intent to play with you all." Darkness pulsed around her filling the cell with a chill colder than the night. Cold as death. "To break you all, body and souls, until there is nothing left but hollow shells..." She purred, her breath icy on his own skin.

"However, if you'd rather die that certainly can be arranged. Go ahead. Touch me." A shadow seemed to hover over her. Several feet taller. It had eyes of its own, burning white just like its master.

 

[Roul]

Blood oozed from the skin on his wrists peeled away by the iron cuffs as he tugged against them. Madness flickered in his gaze like rays of dancing sunlight through a forest roof, golden-brown. He trembled against his restraints, heedless of the looming darkness behind her. Spittle dribbled down his bearded chin and his breathing came labored as his hour of reckoning drew near.

"I'll remember this. When daylight breaks and Gwyddion pulls these chains off me, I'll remember."

Barking laughter left his lips in a shudder. He recognized her magic from his days hunting abominations for the Radiant Church.

"We'll see if your shadowkin saves you then, you frost-eyed bitch."

His whole body seized up and he let out a ragged scream. His skin started to boil. His limbs twisted unnaturally. There came a cracking, like overgreen wood splintering, as his bones fractured and reknit. The jaw open wide in a scream grew wider and wider until it dislocated, massive fangs tearing through his gums, and the scream turned to a howl. A howl of the damned.

 

[Elide]

The scent of blood hit her nostrils. It was becoming clear that the rusted old iron shackles would not contain the beast. It seemed their time to get to know one another was growing increasingly short. What a pity, she thought to herself. A pity he could not fight the transformation. She sighed aloud, disappointed in his weak constitution. Pity. Pity. Pity.

“I would love to know what you would do to me.“ Her laughter matched the sadistic look in her eyes. “In fact, I pray you make it to see the daylight, dog. But I will warn you. To touch me, or any other Warden, would end your life. And if you were stupid enough to try to kill one of us….” The shadows stirred around her once more, embracing her in a cloak of darkness until only her wicked grin and those burning eyes were all that he could see. “Pray I have mercy on your soul.”

He wouldn’t see her flinch from his screams as the shadows fully encompassed her. No, she would never let anyone see anything except cool confidence and brazen cruelty. She reemerged just outside the cell and turned only long enough to get a glimpse of the beast he strained so hard against before turning on her all too quiet heels and tracking her way back through the dungeons.

 

[Roul]

The next morning he awoke to the sound of a rusty key in an ancient lock. The door to his cell groaned open. Footsteps. A deep, but soft voice, almost a whisper.

“You survive another day, wolf.”

Roul’s eyes fluttered open and he grunted, pushing himself up off the cold stone floor and into a sitting position. In the light of a torch, he saw the horned features of the castle steward.

“Gwyddion,” he rasped.

“Yes,” the horned Fiendborn nodded, “I am sorry for these conditions, wolf. I hope your stay was not too unpleasant, given the nature of your affliction?”

“Elide visited.”

“Ah.” Gwyddion’s face became impassive, but his eyes knowing. He looked at the dirty hay on the floor, then the chains on Roul’s wrists. “Would you like a bath?”

“Mm.”

* * *

After drawing a bath and scrubbing himself clean of all the dungeon muck, Roul donned a nicer set of clothes laid out on the bed, a red and gold jacket with white ruffles on the throat and wrists.

Roul could not recall the last time he’d ever worn anything but a tunic and some chainmail, brigantine, or other light armor.

After slipping on his boots he paused a moment and stared at his reflection in the bronze mirror. Pulled back, sun weathered hair, tanned skin, and eyes that had become slightly sunken with his fitful sleep above a beard. He should get that trimmed.

Right after he took care of another matter…

He stormed up the steps of one of the fortress’ many towers until he found the room. He pounded on the oak door to Elide’s private quarters, wondering if he should break it down.

 

[Elide]

She had played with fire, testing the will of her new companions, she supposed they were called. To her, they were little more than her pets, save for the vampire who had proved to be entertaining company for the night. And like any good pet, she had to test their limits and train them to do what they were supposed to do. Something she figured, may prove to be a difficult task for some of them. The werewolf, in particular.

She only trudged down to the musty dungeons to learn more about him. His control, or lack thereof, could have been catastrophic had they not locked him away for the night. She would be lying to herself if she said whatever he, the wolf, was had not spooked her. It had been years, years, of training her shadows and still she could only hold back a dog for so long. A part of her wondered what would have happened if he did break free. She shuddered at the thought and promised herself that she would find a way to make them stronger and she would never flee from a dog ever again.

She had barely slept that night. Communications with the shadows had shared just how bad it was in the dungeon. How feral and raw and uncontrolled his abilities were. She wondered if would have been better to put him out of his misery. She shadows agreed, but she was not prepared for the public humiliation she'd face if she went against the orders of Ravenna. It would be a flogging if she were lucky.

An uninvited visitor so early in the day? Elide's eyes were drawn to the door as she sat at her dressing table, mixing up skin colored liquids to cover the redness on her neck and the welts that remained there after offering her blood. Curiously, she responded to the pounding. "Enter." Not an offer of permission, an order. The guards outside her rooms had not put a blade through whoever had the unfortunate thought to disturb her so early, so she figured it was a message from either her aunt or her father.

The shadows whispered, but she ignored them and waited.

 

[Roul]

Oh.

The door hadn’t even been locked.

Annoyed, Roul jerked the handle and threw open the heavy oak. The door slammed against the stone behind it.

He stormed inside, a brewing thunderhead of crackling, ill-tempered wroth. His own heartbeat sounded in his ears and he could hear a loud roaring as of wind as the adrenaline surged through him, leaving his limbs trembling with barely restrained rage.

Heavy boots stomped on the wooden floor and he tossed aside boudoir furnishings and footstools accumulated in his path.

“Elide,” he growled, drawing the word out with spite dripping from the syllables like poison, his eyes dark, brows knit together in a grim cloud.

He came toward her where she sat at the dressing table.

“You think you can make me your dog?”

He stabbed a finger at her.

“You think you can control me? ME?”

Something awful burned in those golden eyes. Some terrible hate awakened by her tauntings, but far older and deeper hurts than her prickling words could inflict.

“I’ve slaughtered dozens of men, women, children. Innocent and guilty. Manticores and fell beasts. Mad wizards and necromancers.”

He reached out a hand as he raged, trying to wrap the fingers around her throat and push her up against the wall behind the dressing table.

She awakened the worst part of him. The part that longed to hurt, to break, to maim. The part that reveled in the sick twisted abandon of breaking pretty things.

“What’s one more stupid little girl?”

 

[Elide]

"Wolf." She acknowledged him, just barely, as he stormed through her door and took down a few hanging decorations with his brutish slamming about. She sighed, brushing through her moon-white locks with a bone and boar bristle hair brush. Expensive little thing she'd stolen from a merchant.

Her colorless eyes roamed over him as he came closer. The hint of fear she had shown before fleeing from his cell had vanished with him in this form. Decidedly less threatening, much easier for her shadows to lock down if he decided to act up. Or knock over another stupidly expensive item she chose to dress her room with.

If he had taken a moment to look around during his ranting, he would be greeted with a room fit for the Princess of the Tower. Unlike Elide, who had only ever worn drab shades of black and grey, the room was light. Decorated in ivory and pastels. Decorations from all walks of the larger continent adorning every corner- stolen or purchased on the islands. It seemed the girl may have had a taste for finer things after a life spent working in dirt, shit, and...

She would play whatever game he wished, even so early in the morning.

Hissing in delight, she shoved his hands away from her, but allowed him to corral her towards the wall. "To what do I owe the pleasure, dog?" She purred, her very essence finding pleasure in his suffering. Her black dressing gown seemed to blow on a phantom wind. Dark shadowy tendrils crept up, slinking up his legs and twisting around his arms- their existence a courtesy of her permanently shut curtains.

They pulsed on his wrists, a reminder. "Need I remind you? You are mine. Were you so eager to begin your training that you chose to disturb me so early in the morning?"

 

[Roul]

She swatted away his hands and tendrils of inky darkness curled from her dress, up his legs, and around his wrists - as ethereal as mist and yet he could feel the cruel coldness of their presence - a promise of what they could do should they be commanded.

He hated the way his anger provoked some absurd excitement in her ghostly pale eyes.

"Training?" he mocked, acid dripping from his tongue. "Disturb?"

Heedless of how the exotic paraphernalia spoke to her inner longings, the mercenary marched forward. His bootsteps thudded on the wood with an implacability born of fury and he cornered her like a wolf stalking down a doe. He stood between the bed and the dresser, blocking her exit. The wall loomed behind her and he continued to walk her down until her back would press up against the cold stone.

"You can't control me." His eyes roved over her, a molten look that took in her flowing sable gown and the way it seemed to shift across her porcelain skin as if from a breeze. His gaze settled on her neck and the marks there. He let out a snort of disgust. "You can't even control yourself."

He stretched out one hand, sneering as he pushed through the resistance of the shadowy tendril ensnaring that wrist until a rough, calloused palm cupped the side of her face ungently.

"You know how many mages I've seen begging on their knees, mewling for my mercy after bragging about what their powers could do to me?" A thumb brushed against her chin, , "I took my sword," his thumb moved up and pressed against her lips, as his own peeled back in a sneer, "And I shoved it down their fucking throats."

 

[Elide]

The curtains swayed as a warm breeze blew in through the window. With each movement, the shadows on the walls danced and contorted into eerie, monstrous shapes. Perhaps a threat, should the woman grow tired of her dog's pathetic existence.

Elide remained where she stood, her nightgown- a disgustingly thin thing of silk and lace- trailed along the floor like the train of a wedding gown. She was still as he stomped around though, her sleepy eyes following along with his movements. Some of her shadows, the ones snaking up his legs, had disbursed and rejoined the shadows elsewhere in her room.

She laughed, a chilling sound that echoed on her stony walls. "I won't apologize for one of us having an enjoyable night."

He was trying to threaten her.

Her lips twitched in amusement. A delightfully malicious smile that did not match the blankness of her eyes as her back hit the wall and she shivered at its iciness. He could have his tantrum. And he could enjoy that smug look she wore throughout. He would learn how his rage affected her.

"You really are so poorly trained." She hissed into his disgusting finger before biting down on hit. Hard enough to draw blood. Hard enough to hopefully get him to fuck off. She smirked, blood on her teeth and lips. "I will not get on my knees for you, dog. But you are certainly welcome to try your sword tricks. Let us see where it gets you. Perhaps I will have a new pelt to turn into a rug."

 

[Roul]

He uttered a curse, snatching his hand and glancing down to see droplets of scarlet bubble up from the toothmarks. He looked up and was met with her red grin.

The mercenary did not back away, but he did pause, chest rising and falling with the heavy breaths of his anger, it swirled about his aura, an atramentous cloud.

All this whining about control, about authority. Empty barks, but for the bite she'd just given him.

"What do you want?" he snarled at last. "You want to tame a werewolf, is that it?"

Roul loomed over her, but she seemed to relish it... the threats, the violence, ... the attention. Something clicked into place amid his thoughts and his eyes darkened.

"No. That's not it."

He let out a snort.

Sword tricks. Training. Of course.

Then his eyes did sweep over the room and truly took in their contents at last. They told a tale, but more than that, he could smell it on her, a scent of emotion he'd missed amid the anger and adrenaline. A scent that lingered.

"You're just fucking lonely."