Open Chronicles Wolves At the Gate

[Jorg]

Ixchel Wilds - Near Mallian

It had stared weeks ago.

He couldn't explain it then, and he couldn't explain it now. A siren's song with seemed to ring within the back of his head over and over again. It called out to him, and pulled like rope tied around his very throat. A lead which even the beast within him didn't seem to buck against. Jorg had no understanding of it, and after nearly three weeks time he had finally decided that the call could no longer be ignored.

With permission begged of his beloved Silver, Jorg had set out that very morning and wandered into the wilds that stood just beyond the walls of Mallian. He walked with no map or compass, no direction known.

Only following the call.

It was dusk by the time the song within his head came to a stop,. Raindrops fell from the sky, barely passing through the massive canopy of the wilds. Through the twilight the prince of Mallian could barely make out a fortress standing within the jungle, it's ancient stone walls crumbling and half fallen. Confusion flickered over his features.

He was barely a few miles from the city, and yet he had never heard of a citadel this close to them. Had never read of it in the great library or been told in the stories of his youth. It seemed an oddity, and as he took a step forward he realized that the beast within him agreed. The wolf stirred, fully aware and awake, watching through his eyes as he continued down the hillock and towards the ancient walls.

 

[Asta]

There once was a wolf. A wicked wolf who was all alone. And this wicked, lonely wolf was very, very hungry.

So one day this wolf went to hunt and—

Woof!

Asta, shh. Let me finish the story. This wicked wolf went to hunt. He went far and wide, growing hungrier and hungrier. Until finally, he came across a little white rabbit. But this hungry wolf was smart. He knew that if he chased after the white rabbit it would run and hide. So instead this wicked wolf came up with a plan.

He would befriend the rabbit and protect it from the other beasts in the forest. He would call himself the little white rabbit’s friend. And when the time was right, the wolf would open his jaws and—

. . .
​

Asta jolted awake, looking around her surroundings in feverish panic. She felt the cool air against her bare skin, could feel the slick of sweat still rolling down from her brow and underneath her arms. She was tied up, but the golden rope had loosened up, and so like many months before this one, she shimmied out of her bonds.

She moved with heavy steps towards the spot she had hidden her clothes and gear. With a sluggish, sore and deeply fatigued body, every inch of Asta ached. She fell to her knees, removing the leaves and vines over the hole she had dug and sighed in relief when she saw her things hadn’t been taken. Gingerly, she began to pull her gear out and it wasn’t long until she was dressing herself.

For weeks now, Asta had been having dreams, a strange occurrence since she never seemed to remember her dreams. But the waking dream felt like a memory. Despite that, she couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something off about it. A frown pulled her lips downwards as she thought over the dream. A big black wolf had been invading her dreams before she had shifted.

All it ever did was stalk and prowl around a place that was pure white. Snow? Had to be snow, it always left behind a trail of large paw prints. And when it growled and raised it’s tail, Asta could do nothing but follow.

She wasn’t sure if it was the dream or something else, but she had found herself making her way to the Ixchel Wilds. A strange place to feel drawn to, especially when she had never been there before. There must be a big bad wolf that needed slaying.

---

Or a abandoned temple that needed a entire cleaning team. Asta’s entire face was made up a undeniable displeased grimace. Her nose was wrinkled up and she glared at everything she set her gold eyes on. Spiders and other bugs were crawling all over the steps that led to the what she suspected was the main unit of the entire structure.

It was large, with various towers spiraling up that were still dwarfed by the massive trees native to the wilds. Vines and reached overhead, crisscrossing this way and that and Asta had to be careful where she stepped. Not just because she had gotten stuck in mud here and there— even if it was embarrassing when she had to struggle to pull her foot out, but because the roots of the plethora of green trees threatened to trip her if she didn’t pay attention.

And falling face first into dirt would have pissed her off more than she already was.

For as Asta had come closer and closer to this temple, she had grown more irritated with every step. The smell of her kind was everywhere. Worse yet, it wasn’t just one but many. Many different interlocking scents that spread across the ground and trees as if a whole pack of lycans were running about in a jungle. Asta decided right then that this would be her first and last visit to the Ixchel Wilds, even if the dreams got stronger the more time she spent here.

Asta took a step forward, readying herself to climb the many, many stairs before her.

“Ugh— GROSS!” She hissed realizing a second too late she had stepped right into a giant spider thread that was totally invisible. Of course, how could she have forgotten about those Black-Belly Weavers? What a nuisance. She stepped back, busy with pulling the spider silk off her face and hair.

 

[Izoldë]

Something else prowled the shadows of the citadel.

The strange construction was alien to the beast and yet something inside, the something that was not a beast, recognised in it something akin to home. Maybe that was why it had come here, far away from the scents of prey that crawled all over this jungle heaving with life. Her stomach growled but it was not yet bad enough to force her from her curiosity. She had been longer without food and for the last few months she had eaten well. At least until the woman who had promised her she would be safe had left.

Everyone left.

The beasts lips peeled back from its teeth in a silent snarl. The memories of the face, that pack, did not belong to the animal. They belonged to the...the... she shook her head and returned her thoughts to the unusual surroundings. What had drawn her here? Lifting her head she opened her mouth to better scent the air. Prey had come through here recently too, and often. Maybe she would get a meal after all. Yes, these odd stones would provide perfect cover. She could trap them in a corner and take them fresh; blood was always sweeter when it was warm. With a swift leap she jumped onto the top of the wall and surveyed the ground below.

A sudden noise made her head snap to the right and crouch down low against the stones. Something else was here. Something not prey but not quite... whole. Not quite right. Her ears flattened to her skull but that curiosity that did not belong to the animal pushed her on towards whatever had made the sharp cry. Sticking to the shadows she edged closer and closer until final she saw the cause of the noise and her fur bristled. Two-legged. They always spelt danger and death. She should run far, far away from here. Her muscles trembled with the strain to leap away but that otherness inside of her bade her wait... watch.

 

[Jorg]

"-GROSS!"

Jorg's head snapped to the side as he heard a voice echoing, lips thinning almost immediately. What the hell was someone els-"Stupid question."

The Prince said to himself.

He could smell them.

Dozens, maybe even more. Their scent was in the air, mixed with something...something else, but it was the wolves he could pick out most clearly. The fortress was practically permeated with the smell. One would have been enough to send up his hackles, but this? This was like he was walking into a city of wolves.

Kress Jorg thought to himself. What am I walking into?

He couldn't help but wonder, taking a long breath before he gently jumped off the boulder he'd been perched on. Fingers raised up into the air, hand straying away from the two sword hilts which lay strapped in place there. "Hey there!"

Jorg called out to Asta.

"I'm going to guess you're here for the same reason I am." That song. It still continued on, still called out. The fortress was practically thrumming with that sound now, reverberating again and against.

There was no reason for anyone else to be here. That was the only reason he could be. That incessant call, resounding in the air even now.

 

[Asta]

Asta had to close her mouth tight, jaw stiff from the pressure as she ground her teeth together to keep herself from snarling. She wanted to. She wanted to growl and give any lycan around her a hard stare and show her teeth.

But that wasn’t the best way to make friends.

Asta could write a whole book on how to lose a friend in ten days, and step one was to snarl like a rabid dog.

“No, I’m not,” Asta said shouted over to Jorg, her tone terse and tight much like the muscles she was straining in her neck. She was still pulling the thick layers of web off of her. “I’m here for a book club that serves the finest tea and biscuits in Arethil while discussing pointless things on paper. It’s members only, sorry, but looks like you won’t be joining in on Where the Wyld Books Are semi-annual meeting out in Kress-fucking-knows-where-spider-infested—“ A black belly weaver crawled out from who knew where onto her face.

Immediately she smooshed it with her open palm, green and yellow blood and guts squirting between her fingers. Gingerly, she pulled her hand off from her cheek, looking at her palm and inspecting it. One of the spider’s eight legs was still twitching.

Her lips made a tight, thin line. Asta shook with bristling rage.

“I. Hate. Spiders.” She looked back at Jorg. And for whatever reason, held up her hand and showed him her palm with the dead spider on it.

Izoldë Jorg

 

[Izoldë]

Another.

The leopard's ears now pressed flat against its skull and it slunk backwards into the deeper shadows. She could scent the curiosity on the male and the anger from the female but that was no different to most animals upon their first meeting. Neither reached for a weapon which soothed the beast somewhat but it would still rather be far from here, amongst the rich hunting ground far beyond this odd city. It pleaded with the part of it that wasn't quite animal to see sense.

The girl within bade the animal hush.

With reluctance it slunk along the wall keeping to the shadows to find a better spot where it might observe what happened next.

 

[Jorg]

A bemused smile touched Jorg's face as he listened to the woman, his eyes studying her as she pressed her palm into a spider that had been running across her skin. "Yeah. Think you came to the wrong place."

He mused out loud.

"That book-club actually meets on the other side of the Wylds." The Prince jested, glancing briefly towards the ruin again. That song was still playing in his head, gently calling to him, and now that he was this close the place practically reeked of werewolves.

Though was that-

A frown pulled at his lips as he looked at the girl again. This time really taking her in. A small breath drawing into his lungs. The feeling of assurance drawing over him as he caught her scent. "Do you hear it too?"

Jorg asked finally, cutting through the jests and jokes. Asta would, perhaps, not understand at first. Having been brought here by a dream. Yet if she listened she would slowly hear it, a song on the air, a beautiful entrancing hum which seemed to lull the ears.

The closer Izoldë came, the more she would hear it too.

Not a single hint of threat to the sound, but instead a beautiful and welcoming melody. All coming from the ruin, the door which lay open to all.

 

[Asta]

She squatted down low, wiping her hand free of the spider guts against the stone steps. She was silent, considering the man’s words. What was she supposed to hear? All she heard was her own breathing, the breeze that shifted her white hair over her shoulder and the sounds of wildlife. A bird call, leaves rustling and a sweet melody that beckoned Asta to stop messing with the spiders already and go inside to… wait a second.

“Yeah.” Asta huffed, seeming rather annoyed that she could hear this call too. Now that she had recognized it, she couldn’t ignore it, and with every second it seemed to have gotten louder and louder. She stood up straight, a hand going to the golden room resting against her hip. She narrowed her eyes at the lycan.

He was lucky she had just finished her blood cycle and was in a good mood. Or as good as a mood as someone like her could be in.

“I hear it.” Maybe it was this siren song that was keeping her anger in check? There was something soothing about it. Every time she tensed her muscles they seemed to relax. That was when she could finally smell it: something not lycan. Her head swerved immediately to where she had caught the scent from the weak breeze.

“And I guess we aren’t the only ones. Come out. If I have to chase you around here it’ll only piss me off more!”

Izoldë Jorg

 

[Izoldë]

Closer, bade the voice inside. The voices are too quiet.

Inch by inch the cat crept closer reluctant to leave the safety of the shadows. Eventually it would be pushed no more and quivered half in darkness half in the dappled light beneath an overgrown tree.

The song...

This close the feline tilted its head to catch the faint snatches of the song then pinned it's ears back. Only two-leggers made sounds such as these and it sounded as if there were many of them. Run! Screamed the animal. We run now!

No! bade the inner voice and the snow leopard felt its spine bowing as it was pushed back down into its spot. I want to s-

The inner argument went no further as both girl and beast pricked their ears forward at the raised voice.

Come out. If I have to chase you around here it’ll only piss me off more!

Us? The leopards head tilted and they scanned for any other movement. Their fur bristled. They would not be chased around! One bite and they could end this scawny things life. They'd taken down bigger prey alone. The beast was ready to fight but the girl...

Nimbly the large cat jumped down from the wall. On the ground it stood as tall as Jorg and just to ensure the two-legged did not mistake its coming for obedience it barred its teeth with a low snarl at them both.

 

[Jorg]

"There's more." Jorg said idly even as their new friend stepped out of the jungle. Shock coloring his features as he saw just what it was.

Having only recently returned he'd been gone from the Wylds for a long time, almost a decade. Still this was his home, and he knew it well enough to know what creatures lurked inside of it. There were leopards in Ixchel, there were even leopards that big, but ones like this?

The scent was off, strange, and the color?

As the creature barred it's teeth, Jorg had to still himself from reaching towards the handle of his sword. He took a breath, but facing down a beast that size without even a trickle of fear in the spine was something no man could do.

Even worse when the beast Inside you was trapped and thrashing. Screaming and clawing to get out. The calming song still radiating out from the ruin doing nothing to still the bestial need for dominance. His fingers furling into fists, pupil of his eyes narrowing slowly into slits.

His foot slowly kicking out to take a step forward before a third voice suddenly called out. "Friends, please."

Instantly, Jorg's head snapped towards the sound.

That predatory focus flickering away from the leopard and to the voice. A man now standing at the entrance of the ruin, his appearance that of an old wanderer. Clothing made of leather scraps and hides clinging to him, a great necklace of wolves teeth hanging around his throat.

"Please. Please do not fight." He said. "You have not been called here to fight."

Jorg frowned, the rage of the monster within turning his voice into a rasp. "Called here my who?"

The Prince asked, only for the man to smile and offer a simple response. "By the mother of course. The mother of beasts."[/color]

 

[Asta]

“Yeah, you. Here kitty, kitty, kitty—“ Asta had, for the meantime, forgotten all about Jorg now that this creature was in front of her. It was a big cat but Asta couldn’t have felt more excited over getting her hands into the action. Maybe this was why she was here? This leopard wasn’t normal, that much was obvious.

Maybe she had to kill it and then the song would stop? It was unfortunate that she’d have to do such a thing to something that was clearly not Sickened. However that pelt would look pretty with her all black attire and white hair. What girl didn’t want a fur coat while trekking through the Spine?

A hand was already on the hilt of her battle axe but she stopped at the voice belonging to the old man. She looked over with a glowering golden gaze and curled lip.

“The only thing I’m good at is fighting so that’s your first mistake in calling me here.” Her eyes flickered over to the leopard that seemed like it needed to be brought down a peg or two. “That’s not the mother of beasts?” Asta was already answering her own question, thinking that this leopard couldn’t possibly be the mother of beasts. For some reason Asta thought anyone with that title had to be a lot uglier.

Izoldë Jorg

 

[Izoldë]

As Asta's hand fell to the hilt of her sword beast and girl joined in agreement; kill the threat. The leopard crouched, ready to spring, when another voice cut through the tension like a hot knife through butter. Now there were three. Two, the beast was comfortable at handling, but three put her in the odds. It was time to leave, the beast pleaded and backed up step by torturous step.

Mother.

Mother?

The beast stopped. The girl knew that word. A face swam into her mind from a time of great pain, a scared face telling her to run. The leopard wanted to keep the girl safe and those memories at bay. It battered at the mental leash that kept it from giving into the instincts that had kept them both alive all these years. It tried desperately to cling to the girl, to fold her back into the mindless animals safe and warm embrace, but the girl...

There was a sudden burst of brilliant, beautiful light and as it cleared there was no leopard but a tall, too-thin girl who crossed her hands over her naked breasts and glared at the strange man.

"Mother no here. Mother dead," she spat on the floor.

 

[Jorg]

Jorg felt the beast within thrash against the cage within his mind.

It's attention split and scouring back and forth between the two threats it did not understand. Ignoring Asta only for their shared heritage, though Jorg was more than aware of her. His eyes darted back and forth, trailing from the stranger, to the wolf behind him, and then to the leopard.

His mouth opened to speak, but before he could say a word one of his new companions demanded all the attention within the clearing. A bright flash of light, and then a sudden shift from feline to woman. Eyebrows rose in shock, though he almost immediately scolded himself.

Why would you be surprised. He noted, the beast now thrashing in his head all the more.

"No." The old man said, apparently entirely unfazed by Izolde's transformation. "The mother waits inside, with the others."

He looked happily to the strangers, waving for them to follow even as the skin-changer spat on the floor. "Come. She will explain it all."

Jorg's jaw tightened, lips thinning. "Who? What mother?"

He demanded, glancing at his new companions and wondering if they were thinking the exact same thing. The man seeming to stop for a moment, motioning still for the trio to join him within the ancient ruin. "Why, Mallia of course."

 

[Asta]

Well, damn, it sucked when they turned human, didn’t it? Especially a naked human. Humans never looked threatening when naked, too many bits and pieces jiggling around. The woman before her was especially less threatening with her waife like physique and fair skin that was too translucent for its own good. Asta could see the girl was starving, it was evident just by the way her skin dipped into the structure of her bones even with her standing.

How could she want to fight something so weak and starving? She could only pity the shifter and her poor speech.

“Who the heck is Mallia?” Asta had never heard of such a woman, and if the girl in front of her wasn’t Mallia then… “For Kress sake do you have any clothes or not?” She sighed with exasperation, her battle stance turning into one of a scolding older sister. “You can’t go into a temple naked, no one is gonna take you seriously!” Never mind the fact that she was thinner than a rabbit in winter.

Asta turned to growl at the two men. “Wait until she’s proper! I got spare clothes and then we can go to Mother… Mali and hear whatever it is she has to say.” The song was still ringing between her ears. “And maybe make her pay for being such a pain in my ass.” Asta muttered to herself, pulling her rucksack off of her and then opening it up, pulling out her spare tunic for those unfortunate times when she ended up ripping all of her clothes into shreds in those unplanned transformations.

Izoldë Jorg

 

[Izoldë]

The girl bared her teeth at the woman's curse and gave a snarl that was all cat and little human.

"Clothes for humans!" she spat. Whatever she was, she was not human. She had worn clothes for the other lady, the nice lady who have given her a home, but it was cold there. Here it was warm and clothes made her itch. Even this skin made her itch. She preferred the soft furs of the cat than this which made her feel small and vulnerable. But from the way the odd man talking about Mother-but-not-Mother was looking at her she suspected she might not be allowed inside if she was in that more comfortable skin.

At least, she supposed, she could ask questions like this.

With a disdainful sniff for the woman offering clothes she stalked up towards this 'temple'.

 

[Jorg]

Jorg's eyes opened wide, glancing at his two new 'friends' and immediately noting that neither of them had even a semblance of recognition. "Mallia is the goddess of the Wylds."

The Prince explained quickly, though was soon interrupted.

"Clothes for humans!"

Izolde called out, and Jorg might have chuckled in any other situation. In that moment though he was far too focused on what the stranger had said. A God had summoned them here? Was here? That seemed entirely preposterous.

But then again, never before had he scented this many of his own kind...and more, all in one place.

"Please!" The stranger called. "Mother Mallia welcomes all within her temple."

His odd eyes flickered to Izolde. "Just as they are."

The man's gaze swept passed the skin-changer and towards Asta and Jorg. Beckoning Izolde inside and then clearly waiting for the other two. The prince cast a glance over towards his fellow werewolf, and then shrugged.

Clinging to a small amount of caution still, Jorg began to walk into the Temple.

As they made their way inside they found a massive hall, clearly what had once been meant as a ball room or something of the sort. There was a stage on one side, though it lay empty save for a large brazier of flame.

Yet it wasn't that which caught Jorg's eyes, no, it was the hundreds of men and women standing in a crowd within the room. Werewolves, bears, bats, aquatic skinchangers whose gills sat still inset even in their human form. There were dozens of each kind of half-beast within the room, all of them standing either in packs of their own kind or far from everyone else.

 

[Asta]

“No shit.” Asta cursed under her breath, fingers tightening up around the tunic and turning it into a wad of fabric as she pictured it being Isolde’s neck. “Damn brat. Kids these days. Ungrateful. Don’t expect me to be nice again.” She muttered under her breath, thinking how she shouldn’t be nice to anyone at all ever again. Shoving the tunic into her rucksack as if it had personally offended her, Asta stood up with a huff.

Despite being disgruntled, she followed after the others, lingering behind in the back. She kept looking over her shoulder, gold gaze glowing in the darkness until they got to what appeared to be the main room of the temple.

She bristled the moment she stepped inside, blood turning hot. Too many of her kind were here. The adrenaline was already pumping, causing Asta to sweat under her arms and on her chest as if announcing her presence. Asta refrained from letting a deep, low growl in the back of her throat be heard and instead sought to distract herself— which resulted in her scratching the inside of her forearm like one of those addicts she sometimes came across.

Maybe it would have been better if she stayed inside. Muscles were already expanding, seams struggling to keep her bulging biceps from being bare. Nails kept clawing at her skin, one forearm pink and burning.

Izoldë Jorg

 

[Izoldë]

Run, rabbit, run.

The leopard inside snarled and clawed with the need to escape. For a brief second spots appeared across the young girls arms, torso and half her face as she wrestled with the instinct. She was a solitary being by nature and avoided gatherings of any race as much as she could. To be surrounded by others like her set the cat off into a fearful frenzy. Most of them in here could kill her, her only chance was with the cat.

Izoldë swallowed that urge and bit by bit her skin returned to its human paleness. The cat seemed to still prowl just below however and glimpses of her spots could still be seen in certain lights.

"What is God...dessss?" Her head canted unnaturally to the side as she looked suspiciously at Jorg and Asta.

 

[Jorg]

The tension that flickered through Jorg was more than obvious. His jaw set hard, fingers furled into fists, the pupil in his eye had become naught but a tiny pinprick.

It seemed that many of the people within the hall felt exactly the same way as the newest trio. Their hackles just as raised as Asta, Izolde's and Jorg's. All of them grumbled about their disquiet, some even whispered about getting out of there. The man who had ushered the trio inside now moved across the room, heading for the stage.

"She's a..." Jorg frowned, gaze flickering away from the man and towards Izolde. "Do you mean you don't know what a god is at all?"

He looked at Asta. "It's a higher power, very strong...like...representation of something. In this case Mallia is the Wylds, the forest, the land, everything."

Jorg said quickly, then continued.

"This doesn't make sense though. She doesn't." His head shook. "I've never heard of her appea-"

Suddenly, the song that had been lulling in the air grew louder, so louder that it seemed to consume the mind. Cutting off ones thoughts, and bringing forth a stupefying serenity. All around the hall conversations began to die, grumbling fell by the wayside, and those with even the strongest will found themselves bent.

 

[Asta]

Gold eyes regarded Izolde with a inchoate blaze of aggression, but this look was hardly one reserved for the shifter. It was for any who dared look her way, for any pair of eyes that lingered too long. Making eye contact didn’t help, staring them all down did little to calm her nerves.

But how could her nerves be calmed with this song? Was it getting louder? It had to be getting louder. She couldn’t think right, much less consider how she was looking to others. She ground her teeth together, certain that they should be dust but even the deep painful pressure of her jaw did little to bring Asta out from this song’s spell.

She turned towards someone who had a deathwish and bumped into her, but before she could even swing her arm back all the way, a crescendo of all encompassing peace settled over her. Against her will, Asta felt her body react to it first: muscles going lax, shoulders slumping, posture bent.

Asta hadn’t been this calm since she was a child, in her father’s lap, claiming his left while Lucí nestled into his right side. Just before story time, when she’d close her eyes a moment too long and yawned a little too wide but forced herself to stay awake anyways.

“Holy fucking shit,” but she was smiling, the slightest upturn tilt of her lips. The nervous scratching stopped, and Asta, like all the others, felt it. She couldn’t even remember why she had been angry in the first place.

Izoldë Jorg

 

[Izoldë]

Do you mean you don't know what a god is at all?

Izoldë stared back at him with that unflinching stare. Why did two-leggers always ask questions instead of answering them? She waited impatiently for him to get over this fact and managed to last a whole sum of five words into his explanation until he reached a long word she had no idea the meaning of and dismissed him with typical feline boredom. Her eyes roved to the stage and the haunting music that was now rising and making the hairs on the back of her nape stand to attention. The leopard purred and stretched as though it lazed in a meadow in the late summer day. Warmth flooded her and eased her fragmented heart.

Peace.

That was why she had come here and finally now the leopard understood and stopped fighting her. She might have stayed entranced had the girl not uttered something that stirred her curiosity.

"What is 'fucking'?"

In the near silent hall it might as well have been a shout.

 

[Jorg]

The words dared through the crowd without a second of thought of whom they might reach.

Yet there was no rebuke which came, no call for silence or anything of the sort. Instead a ripple of laughter drew through the crowd of half-beasts, most glancing back towards where Jorg, Asta, and Izolde were standing. Goosebumps rolled up the Prince's spine as he saw all those eyes fall upon them, his fingers almost instinctively snapping to the hilt of his sword.

Despite the feeling of peace which purveyed through the room, his hackles practically sprang up as they turned.

He knew almost instantly why it was so. The moment that he met some of those eyes now looking at him, the second that he saw them. Each and every one of them was a killer.

This room was one filled with monsters. Beasts who would, had, and would again carve their way through another living being. What the motivation, the why, would be he had no idea, but Jorg knew every man and woman within this hall was the same as him; an Apex Predator.

The realization made him distinctly uncomfortable, and yet he had none of the time to process it as a beautiful serene voice slipped into the great hall. "Mating, rutting, breeding."

Every eye in the crowd turned to the stage.

A figure now stood there, seemingly from nowhere.

It was a woman, or...perhaps not. Her visage was one of vines, fur, flesh, and carapace. An amalgamation of the Wylds itself, wrapped together and held within the form of a feminine silhouette. Her features somehow at once soft, and yet brutal. Thorns lines her 'skin', and the 'hair' which flowed down the length of her back was spotted with blooming flowers.

The sight of what could only be Mallia silenced the room. Her voice seeming to match that perfect song.

"A wondrous part of your nature." The Goddess said as he peered through the crowd and at the skin-changer. "But not, my children."

She smiled. "Why I have called you to me."

Every word was wonderful, beautiful, enrapturing. Jorg wanted to hear everything that was said, wanting to fall to his knees in rapt attention and ensure he caught every syllable she spoke. The wolf, for the first time Jorg could ever truly remember, was utterly silent.

But something still felt wrong.

 

[Asta]

“You’re not allowed to do any of those until you learn how to wear clothes,” Asta said in regards to the girl’s question being answered. Her voice was a low whisper, eyes trained on what was supposed to be Mallia. “Sometimes you just say fucking because it’s cool. Holy fucking shit sounds cooler than just holy shit. It gives it emphasis.” And to show what emphasis was Asta punched her open palm. “A statement like that.”

Asta didn’t have any more time to further explain things to the girl because the Goddess continued to speak. She was interesting look. Beautiful and vile, fearsome and gentle. To Asta the goddess was the color of a fight: brutal and natural, exhilarating and sensitive. Yet there was always a underlying peace and calmness she had felt once she really got to fight a good fight.

The calm after the storm, broken nose included.

But the goddess didn’t give that sort of calm. Instead it felt more like a layer of algae over a still pond. There was something more hidden beneath the coaxing green. She blinked and for a second that feeling was gone, the instinct that had told her dive into the pond and see whether it was shallow or deep.

She still couldn’t look away. A smell was in the air unique in that Asta couldn’t say it smelled like a thing, but rather a command: gaze upon me. She wrinkled up her nose. Her sense of smell was the best in the world (if you disagreed she’d punch you) but it couldn’t be that good, right?

“So we’re not here for a big fu— a big Empire orgy. Cool. So why are we here?” Asta asked. She thought she had shouted it, as she should have, but her voice was still whisper soft. What the fuck was this goddess doing to her?

Izoldë Jorg

 

[Izoldë]

The girl did not understand all the words this 'God-de-ssss' said, but enough that she understood the meaning behind this new word; fucking. She did not understand, however, how any kind of rutting would make words like shit sound cooler. Perhaps the wolf-woman was just insane. Yes, the leopard purred, that seemed like an apt assumption. Wolves usually were.

She stuck out her tongue in the woman's direction then turned her attention back to the woman.

 

[Jorg]

The hairs on the back of his neck remained standing. The tension in his muscles didn't leave.

As he stared up at "Mallia' Jorg couldn't help but have his hackles raised.

He could not deny the feeling within the air, the calm, the serenity that wanted to worm it's way into his very soul. It was a calm that he had not had since...since he'd been infected with Lycanthropy. Even with their understanding, the wolf was never this silent.

But it was wrong.

Unnatural.

Jorg couldn't say why. He couldn't pin-point it, but it was as though this woman-being was doing something that wasn't supposed to happen. There was no other way to describe it, and Jorg wasn't entirely sure if anyone else could even feel it.

"Because, my child, it is time for me to leave this forest, these Wylds." Mallia's eyes were staring at Asta, but as she spoke, they trailed over the crowd. "For centuries, eons, I've remained here. Watching as my home is slowly taken and carved away."

There was something mournful, but angry within her tone. "I will not stand for it any more."

A lull, and Jorg could see it. The influence of the 'goddess's' words. How what she said seemed to make sense...even to those who shouldn't have cared. To those who weeks ago had maybe even participated in the very actions Mallia was speaking of.

Her words held sway, power. Even Jorg could hardly resist.

"You are the first, but in the coming days there will be more." Mallia's voice permeated the room, and as she spoke Jorg felt a flicker of panic. "Your brothers and sisters are upon the path, and when they arrive, we will march forth and remind the world the wylds is to remain that way; Wild and free."