Flashing Teeth
It had been a few weeks since Freiora carried Iago's sleeping form. Over that time, they'd remained mostly distant, but Frei was more likely to strike up friendly banter with them. Still, she'd not opened up about her.. curse... to anyone in the party, yet. No one knew the beast that lurked within her, waiting just under her skin to pounce out and wreak havoc. To avoid that catastrophe, the werewolf went out of her way to prowl the woods every week or so. Allowing the animal some time was good, controlled moments to give it a conduit for its rage.
At least, that's what Freiora had always done, as advised by the late Dulmiir.
She ran. With heavy falls, chest heaving as she panted, the fur-covered monster sprinted through the woods around the camp. Frei didn't go too far away; enough distance to not alert anyone, but close enough to return without trouble.
The hunt went well, for a while. She was out for an hour, chasing after prey. Sharp teeth and claws tore through flesh with ease. It was a rush. It didn't feel good for her heart to do what she did, but they were animals, at least, and not anyone she cared about.
But she was interrupted. As her blood-covered mouth tore chunks of flesh from bone with cracking sounds, she stopped. Her ears perked up and rotated backwards. Someone's there-- but she didn't have time to finish her thought. Within seconds a group of hunters were upon her. Freiora let out a gut-curdling howl before pouncing on the first hunter to close distance. She saw red. Even though she hated herself, and hated this curse, she'd channeled all of that raw rage into despising those who dared punish a victim. A victim of the curse, not someone who gladly embraced it.
Her claw-tipped fingers grasped the man's rib cage. He looked into her eyes, his own frantic, screaming as she tore his ribs out. The screaming stopped.
Frei yelped as a crossbow bolt found purchase in her hindquarters. The lycan whipped around. Eight, no nine... no. Ten. Ten hunters surrounded her, all with crossbows drawn and levelled at her. Without warning, the lycan charged another. Three more bolts embedded themselves in her back as she swung a massive arm into one of their bodies. Gashes exploded through their torso, crimson blood spraying out as they collapsed almost instantly.
Freiora's head began to swim. They were tipped. She didn't know what they were tipped with, but the bolts they used against her must have been dipped in something.
She lurched forward again, hacking and clawing her way through the hunters, but she couldn't keep going. Frei looked like a pincushion, with easily a dozen rods sticking out from her flesh. More lacerations from drawn swords. Her wounds freely leaked blood, and her vision blurred. Can't.. stop.... still more there... but it was no use. Her eyes rolled into the back of her head, and the lycanthrope's form collapsed to the ground unconscious.
