Have you ever been in love? What is more important love or duty?
"I have loved, but I can't say I've ever let myself fall into love. Duty was always riding on my shoulders, and it was always my first and foremost thought. I was always to be betrothed to someone not of my choosing, thus love was irrelevant. So, I didn't allow myself to." Sinking further into contemplation he continued the thought into the next question. "Things are muddier today than they were back then. One does not necessarily deter the other, so they can be of equal importance to me at this point in time. I do not know which I would chose if placed in the same situation at this point in time. Perhaps I would stray from my past decision of duty." He shrugged in earnest. "I may never know."
What is your greatest fear? Do you believe you are better off clan less?
Greatest fear? That I will amount to nothing and my knowledge and research will all be lost upon my passing from this realm. That sounds a bit over dramatic, but you did ask for the greatest.
I am less restricted, but also less insulated; I am able to access more wisdom but am able to share mine less often; and I am able to try to save ones I care about but am forced to do so in solitude. I cannot say whether I am better off, for every pro there is a con. I certainly miss my clan and I wouldn’t be able to survive without the friendships I have developed outside of it. But, in truth, I have no answer for that question. I simply don’t know whether I am or not.
You can save four people and four things, what and who are they?
1. Anders, Elissa, Velanna, and… *enormous sigh, rolling eyes* Gamlen. The last because Elissa loves him, profoundly unpleasant as I find the man.
2. Four things? My main backup harddrive, the grimoire I have kept since I was a girl, and a pair of enchanted items I have been working on that I do not wish to discuss further at this time.
Her spell had gone terrible awry. She had meant to heal his body and make it so that he didn’t have to turn at all anymore that there would be no pain at all. That was the tricky thing with magic; it had a way of backfiring when you didn’t fully understand what you were doing. The incantation had worked perfectly just not as intended. Here she was now in his body with him in hers.
“Well, that was unexpected.” Came the gruff voice that was now her own.
The female body hovering over him rolled her eyes and grunted. It was an odd show for her before the face went back to a stoic state. Merrill could tell from the look in her own eyes that there were terrible things happening in his mind. The Elgarlin had tripped something inside that had set off a cascade reaction feeding into a deeper desire for blood magic. Right before the swap had occurred she had felt it calling her name begging to be freed.
He had no training in controlling her powers, and it had taken years of discipline to be able to control it. She could see the transition as the magic started to take hold of the body as a trickle of blood ran out her nose, around the corner of her lips and off her chin. She was awash in her own sensations. Her body was wild and out of control and where was that pain coming from?
Every fiber in her body was ripping itself apart.
Oh no.
The vision was remarkable, but so in turn was the sense of smell. She could smell fear, blood and chaos on the wind. But, it was the blood the drove her feet forward chasing after the unseen mage. It didn’t matter if she could see him or not; she could smell him and that was all she needed to find him.
If she had thought a moment on the fact, she would have known exactly where he was heading. He had been hunted for his entire existence after the curse was lifted. Now he had the power to do the same thing to him as had been done to him; a fate worse than death, a heavier burden to carry. The shrieking cries from the Dalish encampment were audible from half a mile away, at least to her ears.
When she arrived there was nothing but corpses of fallen Dalish, paw prints, and a crumpled elvhen woman weeping in the center of the camp. He was apparently not used to her emotions either. As she approached and nuzzled his cheek with her muzzle, her (his) head flew exposing blood red eyes with bloodied tear streaks down the cheeks.
It took but a moment for him to recognize his own body; his own wolf form. The realization coupled with his high running emotions let the magic loose once more ravaging the body. Before she could even turn and run, he had control of her limbs.
Oh no.
The thoughts rang through her head again. She could not speak only howl in anguish and warning, but he could not hear her. Tears trickled down matting the fur on her face as she felt herself lifted into the air. The wolf body was starting to war against itself, starting to pull free of itself. If there was no body, he would never be cursed again, but at the same time he would be killing them both.
He didn’t know that, and she couldn’t tell him.
Goodbye. May you find peace. Were the last thoughts that left her mind as she felt the hard snap as her neck separated from her spine. Perhaps they would meet in the Great Beyond.
37. One of our muses is a mythical creature (Vampire, Werewolf, etc) The other is a hunter — and this is not a love story.
She had been assigned by Marethari to hunt down rogue werewolves. It was not a normal job of the firsts, but these were special circumstances. These wolves were sentient enough to know tactics and had been hunting the hunters adding more to their numbers with greater skill. Merrill’s magic was one of the last hopes the clan had of surviving the curse itself.
The thought was that if you killed the leader of the pack, the others would be forced to submit to you as their alpha. If that were to be true, then the clan could be safe while a solution was found. Thus, with this in mind, Merrill was sent hunting a very particular gray wolf with the reddish brown markings on his back; Swiftrunner.
Keeping to the treetops as was a trick Mahariel had taught her, she scouted out the area where the pack normally roamed. He was easy to pick out. Most of the wolves were brown other than him, so when her eyes found him, her eyes glowered down at him for a moment. She was not hidden from them; she knew they could smell her scent. The reason she was glowering came from the eyes of the wolf Swiftrunner had claimed as his own: Keita.
A chill ran down her spine. They had hoped that she was still hunting in the forests picking off the wolves as she could and hadn’t been able to resurface. Her heart beat twice in her chest clenching with each pounding thud. Inhaling a deep breath, she reached out through the tendrils of her magic and touched the alpha’s body.
He immediately jerked his head in her direction, not realizing her as a threat to begin with, but now deciding to change his mind. Bellowing out a few commands before she was able to grasp hold of his body fully, she felt the wave of werewolves begin to run in her direction Mahariel leading the pack. She had been trained for this, though. Swiftly her feet carried her through the branches as her magic continued to weave its way through the lead wolf’s body.
The trees behind her were slowly beginning to either be climbed or toppled as they wouldn’t support the weight of several wolves trying to dart up it all at once. Finally, she felt her magic take hold, and forced the alpha to bark out a command. It was the only word that she had known, and he had given that to her a long time ago on accident when he had saved her life from the curse before they had decided to start this petty war with each other.
HALT.
The pack of wolves froze in command. A few of the more relentless wolves continued to circle with anxiety and desire to continue their hunt and kill the hunter. But, the command held for the moment. Merrill hopped down from the tree landing with a loud crunch of grasses, leaves, and underbrush slowly walking to the alpha. The wolves in general were a live wire ready to launch an attack whenever the order was given, but she kept the alpha’s trap shut and allowed no more such barks to leave his muzzle.
When she reached the wolf, she knelt and looked him square in the amber eyes. There was anger and hatred in them along with a fierce desire to rip out her throat. She could see it all there plain as day. Gritting her teeth she uttered, “What I do, I do for the good of both pack and clan.” Wrapping her magic tighter around the alpha, she moved her hands to his neck and twisted it free from his shoulders.
As the life seeped from its eyes, she whispered a prayer to speed him along to the Great Beyond. But, she stood head raised in victory for the other wolves. Her voice proclaiming loudly, “I am your alpha now!” A few wolves immediately dropped to their bellies in submission, but a few of the more aggressive males and Keita stepped forward to claim the spot as their own. Her heart broke as she saw the eyes of her friend glaring back at her as though she had just killed someone she loved more than anything.
Dropping the head to the ground, she drew her own weapons and wrapped her magic tightly about her fingertips awaiting the first move to be made. This was not going to end well, but it must end. She prayed that it would be in her favor.
They had been following him at least since the journey down from Hightown, two human men with the frames of pro handball players and the overpriced ‘rugged’ clothes of wealthy assholes with too much time on their hands. This was one of the rare occasions that Feynriel wished he had dared experiment with his magic more than he had, for he was becoming increasingly unsure of his ability to avoid a confrontation, and he didn’t much like the idea of why they’d follow him as long as they already had.
Had they been at the Rose that night? The streets just outside the strip club were crowded enough that they might have been following him since he’d left work, going unnoticed by him until the crowds thinned out. Feynriel supposed it didn’t matter. He just needed to get the hell away.
The edge of the Docks district provided a detour with more twists and turns that he hoped to use to lose them, but they abandoned subtlety for speed, gaining ground until he could hear their joking back and forth to each other not far behind him. Feynriel wished the Dread Wolf’s ungentle mercies upon them, dodging around another corner into an alley that he hoped would give him the concealment he needed, only to stop short, heart leaping into his throat when one of them appeared ahead, and he realized they had flanked him.
“Isn’t he a squirrely little thing,” came an oily, smug voice behind him. “Almost like he didn’t want to talk to us. That couldn’t be it, though, right? We’re friendly fellows.”
“Very friendly,” said the other one with an unpleasant grin.
“I’m sure you are,” Feynriel said, fighting to keep his voice steady. “But I really need to be going – “
“Nonsense. It’s only polite to stick around and say hello.” They were both closing in, and Feynriel began to look half-wildly around, searching for a weapon-worthy piece of debris, or some other distraction, but nothing of the sort presented itself within reach.
Merrill had come back to her apartment to do one last check to make sure she hadn’t left anything. What little she had stored within the relative safety of her alienage home had been moved to one of her campsites. She ducked under her bed and checked between the mattresses, beside the wall, in all her normal hiding places, and every other nook and cranny she could find in the entire room, but there was nothing left that was hers. Still emotionally shaken she reached the leasing office and turned in her key with the final payments required for her room. Thanking the lady, she turned to leave the building lyre in hand.
Stopping to stare at the Vhenadahl, a tear rolled down her cheek. Though she wasn’t attached to this place, it had been somewhat of a home to her for these past few months. The lack of security it offered notwithstanding; it had been hers. She stood for long moments with wondering thoughts. Where should I go? Anders and the clinic? No. Elissa? Why take more advantage of the little she had already offered? Carver? No, she couldn’t burden him or his family with this. Where? Her mind prodded again. The only answer seemed to be a dig site. But, which one?
Mind reeling with many thoughts and many regrets; she plodded along the street not really seeing anything that was in front of her or beneath her feet. She stumbled many times nearly falling as she meandered through the city streets avoiding the docks and the menacing Gallows that called out her name. What if Cullen changes his mind? She really didn’t want to think about that. And, if he did, she had only herself to blame for even mentioning it to him. A part of her had thought he wouldn’t take it that bad, but another part of her knew he was a Templar and always would be. It still caused her heart to ache.
Keita? No. She lived in the city too. I can no longer stay within the walls without testing the Templars. There was too much danger in the walls of the city and no one there she wanted risking their lives for her. Sighing heavily, she routed herself through the crowds of people heading for the gate to exit the city.
It was late evening by the time she reached it, and the sun was beginning to dip behind Sundermount. Stepping through the gate and off to the side, she waited watching the fall of the sun and the changing colors of the sky. She didn’t have any place to be, and the forests will still be there holding her new home whether the sun was up or not. Taking in a deep breath, she turned towards the nearest of her dig sites. The path would take her through Sundermount and then around it’s far edge, but she’d made the journey many times in the time before dawn.
Her body moved her forward step by step. The further she moved from the city, the quicker her feet seemed to carry her as if shackles had been anchoring her. Not really paying attention to where she was going as her feet knew the path just as well as her mind, she drifted into thoughts of school, and how she would navigate to and through the city on school days. It would be inconvenient not living within a thirty minute walk of the school, but she could still make it there on time.
Letting her mind continue to drift, she checked her mental notes about where she had stored all her belongs. Most of her books were at the location she was going to now. A few rarer texts were hidden with the Eluvian deeper in the woods, and most of the clothes and provisions were spread around equally. If someone stumbled upon one of her sites and wanted to make off with her belongings, she didn’t want them taking all of it.
Blinking a few times, she looked around feeling as though she had been walking in circles for hours. There were unfamiliar trees around. Did I get myself lost? Visibly affected by her inability to find the site, she climbed a nearby tree to get a glimpse of her position. She had veered off course and walked the opposite way. Her feet had carried her towards the Dalish encampment. As she realized that, she began to feel numb all over. Shaking her head she righted her course and headed around the mountain towards her camp.
The energy that had been keeping her moving seemed to seep from her legs, eyelids drooping with heaviness. Her feet had seemed to stop again after half an hours walk, and she couldn’t quite make sense of what was wrong with her tonight. Am I that disoriented and confused that I can no longer even walk? By the Dread Wolf, I just want to lay down and sleep. But, then something was familiar about this place. Where have my feet taken me? She wondered.
Pressing forwards through the thick underbrush, she stuck her head into a clear. His clearing. Her heart skipped a few beats as she realized exactly where her feet had taken her. Swiftrunner. She swallowed hard. Of all the places she had thought to go, this was not one of them. But, why? Her head pulled the pieces together slowly for her. Arla, Lin, Fen, Reth. Home, clan (pack), wolf, safety.
Closing her eyes and leaning her head against the tree, she sighed. I shouldn’t be here either. What if… but her mind didn’t want to think anymore and her body wasn’t prepared to walk any farther. With a soft sigh, she sat down beneath the tree in the tall grass. The smell of home drifted to her nose. Within his territory she felt safe. At least for tonight, she would stay here. When the last ounce of energy dissipated from her, she was left sleeping soundly in the clearing beneath the full moon. Those four words softly murmured in her dreams.
Dirt and stone and lichen beneath her padded feet, moving quickly before her bright eyes.
Scents like a roadmap pouring information in through her long nose.
Chilly autumn breeze ruffled her charcoal-black fur.
It had been far too long since Morrigan had taken the time to leave the city walls and run as a wolf through the mountain foothills, scrubland, and forest beyond. Her raven’s form, she used frequently – such a bird was not so strange to see in a city, and afforded her an unparalleled mobility through the urban jungle. The wolf, however, she did not dare to become unless she was well away from major settlements. That would cause a great deal of unnecessary alarm, and likely get her shot, besides. She missed it, though, as much as she loved her wings, for the wolf’s senses were, of all the forms she normally took, the most unique. (So many dramatic novels and films spoke of ‘smelling fear,’ but she had actually done so. It was rank and sickly and faintly metallic, like fever sweat and old blood.)
Today, restlessness had taken her beyond the city walls as dusk fell and the moon began to rise, loping through the patchy woodlands that prevailed nearest the city. She had planned on simply running, perhaps tracking small prey-animals because she could, but rather quickly, her nose picked up on a much more interesting scent.
Wolf. Male. Beta? The reading of pack socialization context from scent clues was terribly, terribly complex, and borrowed instincts only went so far. Morrigan was too out of practice to be sure of the last guess. There was only one wolf’s scent trail, also, which jarred against the idea that he was pack-socialized. She was fairly certain he was not a perpetual loner.
Could it…?
The idea that she might encounter another shapeshifter who was not Anders was so far outside the realm of likelihood to be almost ludicrous, but Morrigan was very curious, all the same. Picking up speed, she began to follow the trail, drawing a map in her head of the perimeter the scent delineated.
