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dragon age - { dream x ace }

Osheaga

Osheaga

Supernova
Joined
Jan 9, 2009
Location
Nova Scotia


    • The forest was stirring, but tonight, more then it usually had. The trees and their entirety sang; the copses of oaks, bushes and rivers, even the wild life was singing, kneeling before the immense aura that permeated the ruins. Since Zathrian's demise at the hands of the Grey Wardens, his curse of "lycanthropy" had supposedly been dispelled, returning those branded by his vengeful talons to their original statures. The blight which threatened to destroy all of Ferelden had since been thwarted by the Grey Wardens and the indigenous were slowly - but surely - beginning to put together the shattered pieces of their lives. However, the disease that Zathrian inflicted upon those who did wrong to him was not completely alleviated. While some curse victims were completely cured, others were "half" cured.

      Those who were half cured were able to assume human and lycan form at will while still maintaining their wolven physical attributes. Some had deemed this as a burden, while others, a fabulous blessing. To those who accepted it, they believed they could form their own race, a superior race.

      An ardent, eerie glow burned through the ruins that balmy evening, casting mysterious shadows here and there. A throng of werewolves were huddled around a snapped pillar, seemingly conversing while another group proceeded into the broken temple. One within the group was seemingly human, but the flaxen glow of their chilling gold eyes suggested otherwise. Whispers emitted from their maws like a song, following a string of loud, shaking footfalls. Tonight the werewolf clan - remnants from Zathrian's affliction - had gathered to the heart of the forest to meet a new face.

      This tyrant, as they had deemed him, claimed he could lead their race to victory and ensure that their existence would never again be undermined and always be feared. Some were skeptic while others traveled to the ruins only to sate their intrigue. There was one werewolf - a woman, in fact - that wasn't so moved by this stranger's agnostic claims. Her eyes bore through the spectral light cast down from the plump moon, nearby spectators thrown aback by her sudden intrusion. The woman was tall; amazonian, with flesh touched by the deserts and a long, starless mane which framed her exotic face in a roguish manner.

      One of the werewolves - a man - ogled her for an instant then grunted to the others, quickly disdaining her sudden appearance. They had known her as Ammon, but since becoming a werewolf, they had often referred to her as "Banshee" simply because her howls were composed of beautiful tones; she would sit in the forest and sing until the sun rose, but as a human, she nary uttered even a sound. The woman, clad in a tight, ashen bandeau and a coal-colored cardigan, trekked into the ruins and down the stair-well where the Lady of the Forest was once housed. It was here that this new "leader" was to speak, and undoubtedly, the woman would have something to say concerning his leadership.[/list:u][/list:u]
 
In the thicket of the forest, deep within it's nestling trees, stood a ruin of seemingly no potential as it laid in broken heaps, but deep within it's descending caverns gathered a fairly large group of creatures. Creatures that had thought to been extinct now that the 'curse' that plagued them had ended. But the curse had not cured all of them and instead of returning to their human states, the werewolves had become something new, something different, yet something entirely the same.

That was why he was here. In the midst of the crowd of werewolves stood a cloaked figure; he stood higher than the rest with feet planted firmly on a half broken pillar. His face was hidden in shadows except for his lips that were held firmly in a expressionless line and they were surrounded with light stubble of a dark brown that was almost black. He raised his head only slightly as more werewolves gathered and he could not only feel, but hear every heart beat within the room, as well as beyond the stone walls.

He was new here, with a small group of werewolves he had found scattered around Ferelden. They were like him; half turned, confused, afraid, and lost. A lot had happened to him before meeting these creatures much like himself and he himself had become something new. What he had become had never been seen by the likes of any races in their world and the power he held was to be used to create a new world. One in which all of his people could live and not have to fear leaving their forests.

Tension hung thickly in the air and Jericho looked over the crowd; though he could see them clearly in several senses, they could not see him in the same manner. His face still hidden by darkness, the scent and figure of him were masked as well, a secret he had learned over the years and planned to teach to those who wished to follow him. "My dear brethren," his rich, metallic voice rang clear through the silence, everyone's attention now solely on the cloaked man, "my name is Jericho and I am here to save you." His words strung together with captivating intonation and sincerity, but he spoke quickly, almost as though he were in a hurry and his words became urgent, though not quite begging. "The world outside these ruins are not kind to our like, especially now that we have become something... similar to human, but more. They resent us and will continue to do so. I tell you this because it is the truth. I have been there, outside and in their world, and seen what they are capable of." Throwing back his hood, a face was revealed with gasps from the people around him. His dark hair had been slicked back to expose a scar that had liberated him of half his face. It was mangled flesh, churned and charred with colors of pink, red, and even black. The right had barely been saved, the scar missing it only barely. His life side, however, could be called handsome and had even warrant a few flirts from human girls when he had been in disguise, though he himself had never bothered with such endeavors. Skin bronzed by the sun was covered in other, smaller scars and his eyes held the same yellow as the rest of theirs, but the iris was lined in a deep orange as well, almost glowing as he looked over his kind. "This is what humans do. Elves, dwarves, Grey Wardens, nobles, commoners. Everyone."

Now he stepped down from the pillar and as he searched through the crowd, he was sure to make eye contact with everyone there. Coming across one of the rare females in the crowd, he felt a dark tension rising from her, but hoped his words to come would help her understand. His eyes hardened as he took her in and when his lips moved, fangs caught moonlight that crept through the cracks in the foundation. "They will kill you. They will hunt you down. For years, I was taken prisoner by humans, kept like a slave, but treated like an animal. They did not kill me but that was a mistake." Jericho raised his hand and spread his fingers, an orange flame playing at the tips of his fingers, the same color in his eyes glowing brighter. "I possess a power that has never touched this earth. An Old God came to me, in my dreams, and gave me the power to liberate myself. And all of you. If you follow me, I promise you will have a future for yourselves." He stopped then, the glow and flames dying out instantly; he folded his arms within deep sleeves, bowing his head. "Follow me and you can howl at the moon any night you like and not fear being heard and hunted. Follow me and you will be able to stretch your legs to any part of this world without a bother." He let his words sink in, waiting for any answer or response before continuing.
 


    • Like water, the sea of werewolves parted for Ammon's passing. She was a prominent figure to their race, a twenty-three year old woman that was wise beyond her age and had emerged victorious from many battles, most with men twice her size. Outside of battles she was philosophical and regal; soundless, she seldom spoke, but when she did it was something relative. She was displeased by his childish preaching. These ambitions in which he sermoned spelled nothing but genocide in her stoic mind. From where he stood, a top a tumbled-over pillar near the colossus statue hoisted against the wall, she peered up at him. She did not have the eyes of her kin, but rather, the eyes of a "demon".

      Their glimmering, tempest shade of hazel allowed her to blend in with humans as they were now wise to werewolf aesthetics and could pick them out by their flaxen eyes. Amongst the questionable bickering she emerged from the shadow, her long, thick hair mimicking her movements as she inaudibly strode out in front of the crowd. "Genocide, is it?" The crowd's bickering came to an abrupt, almost disturbingly swift stop. Had Ammon spoken? They were enthused by the regalness in her voice, how commanding yet soft it was. Undoubtedly she had something of importance to say.

      "Your ambitions are your own, not ours. The humans, the dalish, the dwarves and even qunari ... clearly you are not politically enlightened. The blight forced them all into an alliance. If you lead us into their starving maws, they will launch a counterattack and slaughter every last one of us. We are still suffering losses from the Archdemon's attack and you want to lead a broken race to their deaths? I don't know what the fuck goes on in your twisted mind, and I cannot speak for all of us, but I want no part of this." The instant the woman's low, buttery voice came to a halt, the werewolves began bickering again.

      Some were already convinced that this tyrant could do a great deal for their people. As they conversed amongst themselves, an elderly man hobbled out from the copse of flesh and fur, consulting Ammon before she departed. "He does not wish us ill-will, Ammon." His eyes were sullen; had told stories of many wards, "I think he is aware of the consequences and knows that we are willing to embrace them. The qunari were like us, once, attacked because other races were ignorant to their customs. We must make ourselves known." Ammon silently sneered. "I won't bother entertaining this ... or this ignorant bastard sitting high on his throne. Do what you'd like. I am not your deity."

      Silence again - the others were listening in on the conversation between the elder and the clan's most dignified warrior. "We could use your help ... he could. At least hear him out."[/list:u][/list:u]
 
Jericho watched silently as Ammon made her protest and listened carefully to her words. When she stopped near the entrance to speak to an elderly man, he approached with careful, silent steps. "I understand your concern, my lady, but I assure you my plans are not nearly as destructive as you may think." He inclined his head while removing his hands from his sleeves and he smiled, very slightly. This woman was obviously of importance to these people and he would need her consent before he could have respect from the rest of the weres. Though his life had made him jaded, he knew on a realistic level what needed to be done and he would not let his own emotions overrun that. "No one can defeat so many races in one, fierce attack. No, this is something that must be accomplished slowly and with an intelligent grace only our kind possesses," he spoke lowly but knew everyone could hear him but his eyes never left Ammon's. "You will be of a great help to our cause, my lady, and I would be honored if you would join me and my followers. We follow the path of the Old Gods and it is their wishes that we do this. This power has been granted to me so our kind may have a future. What would have us do, my lady? Continue to hide in fear in this ruin?" He cast a disdainful glance around the crumbling walls with raised hands. "This is no place for wolves." He paced through the crowd of wolves with senses on high alert as he felt them out, their very souls singing out to him. His hand hovered before him as his eyes closed, moving with tentative steps. His nostrils flared as their smell permeated the air around them and he could smell the mixture of fear, anxiousness, and nervousness.

"Brethren, I am not asking you to make me your leader, your alpha, or your king. I am asking you to follow me as an equal; does family not help each other in times of crisis? For that is what this is and it will only grow worse as the years come. We cannot stand idly by as these people continue to take our kind, torture them, and slaughter them. The Old Gods gave me power because they believe in our cause. Would you deny them?" He turned to face everyone once more and once again his eyes caught Ammon's. Would she follow him or continue to think him insane? Perhaps he was and even if he admitted to it, would it change anything? No, the Old Gods had given him this power for a reason and he intended to carry that out.
 


    • Gods. Deities. Ammon was not a believer but rather, a skeptic. She enjoyed entertaining the idea of some agnostic being guarding them, keeping balance and sanctity, but it was a difficult notion to stomach. Therefore, she was unconvinced with this strangers sermoning and was still left in a state of disbelief. She was not easily swayed by his preaching, but, for the sake of these callow people she had to at least acknowledge both his presence and his claims. "Perhaps he believes we can spread our disease," intervened the elder, his eyes bright with confidence, "A mere graze of our claws or clip of our teeth and anyone - be they qunari or human - will become infected and turn. That process alone will weed out those who are strong, as only they will survive the turning."

      Ammon said nothing. She merely observed, her arms laid slack at her curvaceous sides. She knew she was powerless to stop those who were confident that this man could steer them to the road of greatness.

      "I apologize, stranger." The elder bowed his head, cognizant of Ammon's brooding. Her silence was evidence of this. "Ammon is accustomed to peace. Though our living conditions are not entirely ... desirable, it is this pacifism that we have practice for most of our lycan lives. Perhaps we should further discuss this in the morning, when our minds and ires are rested and our bellies full. Come. There is an uninhabited chamber on the lower levels of the ruins. You may rest there."

      A child appeared. Her clothing was torn; ripped, frayed from destructive hands. Her pretty young face was sullied with the earth's soil, her sable man mangled and matted. She was sobbing. "B-Butterfly!" she cried, scampering over to bury her visage on Ammon's pant leg. "T-There ... there are men in the forest. Humans ... hunters. They tried to, to ..." Ammon's stoic face went hard; eyes stony, first furled in tight fists. The werewolf elder Kale was taken aback by this sudden change in Ammon's visage and instantly worried by it. For those who knew Ammon, they were aware that she had unofficially adopted an orphan werewolf child whose mother had gone missing nearly four months prior. While the child's elder sister was still able to care for her, she took a liking to Ammon and called the immaculate woman her "butterfly".

      "Humans?" Kale breathed, "Here? At night? Are they insane? They've been growing increaslingly daring over the past week months. Stranger ... if you want Ammon's approval, this may be your chance." By that time Ammon had taken off. Like an elegant creature she scaled the nearby pillars towards an opening at the top of the underground temple where she proceeded outside, to teach these brazen humans a lesson about having the audacity to touch a child. [/list:u][/list:u]
 
The child's distress caused an overwhelming pain to swell inside of Jericho and before the words had left the elder's mouth, he was on the move. The cloak had been abandoned, as well as his human form, and he leaped over the crowd of weres as he hurried through the stone corridors. Humans! This was exactly what he had been speaking about; he could not let injustices like this continue. With the Old Gods' power, he'd rip out all those humans throats and burn their remains to ashes.

Soon he was in the forest and as he pads dug deep into the earth, he gave a ground shaking howl that sounded throughout the forest causing all birds to soar to the sky and animals to fidget restlessly. He pounded through the trees and shrubs, following the distinct smell of blood and human. Ammon's scent was thick in the air, too, and he absently worried for the other were's safety. He knew a warrior of her status could handle herself well, but attacks done with an emotional imbalance ended badly. His pace quickened and he could hear the cries and wales of humans and the distinct, deep growl of a were.

Jericho jumped through the shrubs and his paws made contact with a human's chest and he went down screaming as the were's jaws ripped into the human's flesh. In his wolf form, he was much different than the other weres. He was distinctly a wolf, but the largest one ever to be seen; on all fours, he stood as tall as a human with a dark coat that shown a deep brown in the light. His mangled face covered less in this form, but still scarred him thoroughly, no hair growing there.

He looked for Ammon as another human swung an axe from behind; with invisible speed, Jericho caught the man's arm in his mouth and there was a loud crunched along with a blood curdling scream. How dare these humans invade their forest and treat his kind this way! That poor little girl... Jericho bit down harder and rode the man to the ground, fangs digging into his chest and neck through the completely eaten off arm.
 


    • Unlike Jericho, Ammon had a different method of hunting. She was labeled one of the clan's most superior warriors for her uniqueness and different approach to driving away humans. She was the type to torture someone psychologically, to toy with their minds and amplify their fears, make them cognizant of the true meaning of terror. It was because of these methods that she was often deemed a monster by her kin.

      She unearthed a dispersed group of humans, undoubtedly ones that ran when they heard the howls of other werewolves nearby in a distant copse of oak trees. Within the darkness of the forest's canopy, she assumed her lycan form, embracing the dark magic that was cast unwillingly upon her. Unlike most females she was much larger, her coat a starless hue of sable, thick and wiry, shimmering with tiny flecks of gold upon her back. She let forth a low, curdling growl, startling one of the humans which was toting around an oversized crossbow. He was evidentially frightened by the manner in which he trembled, mentioning to his comrades that maybe it wasn't a wise idea to brave the forest at night. Werewolves were not the only antagonists that governed the wood - slyvans and shades had as well, give or take a few darkspawn here and there.

      When they had trekked into the forest deeply enough, she bore her teeth which were illuminated by the moonlight. Her maw was filled with them, all white and jagged, a horrifying depiction. The men yelped and fled while some attempted to fight, but to no avail. Her massive paws were easily able to subdue her victims, snapping their bones with one mighty swat. One of the humans - who had managed to find a decent leeway - shot an arrow into her arm. She was infuriated by their brazenness and bolted towards them, the very earth shaking under her weight, trampling them in the process.

      There was but one human left alive, trembling in terror. She collected him as if he were her spoils, dragging him unwillingly through the trees. "P-please! Let me go!" he pleaded, immediately interrupted by the gluttonous howls of awaiting - and quite hungry - werewolves. She took a note of Jericho's appearance, still unpleased and unmoved by both his appearance and act of selflessness concerning the child. She snorted at the mere thought of it, startling the human in the process. [/list:u][/list:u]
 
At Ammon's arrival, the rest of the humans were already slain. The last of the werewolves gathered around the corpses stren in pieces around the small grove. Jericho growled at the human Ammon brought toward them, a deep menacing sound that struck fear deep into the human's heart. From his guess, there were about ten humans here that he had killed, but he had smelt another group heading off into the distant forest. He could only assume Ammon led them there and sprang an attack; he was impressed by her workmanship, as well as her skill. The human she carried was alive, but he doubted she was going to keep him that way for long.

The large wolf examined the human with dark eyes. Why had they come here? Who were these creatures to think they could enter the forest in the dead of night? They must have been wishing death for that is all it led them to. "Human," he all but growled, "what are you doing in this forest?"

Sweat trickled down the man's skull as the weres closed in around him, all of them now in wolf form and bearing teeth. Jericho kept his face placid, but felt an anger stir deep within himself, like cold flames trailing through his heart. It was not his place to kill this man, however; he was Ammon's catch, not his, and not the rest of the pack's. What she did with him was her business. The human had remained silent so Jericho directed his gaze to Ammon. "What will you do with him?"
 


    • "That, stranger, is none of your concern. Please do as elder Kale has asked of you and retire to your quarters for the evening." Her voice was garbled; a marred mess in this cursed form. It did not depict her human voice, which was smooth and stoic, but rather, depicted the monster in which she assumed the guise of. She struggled to show some manner of kindness to their visitor but it was immensely difficult. She had no respect for him, and as a result, she would most likely not affiliate herself with him.

      When they returned to the ruins, the werewolf child's elder sister was their, her burning red hair a brilliant rendering which matched her emotion - furious. She watched the captured human with her flaxen gaze, immediately taking on her werewolf form to further startle him. "Thank you, sister," she growled, tracing her pink tongue over each one of her knife-like teeth. Ammon, being continually selfless, had brought this human as a prize for the child's sister. It was not Ammon's place to punish him ... but rather, the child's sibling's.

      While she left the human to the whims of the irate woman, Ammon ventured off to the far corner of the room to lick her wounds. She reassumed her human form, gently prodding at the arrow which bore through her coffee-colored flesh. A ginger wince fled from her lips; eyes went drab with a sense of agony while she began testing how she was to remove the projectile from her bicep. "Fuck," she cursed silently. She knew just what she would have to do to remove the weapon ... and it would not be, in any way shape or form, pleasurable.

      Without much further adieu she slammed the blunt end of the arrowhead into a local statue; her eyes went wide, littered with liquid torture while she felt the arrowhead rip through muscle, sinew and twisted flesh. It broke the skin on the others side of her arm, the arrowhead itself emerging in a sea of blood and metal. Next, she snapped the head off with relative ease, disdaining it upon the ground then gently pulling the neck of the arrow from the wound. It was not a pleasurable experience, but if anything, necessary.[/list:u][/list:u]
 
The night fell silent as Ammon stalked away with her prey, leaving Jericho and the weres alone with decaying human remains. After moments of staring up at the moon hanging brilliantly in the sky, Jericho instructed the weres to clean the mess and bring back some parts of the human for food. They did as he said, even cleaning the pieces in a near by river before taking them back to the ruins. Jericho made sure each did this thoroughly and carried the heaviest back. He tried to understand Ammon's view and could see how she might see him as a stranger, but he wished to no longer be a stranger. He could bring something to her life no one else could; if she could see that, would she trust him and follow him? He wanted nothing more than what was good for their people. He had seen enough death and destruction on their part to not care how much the other side received. He wanted them to suffer.

There, he discovered what Ammon had done with the prisoner and silently thanked her for the deed. He saw the gleam of triumph in the young were's eyes when he passed her by and gave her a reassuring smile of hope as he shaped back into the form of a man. Walking with bare, human feet he made his way to the barely whimpering Ammon. He crouched by her, brushing his fingers against her wound. "I can take care of this for you," he said with a soft tone he had not used with anyone else. But he waited for an answer, not wanting to push her further away. The powers given to him were many, healing one of them. It was a difficult skill to master but after years of practice, he had learned well. It helped specially in times of children's first turns, healing their aching bones and allowing the process to proceed without incident.

He wanted Ammon to see the good he could do. That the power he had been gifted with was here to help liberate all of them. Vindicate their race and let them run free. Every were wanted that and he knew, deep down, Ammon did, too.
 


    • "Don't touch me!"

      Her voice came out in a pretty sneer, eyes burning with vulpine fury. While she a woman who liked to comfort others with an embrace, she was not fond of strangers having the audacity to mindlessly reach out and address her physically. Admittedly, Ammon was confident that he wielded some power ... but she was not yet ready to accept him. At the resonating howl that fell from the grace of her lips, she realized just how unreasonable she was acting and bowed her head in shame.

      She reached out and gently took the man by his forearm, leading him into a long corridor which was eerily silent. The shadows cast by dimly lit torches illuminated the stone hallway just enough for her to see, and to insure that no one would notice their hiding place. "I am haunted by the images of these innocent people being taken advantage of ... men, enslaved, murdered; women and young girls being violently raped, beaten. I've seen it before ... I've seen what the humans do, especially to women. They take these ... these children's bodies after they've destroyed their tiny wombs and toss their mangled corpses into the gorge; to think, they do this even to their own kind. That is genocide at its worst."

      Her voice was soft and low; she did her best to offer him her ear so that she did not come off immensely commandeering. "Revenge is like a disease ... a festering, foul disease. We want it so badly that in the process of exacting it, we cannot see who is guilty and who is not. Those who have not sinned are judged by one who lawfully cannot judge themselves. I don't want these people being corrupted by this. If you can reassure me that you will not let them fall victim to this blindness ... then I will stand aside and let you do as you see fit."[/list:u][/list:u]
 
Ammon's change in demeanor struck Jericho hard as he watched the emotions flicker in the woman's eyes. He listened to her carefully, understanding her views better now. "I see what you are saying. Perhaps... there is other ways we can go about this. My initial way of starting our uprising would be infiltrating the humans' cities," he explained, "in disguise. It will open our peoples eyes to the humans' injustices as well help us understand why they are the way they are. If we are to face them, it is best we know them better than we know each other." He paused, fingers extended to her wounded arm. "There is much time and our people will always have a choice. They do not have to follow me. If you believe their anger is beginning to destroy them, we can stop. My only wish is to put these humans to justice... to let our people be free."

Pressing his fingers to the wound on her arm, his fingertips pulsed with a steady orange hue, spreading over her skin and replenishing it. There would be pain in the healing process, stings of everything being stitched back together, but in moments the deed was done and her arm healed. Jericho wiped the last of the blood away with his thumb tentatively. "Humans... have done such horrible things to our people. You've seen what they've done... I've seen so much and am haunted nightly as well. Every time I close my eyes, I see our people dying. I see what they've done, over and over." Something they had in common, Jericho noted; he had long wondered if others saw the dead with closed eyes. The pain erupted every time his eyes shut and the darkness closed in. It was more than he could stand sometimes. Soon... soon he'd see those monsters put to rest.
 


    • The woman was amazed with her wound; it had virtually disappeared, gone with the stranger's gentle touch. While she wasn't so easily deterred by the abrupt stinging sensation, she was however, slightly enraptured with this man's mysterious gift. She was not ready to ask him nor was she overtly interested. Perhaps the answer would come on its own.

      "And we've done so much to the humans. We're all to blame; it's a viscous circle that each one of us contribute to, someway, somehow."

      It was true that the humans' efforts were becoming increasingly daring as of late while the werewolves were growing more and more mellow with each passing day. The humans were entering the forests, boring through trees like fire through ice, ripping their ancient roots from the undisturbed earth and even having the audacity to braze the wood during nightfall. This was known werewolf territory, where the beats ruled, and even wild sylvans ran a muck. Soon they would attack the ruin in great numbers. This day was approaching quickly and Ammon feared they would not survive the attack, not with the humans' exponentially growing population.

      Suddenly, the regal woman placed her hand upon Jericho's shoulder. Her fingers dug into the material of his cloak, trembling, while her eyes depicted a rather fearful claim. "I'm putting my trust in you," she began, instilling her passion, making it as apparent as she possibly could, "These people cannot bare another heavy loss in battle. You are confident, and I want to trust this confidence ... but if you are to fail, just once -" she raised her finger, long and elegant, hanging it just in front of his marred, twisted face, "I will personally enjoy your slow torture, brother." [/list:u][/list:u]
 
Responding with a suave smile, Jericho took the raised finger and wrapped a large hand over her's. "I would not have it any other way, my sister. Perhaps, while we prepare our people, you would care to tell me what you think we should do?" He was generally curious as to what Ammon's personal thoughts were on the matter; she seemed to think much on it and he was sure she would be able to bring to light something he may not have seen. It was his duty to understand his people as well as the enemy and it would be unjust for him to force all his plans on others while not listening to their's. This was their war, not only his. "We will do this together, Ammon, and I wish to hear all our people's opinions before we take any immediate action. Please, I would much love to hear your view."

He released her fingers and inclined his head for her to follow. Personally, he enjoyed to walk and talk, instead of linger in one place. Enthralling conversations were best kept at a walking pace, he found, and there was much for him to see yet of the ruins. Knowing the place he would be staying and hopefully executing most of their plans was crucial for him and walking with Ammon provided the chance of her taking him to places he would have not found on his own.
 


    • While they walked, Ammon figured that she could kill two birds with one stone - discuss important issues with him and simultaneously lead him to his sleeping quarters where he would be staying for the remainder of his stay. Undoubtedly the other werewolves may have been wondering just where they wondered off to, but it was not unheard of for two newly acquainted werewolves to partake in more "sexual" relations.

      "I really want no part of this but ... if it means minimal casualty then I will help. I believe that making use of our curse may be the focal point in truly bringing human civilization to its knees. We have our kin stalk a group of hunters dispersed from Denerim. When they are on their way home, they attack, infecting the group of humans but leaving them alive. Once the humans return to Denerim they will start to witness the change ... and when they do change for the first time, they will attack their comrades and ultimately, start a chain of events that will grow exponentially until our race dwarfs that of the humans. From there we may be able to dominate other races such was the elves and qunari but it will be a tedious process."

      She noticed that the man's quarters were coming into view and stopped almost instantly.

      "We will talk more tomorrow if need be, though I prefer that you consult Kale before myself. My role in this isn't important."
      [/list:u][/list:u]
 
Eyes alert, Jericho memorized every part of the place he would now be staying and took note of all the exits closest to the room that would be his. The longer they walked, the more in depth Ammon became with her views and he enjoyed hearing her opinion on the matter. She was not only intelligent, but looked at things in more than one way; he could admire that and respected her more for it. Her people respected her as well which told him he should listen to her words carefully.

He smiled at Ammon's plan and said, "I had an idea similar to that. I can, more or less, disguise myself as a human and can teach you all as well. We will be able to move among them without their slightest notice." Stopping when Ammon did and he inclined his head politely. "You are as important as the rest of them. Everyone is important in this; this is all our war and we all play a part. I will likely see you tomorrow. Sleep well, Ammon." He bowed every so slightly with hands in his sleeves and stalked toward his room in a lingering grace, already planning his tasks for the day to come.
 


    • Over a course of a month, the werewolves living within the Brecillian Ruins had grown quite fond of their self-appointed leader Jericho. He was a recognizable face amongst their people; they felt comfortable around him, protected, now confident that he could fulfill the prophecy in which he preached. A week after his appearance Ammon was summoned to attend an important meeting in Orlais concerning the werewolves' dwindling population of females. Being one of the few which survived the turn, others wishes to hear of her experience from her own tongue and hoped they could use this forbearance to further increase the survival rate.

      To make matters particularly worse the elder werewolf, Kale, had fallen mysterious ill following her departure. It was a completely unfathomable that a seventy-seven year old human, as weak and brittle as he was, would survive the change. Due to this inspiring feat, the werewolf clan - as small as it was - had appointed Kale their superior. But even now ... he was dying, and quickly. When his corpse had withered away they would have no one to lead them. All of them were cognizant of Ammon's position in the grand scheme of things. She would undoubtedly refuse an inauguration, however, this new-comer may not.

      "We have ... terrible news." Amongst the crowd was Ammon; her body was sore from the trip, fatigued even, and she found her eyes left sullen from the werewolf perched a top a nearby broken column. "Early this morning Kale passed away. He was a wise man ... and his spirit was undoubtedly a fierce one. However, we promised him that we would not falter as we all perceived his death many months ago. That being said, our short-lived tradition says that the wise thing to do would be to elect a new leader. But ... alas, we have no candidates." Suddenly, Jericho's name began floating around. Ammon was visually taken aback by his nomination. Had three weeks made this much of a difference?

      "Jericho? I see. Aside from that, brothers and sisters ... the human's attacks have been growing increasingly brave as we have previously discussed. Jericho's plan is beginning to come to fruition, however, if he does not act soon we may be forced to abandon the ruins and find elsewhere to live." Jeers and boos spilled from the crowd. Some even howled in protest, but the crier was visually undisturbed. "We will discuss this further tomorrow afternoon, then. Ammon has returned and she may have something to add. Rest well." The hulking beast hobbled away which had dispersed the tight group of beasts and humans. Ammon was left alone now, silence by the soundless echo of the grand chamber.

      Not soon thereafter the woman found herself on one of the lower levels of the ruins, in an alcove that was vastly unused. Inside was an enormous pool of water, all but three and a half feet in height - barely enough to drown in. The ruin was built over a hotspring. Over a course of a decade or two - after the ruins were abandoned - the elements began to erode the stone and otherwise allow the piping hot lake to seep through separated cinder. She could barely make out the intricate pattern of the stone on the wall due to the thick layer of steam permeating throughout the room. She was, however, pleased with the solidarity and lack of people; emptiness.

      When she was sure not a soul was entering she removed her leather jerkin as well as the bodice underneath; her leggings fell around her thighs, draping her ankles while she disdained every article of clothing save for a questionable looking pendant framing her neck. The sensation of the water consuming her body was if anything pleasing, something she had craved quite a bit during her trek. [/list:u][/list:u]
 
The death of Kale had struck Jericho hard and after the man had been put to rest, Jericho wandered the depths of the forest for some time. Kale had been more than kind to Jericho since he had arrived here. Seeing the old man brought a sense of joy to being and their talks were often long and intriguing. Much older than Jericho, the old man had many things to say concerning his past and his dealings with humans, even when he was such a being.

During his walk, he thought mostly of what would happen to this clan of people now that their elder was gone. The humans were becoming bolder each day and venturing deeper and deeper into their woods. They have been able to hold them off as best they can, but it was no illusion to Jericho that the humans would eventually over run them if they did not do something soon. It was a brewing problem and he needed solutions.

Eventually in his wandering, he descended the depths of the ruins to a room in which steam rolled out. No one ventured this low in the caverns and he distinctly could hear the sound of water; a hot spring, he imagined. As he came closer, he heard the vague splashing of someone swimming and a steady heart beat. One at peace.
Stepping into the room, he found a pile of discarded clothing at this feet. Ammon's. His lips curled into a soft smile as he took another step forward, calling out into the mist, "Mind if I join you?" Before she could answer, he removed his cloak and shirt, slipping out of his pants within seconds. Jericho slid into the water gently, the warm water soothing him instantly.
 


    • Underneath the unflattering clothing, the pauldrons, drab leather jerkin and robes, Ammon had an attractive feminine frame. She was a healthy woman, tall and soft, though beneath her bronzed skin was layer upon layer of mistreated yet firm, well-sculpted muscle. Though her upper body and midsection hadn't showcased this crafted muscle definition, her long, lean legs had. She wanted so badly to treat herself properly, to iron out the brutalized sinew, wash her hair, do things a woman did.

      But this was virtually impossible now that she was doomed for the rest of her Maker-given life to be a remnant of Zathrian's improperly dispelled curse. Human men hadn't found her alluring because of her tattoos; because of her height, her powerful aura. In fact they found her rather daunting and often strayed away from her when she visited Denerim while others were enthralled by her otherwise exotic, unique appearance and would blatantly try to court her in front of an audience.

      Needless to say, Ammon was never interested. She refused to take on a werewolf mate let alone that of a measly human.

      The moment she had settled, wading about in the waist-deep pool, she heard a voice. A deep, commanding voice, that of someone she now called more then just an acquaintance: Jericho. A soft sound of approval fell from the grave of her vulpine lips, left garbled by the water's being. She remembered Kale chiding her for that ... those grunts. "They're impolite, and worst of all, unladylike," she recalled him preaching, "A warrior you may be, but a woman just as much." She would try to explain to him that she never tried to adopt the guise of a man, to take on his role or his mannerisms, they were simply rude aspects she had picked up during her transition from human to werewolf.

      She pressed her lips in a hard line, audibly wincing at the unwelcoming sensation of her tumid muscles pulsing under her probing fingertips. She trembled, almost, waiting for the agony to wane and the heat do its job to unwind the sinew. She merely wanted relieve, for the pain to be siphoned by the water ... and now that Jericho was here, maybe a talk as well.

      [/list:u][/list:u]
 
Despite the thick steam, Jericho was able to find Ammon in minutes; he waded over, the water ending around his chest, and she could clearly see more scars there, most of them burn marks and long gashes. Crude and still somewhat pink, the scars were the productive of heavy mistreatment and it was obvious by the look of them that they had not healed properly either. They did add to his sculpted frame and made him appear much more ominous and foreboding. He had a broad chest with arms made for killing; water glittered across his skin and dampened his hair into loose ringlets.

"Ammon," he greeted with a tilt of his head. "How are you, my lady? I have not seen much of you today." He had spent the morning going over war tactics with some of the weres, but, since Kale's death, he'd noticed much difference in the dealings of the pack. They moved along slower and their eyes kept moving skyward. Having only known the elder for a short time compared to everyone else, he could only imagine the pain that struck their hearts.
 


    • Still, she was baffled at his attempts to fraternize with her. She showed little to no interest in the man and yet, he went out of his way just to say "hello". It was not as if she disliked him or had purposely intended to mistreat him, these were just the mannerisms she practices both before and after becoming a werewolf. "I was in Orlais attending a meeting." A paused for a moment. Meeting. It sounded so formal, when in fact, it was just a throng of intelligible werewolves all holed up in an old inn discussing the lack of females and therefore, lack of sex.

      "They were discussing how to make the changing easier for females since they're typically not as resilient as males but, as I seen it, it was a waste of time; it's probably impossible."

      The werewolves were still in their green stages - they didn't thrive past the province of Orlais as it had only been six months since Zathrian's curse manifested into a hereditary chain. Ammon was pleased to be around and hopefully a key product in the blooming of werewolf society. She wished for them to be a morally and physically attached race as did they; werewolves did not want equality with humans and elves, rather, they wanted to be known and respected.

      "I'm just a little tired, Jericho. Yourself?"

      [/list:u][/list:u]
 
"Tired is one way of putting it." Jericho waded through the water closer to her. It had been some time since he'd been able to truly relax and he enjoyed the warmth of the water wrapping around him like a mother's soft caress. "You say the females are having a hard time with the change? I myself have not had much privilege in speaking to many of the other gender; in fact, you're the second female were I've come across. I would very much like to speak with these others; perhaps I could be of some help?" It was his duty, after all, to care for all of the weres, whether they be in Denerim or Orlais. They were all one people as far as he was concerned and he would look after all of them as best he could.

As he floated amidst the water, he wondered absently why it seemed business always found its way into his discussions with Ammon. It would be nice to have a conversation for the sake of having one, rather than constantly making plans or discussing current problems they faced. The past weeks had been long and tiring-- yes, tired was a very good way of putting it. But he would not stop until their people were safe. Until his work was complete, he would not rest. That said, he still felt a yearning to relate to someone on a different level, a personal one that could maybe be a friendship. The idea that he could have a close friend brought a smile to his face; he'd had such a thing, once upon a time. Kale had probably been the second closest to that. Jericho's smile dissipated at the thought of Kale and he absently made ringlets in the water with his hand, trying to distract himself.
 


    • Like Jericho, Ammon strove for casualty as well. She was tired of the business-chat, of the discussion concerning Denerim and their race. "I appreciate your concern but what needed to be said has already been said. It's unfortunate that most of the men were more concerned about sex then about actual reproduction." From time to time, Ammon could understand their standpoint. She hadn't been intimate with a man in quite some time. Every so often - especially during the full moon - she'd be just as hormonal as any other werewolf but wouldn't dare indulge.

      She took note of the lament on the man's face, and at the instant, she bowed her head in reprieve, showing him her eyes as they had softened. She outstretched a hand and placed it on the man's hard shoulder, giving it a reassuring stroke. "Listen ... Jericho. I realize that you may have not known Kale a long time but still, you developed a relationship with him ... and having it so suddenly severed is painful." She believed maybe this was a good instance to practice casualty rather then constant bickering.

      "I'm aware that it's late but, maybe you'd be willing to have a drink?"

      [/list:u][/list:u]
 
"Most men do seem more concerned with... such trivial things. Growth of our species should, you would think, take priority over the state of their loins," Jericho said with tart amusement. But it was Ammon's gentle words brought a touch of a smile to his lips; she was right about Kale. He had grown fond of the elderly man and his death was unsettling. It weighed heavily on his mind and he knew when he closed his eyes to sleep, Kale's face would be added amongst the rest.

"Now that, my dear lady, sounds like a promising idea." A drink with a friend. It had been a long time since he had been privileged to such an event and was happy to oblige. Once upon a time, he had spent his time in run down taverns with a good friend, business and pleasure mixed together. Quite a duo they had been then. Jericho often wondered how things would have been had things not gone sour their last mission together. That, however, only proved to be fruitless thinking as it only dampened his mood. Pushing any such thoughts from his mind, he dropped into the water with closed eyes, letting it surround him and engulf his body and was up within seconds.
 


    • The last time Ammon had the time to sit down and have a drink ... she couldn't quite recall. It would have been ages ago; before she fell victim to the werewolf curse. She had since forgotten the sensation of a perfectly brewed hops or finely aged wine. The thought had actually enthused her, made her believe that maybe even a woman of her stature was able to relax. "It's understandable ... but it's not appropriate."

      She drew in the hot air permeating the room and exhaled, allowing her hands to find the soaps she had smuggled into the alcove. They were quite extravagant, erected from buttermilk and expensive Orlesian oils. She was pleased with the scent; it was nostalgic and had reminded her of the time she spent an eve in a Rivaini home with two other women. They had taken her in after witnessing her single-handedly subdue a fully armored soldier. That was the night she first fell in love with such products.

      Within mere moments her skin and hair was clean; she washed the stubborn suds off with a gentle spritz of water, purging her tanned flesh of any dirt-related anomalies. She was quite pleased with the outcome and enjoying entertaining the idea of sleeping peacefully that night, especially with the aid of alcohol. [/list:u][/list:u]
 
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