In a world of darkness, of dreary days and terror filled nights there is always a sign to be looked to, a sign in the sky a promise that the world can be found once more if a fight is put up, if blood is let and offered. If those that can, will make a move forward, take the necessary steps to shed light into the shadow, make it flee into corners and under tables behind every object it can. The world is pitch black and the few candles lit make small flickers against the darkness, but there in the sky like a beacon of hope is the white moon, looking down and plotting its course of action. How best to tame this infernal hatred and send it away much as the weary and broken sun does in the day. It has picked it's champion, an unlikely son, a more unlikely hero, but to defeat the ruthless tribes and the fell beasts, it cleverly picks one of their number a particularly harsh, mindless beast of death and punishment. With a whisper and a hint the black tapestry begins to unravel. the right thread pulled and marred and the rest will follow.
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Outside of a dank and musty cell, a plot hatches and carries out as planned. Two shrouded figures deliver a vile concoction to the dish of a killer they dare not even put their hands into the cell of. The dish splashes with crimson an extremely potent poultice. With blood in its den the creature takes note of those that were moments ago beneath its notice and springs to the iron bars, pouncing on the dish and greedily lapping up the contents of the bowl. Mere moments pass before the predator tips over and smashes onto the ground with a meaty thud. The figures hesitate until one smacks the other and in its guttural native tongue commands the other forward. The figure darts in and out with a single task in mind. Harnessing the beast within.
Marduke Varlit had a vision four nights ago of a great wolf like beast at the throat of a great dark figure, three nights ago his lieutenant of dissent, Revel Tate came in with an artifact won off of the jungle elves, the very white bone collar that claimed the beasts neck. The two spoke for mere hours before the pieces fell into line as if it was fated. The wolf wasn’t hard to name either. In the vision the wolf’s eyes shined with the white light of the moon. The very beast that had been the death of any white sect member that made a misstep, failed in their thwarting of Izrador’s designs. Kiron Whitemoon, Beast of the arena.
Marduke gave a rare smile to Revel as he hopped out of the cage and the pair watched the Orc beast’s sleep calm and the hatred fall from it's brow, even as it was unconscious, the aura of ferocity had subsided and the pair stole away into the night with their knocked out White Sect recruit.
Kiron sat up from the pallet, a mess of furs fit for a great hunter on the ground in a suddenness, that made the other inhabitants of the room Jump and reach for their blades respectively. The other wise staunch warriors knew that if they were wrong or misread the prophecy, then they weren't only wrong. They were dead.
The wild orc's eyes observed the pair in the torch lit cave for a long moment, it was the first time he smelled Orc flesh so close and had the power to hesitate. typically he would of been buried in torn flesh by now, a mere moment past recognizing their presence. it was the first time he had a coherent thought unmarred by the need to rend someone or somethings flesh from its bones. Kiron realized he was in full control and couldn't help but to smile. His lean muscled form rose from the bed in a fluid motion, his hand went carefully to his neck and the first words he said in years were to his liberators. they were sincere and hardly heard in the vast and eloquent orcish language.
Thank you. His hand went to his lips, as if to reassure himself that the sound indeed came from him.
It wasn't that he was def or dumb all these years, merely that he was a prisoner to utter animalistic rage, when they freed him from his cell in the dread Pits of Izrador, they freed him from much more. his body was ensnared by the cell and the pit much as his mind and soul we captive of his body and rage. For years he didn't consciously, he didn't control his motions,He was a prisoner to instinct, and the only instinct he had was to kill, conquer, destroy.
but all of that changed with the dawning of the collar. and this was only beginning.
Days turned into weeks as the pair took turns spending time with their white sect initiate, they fed his natural resentment of Izrador and taught him the the subtle points of the Moon mother. the detailed story behind her heroic resistance and the tragic events that occurred and tainted him with wolf blood. He found himself more than inclined to join the ranks of the sect and took to their quiet work with a brutal love. He had long enjoyed destroying his own kind, over the years in the pits he had become extremely good at it.
and so the weeks turned into months and may a orc fell to a discreet blade in the night. but Kiron was not content to simply sit back and thwart orc captains and commanders, no he was inclined to search out others with the same goal and purpose. The white sect were off to a good start, but their vision was too limited and so he would strike off on his own and find those with a real reason to hate the shadow. He would strike off to find the his companions among the lesser races.
Kiron fled his homeland with a sense of freedom, lopping threw the hills and meadows, forest and everything between always towards the mountains, he wasn't and couldn't be sure what was pulling him or why he was pulled in the direction, only that it was correct. it was right. every so often the wolf in orc's skin would stop and drink of the creeks or eat the snow, always taking time to keep himself feed and quenched.
The day came that he was crossing a meadow with speed and at the shallowest point that the orc fed his fear of water and thus crossed with such enthusiasm. He ran and ran, away from the moving water and its wicked tricks. His legs carried him almost all the way into a village but he caught himself as he heard a maidens song. there he stood silent, stunned to here such pure innocence in hope in this world.
It was as he watched in awe, as the elf’s voice hit a solid high note, his eyes saw the arrow flying threw the air, toward her. he was moving before he knew he was in motion. He ran forward strait at her, knocking her on her back even as the arrow sunk into his right flank.
A look of pure fear was on her face, if it wasn’t the orcs, it was to be death by wolf for her? until she saw the sacrifice the wolf made for her. the orcish arrow stick out of his shoulder said all it needed to. A moment of his cool blue eyes looking into her honey toned orbs, spoke more than an hours worth of words. The elf maidens amber eyes darted to the tree line, spotting the torches that approached her village. But even as she looked, the wolf was a gray and black blur heading toward the brutish pillagers.
She sounded the alarm and the villagers ran toward their homes, grabbing bow and sling, ready to fight the orcs from the safety of their homes, hoping to survive long enough to win in a ranged fight, it was there only hope and still a foolish notion. What they saw next left them stunned the wolf ran and grew and ran and grew, as he did, he grew into part wolf part man, even more he was of epic proportions, he reach half way to the tree line and the werewolf reached down and pulled a great blade from off the ground he, then carried forward charging the band of marauding orcs. There were seven blades and three archers; the first to die was the orc whose arrow stuck out of the orcs side. He carried forward and killed another before the first had hit the ground. Two more steps and the last archers head arched threw the air. The remaining seven stood still for but a split second but it was a hesitation they didn’t have the time to make. Three ore orcs were dead before they knew it. The first archer finally hit the ground. Another was cut in two. Three were left and their bodies were attempting to flee, but that only gave them cowardly deaths, not one even completely turned around before their insides were visiting the dirt.
Kiron cautiously walked toward the people and the only reason that the villages arrows didn’t fly was for the elf maiden with honey colored eyes, she stopped them with a word and slowly walked out to meet him. She called for a bandage and clean water and so the bravest of the men brought out water and bandages. To the elf and the orc, who even on his knees looked eye to eye to the man and down to the maiden. The maiden whisper her thanks to the orc even as she pulled the arrow out of his shoulder that was meant for her. , she cleaned and dressed the wound, and to the dismay of the village invented the shape shifting orc to stay. He stayed for three days, until he was fight to run once more, and left a friend to the village, he taught them many things before he moved on and help them fortify their small village to better stand against an orcish attack. Most importantly to Kiron, she taught him how to sing and songs worth singing.