[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/GbJlmrW.png[/img][/center] [hr] She was running. She was fleeing. Her legs bent. Her bones cracked. She screamed. She groaned. She cried. Fingers became claws. Teeth became swords. She howled at the moon she could not see. She was on them before long. The heavy taste of iron permeated her mouth. Her breath was hot and stagnant. Her saliva dripped red. She knew only violence. She was violence. None were spared. Not as they slept. Not as they ran. Not as they fought. Not as they prayed. She was the predator. The world was her prey. [hr] A heavy breath escaped her lips as she clutched at the fabric around her chest. Euphoric sensations, like lightning strikes, shot up and down her spine, traveling to her fingertips and toes. It was a rush of excitement she had never felt before and she never wanted it to end. The goddess smashed her fist into the rock she had been leaning on, leaving a sizable crack as debris flew everywhere. Bloody scratches, fingertips, painted the dark surface of her vision. The sanguine liquid ran and dripped down the wall, seeping into crevices where it became nothing. She wanted more. She needed more! She couldn’t let such a feeling slip away, like falling into cracks… So she took a step forward, bathing her foot in pooling elf blood. But Wyn didn’t care. Not as she walked through those deerskin huts coated in maroon, who reeked of mortal flesh. Whose encampment on the plains had been shielded by a natural rock outcrop, the clever fools (She only had come to realize this once they had been painted). Nor as she passed the strewn bodies, ripped to pieces, bit in half, clawed to shreds, torn asunder and bleeding, bleeding, bleeding…! A whimsical laugh escaped her lips as she twirled in the slick grass, worn down by feet as if it were a lake of sanguine, hugging herself as she hummed and hummed away all the troubles of the past. A small whimper snapped her out of it, as if something had gone terribly amiss in her perfect little world. In one fluid motion of unnatural movement, Wyn had found the source and now crouched before it. A tent had collapsed in the stampede of scared elves and a survivor lay underneath. She could feel his heartbeat, hear his very breath and the pumping of his heart! Her vision burned with his red silhouette. She grabbed his ankle as he tried to escape her terrible presence. It was a young elf man who took to screaming and yelling, kicking and fighting but Wyn’s grasp was iron and her blood-stained flesh, steel. Oh but how she liked it when they fought back! It provided so much entertainment! So much sport… The thrill of the hunt, as un-thrilling as this one was. Once he was free of the tent, Wyn threw him into the stones with such force, she could hear bones break. Then she pounced upon him as he rolled clear, pinning his arms and legs outwards. As dazed as he was, the fight was gone and Wyn began to pout. His heart still raced, his fear was still palpable and… Ah, his blood quickened as adrenaline coursed. The bodies last ditch effort for survival. She could not see his tears but she could smell the salt in the air and with a quick lick, she could taste it and the rich iron of blood. It was invigorating. So much so that all pretense faded upon her features. A wolfish grin crossed her lips. She was going to let him go, to have a running chance but Wyn had changed her mind. “Do not be afraid.” She snickered, rubbing her cheek upon his, before licking his face. “I only want a taste.” She whispered, hovering ever closer to his throat, mouth salivating. “Just a nibble…” She lied, extending her mouth open to reveal sharpened daggers. His fledgling scream was silenced the moment her teeth touched his throat. But death did not claim him. For a new sound caught her ear and she dropped the elf man where he lay and a groan escaped his lips. Wyn stood and spun to see, way off, a mounted band of warriors headed her way. They held the same stature as the Navari and her elf companions upon their mounted steads. She clasped her hands, how delightful! Before she could go out to greet them, the elf man began to scream. It was the sort one screamed when they were in terrible pain. A pain so profound not even unconsciousness could save them. She looked again to see his blood boiling, a dark black was spreading from his throat, infecting his veins, pumping into his heart. It was not a blackness that eluded her but one she felt oh so intimate with. His body contorted and she could hear bones breaking. He at once grew taller, chest widening as the sound of deerskin clothes ripping apart tore across the air. He clawed at himself, drawing blood as the blackness consumed him. Most Intriguing of all was his head; it elongated at the nose, becoming a snout like some terrible bloody wolf. She could hear sharp teeth snapping and tongue panting. He towered over Wyn now, rising as his pointed ears lowered. A deep growl escaped his throat as his body crouched. It delighted Wyn, even when the elf-turned-wolfman attacked her. Even when he clawed and bit and struck her, the sensations only gave her great comfort. Even when he attempted to savage her as she had savaged his village, Wyn could not help but giggle like a child. The sheer thought of herself causing so much joy, it was almost unbearable and she squirmed. "Do not be afraid." She cooed as her head was smashed into a rock over and over by a thick paw of fur. "You are of mine own blood now. Imperfect forever more!" She cackled. The rock had crumbled away, now she was driven into the ground with each powerful fist. He growled and snapped and snarled but he could not kill his progenitor. Then his attention went elsewhere with a whistling shot that struck him in the back. An arrow had found its mark and then he was lanced by two riders. The likes of which had the body of man but also of horse. They were no separate entities but just one. Memories of the night filtered back in, hadn’t she attacked those two? Somewhere out where the dew of grass had soaked her? Had they come for revenge? More arrived, thundering hooves and towering builds. More arrows were loosed and more cuts were made as the wolfman went on the defensive. The horsemen meanwhile whooped, screamed and yelled, trampling on her unintentionally. Perhaps they thought her dead? Well that wouldn’t do… She bounded up as the wolfman finally caught a lance, and pulled the rider towards him. He clawed the man and then bit him as Wyn danced between hooves and stone lances. She broke the front legs of one of the horsemen and tore out his throat with a swipe of her hand. The bitten horsemen, so Wyn saw, began to scream as his blood turned black. So it was infectious and could jump species? That delighted her to no end, as she threw a discarded lance into the head of a horseman. It was so wondrous in fact she retrieved a fallen bow, a thing woven together with wood and rawhide and drew back. What she unleashed upon them was nothing short of terror. The bow shot forth a piercing arrow with such force, it ripped holes into the horsemen’s flesh. Seeing this the last of the horsemen fled, routed by her. Wyn, no longer needing the bow and forgetting about her infected creations (which were now fighting each other) ran off after the fleeing horsemen. She lived for the thrill, after all. The two wolfmen, one of two legs and the other of four battled and traded blows, neither gaining any ground over the other, so evenly matched as they were. Eventually the two went separate ways, either growing bored or perhaps it was something else entirely. Now left behind in that deserted village, was the bow that Wyn had used to slay several of the horsemen. It lay where it had dropped, changed from the power channeled through it. The wood had become black and sleek, while the string had become a vibrant red, now stronger and hardier. Even stranger, intentional even, was the fallen blood began to trickle towards it… [hider=Summary] Wyn’s last personality is revealed. Ebony is a ruthless, pleasure seeking animal. She brutalizes people in the grasslands outside of Earthwall and beyond, before coming to a pause in some random elf village. There she bites a lone elf man and infects him with lycanthropy or the beast’s blood. They are then attacked by centaurs, or to her, horsemen and her new werewolf bites one, changing him as well. Wyn then creates a bow, promptly abandons it and her werewolves and then goes off hunting the fleeing horsemen, who by that point were fleeing for their lives. [/hider] [hider=MP] 2MP/3AP -3AP to Create the Beast Curse, Werewolf Curse, Lycanthropy, etc. The curse changes the blood of the infected black. This marks them as tainted by the beast’s blood. It turns the infected into savage beasts, unable to think, to reason, to be anything other than an animal. Their claws are razor sharp, their teeth become like daggers whilst their strength, endurance, senses and stamina are enhanced beyond any regular mortal. They walk mostly upright if can be helped. Though they are a creature of nightmare, they can still be put down like any dog. If one wishes to flirt with death. Once bitten the curse takes hold immediately, triggering the first transformation. Later transformations happen under duress. Usually triggered by anger, which is just another side effect of the curse. In normal form one tends to be provoked very easily, capable of losing their temper at a moments notice. Only the strongest of wills could attempt to save themselves from heartache. Thus, it is a lonely existence… To be cursed with the beast’s blood. It only infects those who have blood flowing in their veins and there is currently no known cure. -4MP (reduced to 2MP via blood aspect) to Create an artifact, the Sanguine Bow. Once of simple make, the unintentional use by Wyn has changed the bow into something else entirely. It feeds on blood, using the life energies of others as projectiles capable of inflicting great suffering. Without a fresh supply, it will instead use the blood of its wielder. 0/0 [/hider]