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It had been many weeks since Darwin Dakros had been seen in Sundren. The shapeshifting Malarite had been wanted by the Druid's Circle and the Blackwood ever since his note detailing his hatred of civilization and their defilement of mother nature.
Oddly enough, the Shapeshifter was doing what he did best: hiding in plain sight.
He had procured himself a room at the Second Wind inn. Every few days, when it was slow, the man would change his form into a new person and simply re-rent the same room over random cycles. This would insure that he would have a place for the long-term, and the inn-keeper wouldn't think anything of multiple different people renting the room...the inn was booked solid as it was anyways.
The inn had everything the Shifter needed to remain hidden. Plenty of mouse-holes to crawl through. Plenty of windows to fly out of. Plenty of chimneys to assume spider-shape and crawl up. The man could enter and leave the inn upon a whim as he saw fit, fairly confident that even with True Sight the Triad and the Druid's circle wouldn't check EVERY Bird, mouse, cat, or chicken that happened by the inn.
But his biggest enemy was not the Triad at the moment. Or the Blackwood. Or the Druid's circle. His biggest enemy...was the boredom.
Being cooped up in the inn-room, plotting, the man was growing increasingly anxious and frustrated. He was not able to enjoy the merriment he once enjoyed by smoking Devilweed and drinking coffee. His addiction to both was far too well known and was bound to draw attention to himself if he openly indulged.
He pranced back and forth in his room, his form constantly shifting as the man's derangement continued to grow. He began having conversations with himself, shapeshifting into different people to engage himself in dialogue, just so that he could hear voices that were not his own.
Over the weeks of solitude, hiding out so that he could put the finishing touches on his master plan, the Malarite began to lose something. He began to lose himself. He would fall asleep wearing one face and wake up wearing another. He used so many fake names, so many aliases, that he began to forget who he was.
Was Darwin who he truly was now? Or was this just another face? Another identity. One of the dozens that he had used over the past few weeks. He never wore his own face in public. Oftentimes he was never human at all, spending much of his time in the shape of birds and mice, things that would go unnoticed.
Sitting back in his room, a nervous tick running through his body as the Devilweed and Caffeine withdrawal began to take hold, Darwin gazed into the mirror. And what gazed back at him horrified him.
It was a monstrous looking creature, with the Antlers of a mighty Buck upon it's head. It's eyes were crimson red, and it's teeth were pointed fangs. Whether this beast was an incarnation of Malar Himself, or merely a warped shape that Darwin had assumed in his madness, Darwin did not know.
"I'm disappointed in you, Darwin." said the monstrous visage. "You are a hunter. A Predator. But look at you now. You hide here, in this room, as a rodent hides from the Hawk. You have spent so much time AS a rodent that you have forgotten that you ARE the Hawk...You ARE the predator...and what you have become disgusts me."
The form in the mirror began to shift until finally resuming it's true form: Darwin's own, true face. The face that he had not gazed upon in days, having almost forgotten what it looked like. He ran a hand down his cheek, running his hand through his scruffly beard that he had not shaved since this incident with the Forest Spirit began. But as he looked upon this broken, pathetic shape his eyes burned a crimson red, and he shapeshifted yet again. This time before the mirror sat a mighty Red Dragon, though much smaller than one fully grown. The Dragon stared at him in the mirror, smoke bellowing from it's nostrils.
"You have Forgotten what you are. That you are Nature's Fury given Flesh. That you are it's claw, it's fang. And that Nature cannot defend itself. You must fight for it. And if necessary, kill and die for it."
The Dragon's words echoed within him as it's form dissolved, showing the rugged Darwin once again. As he gazed upon his hairy, umkempt face a look of steely resolve danced within his eye. Looking down at his hands he flicked his wrist, shape-shifting razor-like claws upon the end of his fingers. Reaches up, he forcefully cut the scraggly beard from his face, cutting himself severely in the process. Blood from his wounds dripped upon the floor, but then almost immediately the bleeding stopped, his natural regeneration beginning to repair the damage to his face, returning it to it's former handsome visage.
Looking down to his left arm, Darwin took the clawed talon upon his right hand and dug into the flesh. He wrote himself a reminder. He wrote himself a memento, carved into his very skin:
"YOU ARE DARWIN DAKROS"
As the wound began to regenerate and seal itself closed Darwin collected his belongings. He strapped on his armor and cloak, and shapeshifted into a Raven, which flew out of the second-story window of the inn.
...it was time to go hunting.
Oddly enough, the Shapeshifter was doing what he did best: hiding in plain sight.
He had procured himself a room at the Second Wind inn. Every few days, when it was slow, the man would change his form into a new person and simply re-rent the same room over random cycles. This would insure that he would have a place for the long-term, and the inn-keeper wouldn't think anything of multiple different people renting the room...the inn was booked solid as it was anyways.
The inn had everything the Shifter needed to remain hidden. Plenty of mouse-holes to crawl through. Plenty of windows to fly out of. Plenty of chimneys to assume spider-shape and crawl up. The man could enter and leave the inn upon a whim as he saw fit, fairly confident that even with True Sight the Triad and the Druid's circle wouldn't check EVERY Bird, mouse, cat, or chicken that happened by the inn.
But his biggest enemy was not the Triad at the moment. Or the Blackwood. Or the Druid's circle. His biggest enemy...was the boredom.
Being cooped up in the inn-room, plotting, the man was growing increasingly anxious and frustrated. He was not able to enjoy the merriment he once enjoyed by smoking Devilweed and drinking coffee. His addiction to both was far too well known and was bound to draw attention to himself if he openly indulged.
He pranced back and forth in his room, his form constantly shifting as the man's derangement continued to grow. He began having conversations with himself, shapeshifting into different people to engage himself in dialogue, just so that he could hear voices that were not his own.
Over the weeks of solitude, hiding out so that he could put the finishing touches on his master plan, the Malarite began to lose something. He began to lose himself. He would fall asleep wearing one face and wake up wearing another. He used so many fake names, so many aliases, that he began to forget who he was.
Was Darwin who he truly was now? Or was this just another face? Another identity. One of the dozens that he had used over the past few weeks. He never wore his own face in public. Oftentimes he was never human at all, spending much of his time in the shape of birds and mice, things that would go unnoticed.
Sitting back in his room, a nervous tick running through his body as the Devilweed and Caffeine withdrawal began to take hold, Darwin gazed into the mirror. And what gazed back at him horrified him.
It was a monstrous looking creature, with the Antlers of a mighty Buck upon it's head. It's eyes were crimson red, and it's teeth were pointed fangs. Whether this beast was an incarnation of Malar Himself, or merely a warped shape that Darwin had assumed in his madness, Darwin did not know.
"I'm disappointed in you, Darwin." said the monstrous visage. "You are a hunter. A Predator. But look at you now. You hide here, in this room, as a rodent hides from the Hawk. You have spent so much time AS a rodent that you have forgotten that you ARE the Hawk...You ARE the predator...and what you have become disgusts me."
The form in the mirror began to shift until finally resuming it's true form: Darwin's own, true face. The face that he had not gazed upon in days, having almost forgotten what it looked like. He ran a hand down his cheek, running his hand through his scruffly beard that he had not shaved since this incident with the Forest Spirit began. But as he looked upon this broken, pathetic shape his eyes burned a crimson red, and he shapeshifted yet again. This time before the mirror sat a mighty Red Dragon, though much smaller than one fully grown. The Dragon stared at him in the mirror, smoke bellowing from it's nostrils.
"You have Forgotten what you are. That you are Nature's Fury given Flesh. That you are it's claw, it's fang. And that Nature cannot defend itself. You must fight for it. And if necessary, kill and die for it."
The Dragon's words echoed within him as it's form dissolved, showing the rugged Darwin once again. As he gazed upon his hairy, umkempt face a look of steely resolve danced within his eye. Looking down at his hands he flicked his wrist, shape-shifting razor-like claws upon the end of his fingers. Reaches up, he forcefully cut the scraggly beard from his face, cutting himself severely in the process. Blood from his wounds dripped upon the floor, but then almost immediately the bleeding stopped, his natural regeneration beginning to repair the damage to his face, returning it to it's former handsome visage.
Looking down to his left arm, Darwin took the clawed talon upon his right hand and dug into the flesh. He wrote himself a reminder. He wrote himself a memento, carved into his very skin:
"YOU ARE DARWIN DAKROS"
As the wound began to regenerate and seal itself closed Darwin collected his belongings. He strapped on his armor and cloak, and shapeshifted into a Raven, which flew out of the second-story window of the inn.
...it was time to go hunting.