the wind whispers once again....

[BattlePixie]

Men at arms, mercenaries and travellers alike talk of the screams heard from the Veridale forest as of late. It seems some... creature has cast its shadow over the woods, the only evidence of its passing being the gnawed bones of it's kills. These trophies are left to bleach in the morning sun near the great tree along the river.

Its evident this creature is motivated by something beyond hunger, though locals do agree, this is a hunger that has not visited these woods in some time.

[BattlePixie]

U’Bagho looked over his warriors, they feared the time when the moon was full and rightfully so; it was “her” time. Some called her “the Black Demon”, others refused to utter her name hoping it would make them safe, but U’Bagho knew it wouldn’t. Her lust for the hunt and the blood of her prey was unquenchable. If given the opportunity she would feast until the Bloodmaim were no more.

U’Bagho knew who she really was, though.

She was powerful under the full moon, powerful enough that U’Bagho saw her in his dreams. Looking deeper into the swirling blackness that surrounded her, U’Bagho saw the creature behind the eyes of the great panther and in those eyes he saw the fury, the bloodlust and the loss; he knew how to defeat her.

The moon rose full that night and U’Bagho knew it wouldn’t be long before he heard the screams of his tribesmen being torn apart, but tonight would be the last night.

The Orcs of the Bloodmaim tribe had easily picked up the trail of the Black Demon, a panther as large as a great mountain bear, with claws as long as swords. Quietly they closed in on their prey, the sound of their movement through the thick underbrush masked by a pounding waterfall. Spying from cover they watched the great panther at the edge of the pool, lapping up water. She paused a moment, lifting her massive head, her ears twitched slightly.


The Orcs froze, tightening the grip on their weapons and daring not to breath lest the demon cat were to hear them. Emitting a low growl, the great panther slowly turned to face her pursuers and it was then the Orcs realized their folly.

It was a trap.

The wind carried the sound of baying dogs; the howls of a hungry pack and the Orcs swore the demon cat before them was laughing. The shadows cast by the ancient trees erupted in teeth and claws as shadowy hounds burst from another plane to rend flesh and crack bone.

U’Bagho was too late to save his war party, but then he had no intention of saving them. They weren’t his best warriors and in truth he only needed them to hold the demon’s attention.

Stepping out of the undergrowth, U’Bagho surveyed the carnage before him. Shadow hounds looked up from their fresh kills and bared their teeth at the intrusion on their meal. Cautiously they stepped over the torn bodies of the Orc warriors and advanced upon the old shaman. U’Bagho firmly planted his gnarled staff in the blood soaked ground and stretched out his frail hand toward the advancing dogs.

“Sha-la-fu!”

It was a powerful utterance and the hounds whined as their forms began to fade, banished back to the plane of shadow.

The great panther looked up furious and roared at U’Bagho’s insolence. How dare he banish her pack, she would suck the marrow from his old and frail bones, but yet she found herself unable to move. This Orc before her had cast a powerful spell over her.

No.

Though she could feel the power in his aged frame, he cast no spell. It was an object he now held that seemed to captivate her. A severed hand mummified and whitened with the ash of a fire. This hand fascinated her and she was compelled to follow it as this Orc Shaman led her through the woods. They travelled long enough for the brilliant silvery moon to have faded with the coming of the sun and they travelled far enough that the ancient moss covered trees gave way to new growth and young saplings.

“Your tie to the Mossdale is severed as long as the hand of your tribesman guards the path demon. Go now and feast on the bones of another tribe!” said the shaman as he carefully buried the white hand in the fertile earth. When he looked up, the great panther was gone.

[BattlePixie]

The Orcs sat around the fire, bored. The sun had gone down some time ago and a chill was carried upon the wind this night.

“Why we here?” Said one orc as he stretched out in front of the fire.

“We here to guard, fool. Now open eyes and guard like spirit talker say.” Replied a second.

“No I mean why we guard here? No one come this way, ever. It boring. Why not we guard by where humans are? Mmm human meat be good now.” Said the first, rubbing his growling stomach.

“Bah, you have no vision. You not see big picture. We guard here because it im..im..important.”

Snorting in laughter at his companion, the first orc stood up and stretched. “Vision? Who you think you are? Spirit talker now?” Walking around the fire, the orc began to absently kick at the stones and other debris around the camp to alleviate his boredom.

“Hey! What this?” The orc lifted his foot to reveal a mound of overgrown earth that had partially collapsed under his footfalls. “Something here.”

The second orc barely looked up “Ya something like more dirt.”

Using the point of his sword, the first orc began to dig at the mound. Something compelled him to dig, something called to him just under the surface of the overgrown earth. The Orc dropped his sword as an inefficient tool and fell to his knees, digging in earnest now with his fat fingers. So focussed on his task, the orc didn’t even feel the wind pick up in ferocity, bringing with it a stinging cold that lashed at his leathered skin. Nor did he notice the clouds part, revealing a brilliant full moon. As the orc dug through the earth, his dirty and sausage like fingers touched an object, it was cold like a stone, but fleshy.

A faint howl traveled on the wind from somewhere very far off.

Getting back up to his feet, the orc examined his prize. It was a severed hand, white ash fell from it, but there was no sign of decay.

The wind continued to pick up, carrying with it another beasts’ howl, closer this time.

“What that?” Said the second orc now interested at his companion’s find.

“Not know. Looks like hand. Maybe Human?”

The second orc walked over and examined the object. “Hand to small. Maybe hand of little creature like hun or hin or something. Not human.”

A low growl could be heard now from the shadows the moon had cast around the campsite. The two orcs, looked up from the severed hand and squinted into the darkness.

“Who there?” Cried the first as both orcs picked up their weapons.

The first orc tucked the hand into his belt, while the second held his axe out in front of him poking at the underbrush.

The growls promptly stopped.

Turning back to his companion with a fanged grin the second orc confidently rested his axe on his shoulder. “It gone now. Stupid animal come to tribe la-“ The orc’s sentence was cut short as a panther, as large as a cave bear and with fur the colour of the blackest night, launched itself from within the shadow, pouncing upon its prey.

The orc screamed as the massive panther on his back tore strips of flesh off of him. His companion watched in horror, unable to move. The panther continued the process of flaying the orc alive, pausing only to bite and swallow chucks of orc meat whole.

It took what seemed like an eternity for the sound of screams to fade into the moonlit night, but when they did the panther lifted its gore soaked muzzle from its meal to lock eyes with the last remaining orc. Stepping over the remains of its last kill, the panther’s massive paws barely disturbed the earth as it covered the ground between it and the orc. The orc could feel the demon’s hot breath and smelt its last meal as the massive creature sniffed at him pausing when it reached the severed hand tucked into his belt. With what can only be categorized as a content grin, the great panther sprung upon its hapless victim with a ferocious howl and the flash of razor claws.

As the first of the sun’s rays chased the last of the full moon into the horizon, the massive panther lifted it head from its kills. With an involuntary shudder of its massive shoulders the panther’s form began to shift and tear. It howled in furry at the sun as its midnight fur fell off in large patches and its limbs retracted into its body with the popping of joints. The animalistic howl gave way to a hoarse growl as the sun chased the last shadows of night away, taking with them the panther’s form and leaving behind a small, dirty, but bipedal creature.

With a final annoyed growl at the morning light, the little dirty Hin looked around the remains of the campsite. With a satisfied grin, she muddied her hand in the white ash of a long dead fire and made the mark of her tribe on her armour; a solitary white palm print. Picking up a discarded axe, Mittens Whitepaw strode out of the forest sniffing the air. She could smell the abundance of prey in the area, and it had been a long time since she had been let out to hunt.