Driven From Home -open-

Radron Varg, the Lycan

The mountains were cold -- all of the water sources on the mountain overlooking Knife's Edge were frozen. The air was completely silent as snow fell to the ground. No animals were moving, preserving body heat in such temperatures was crucial to their survival.

A burly man was walking along a double-back up the cliffs, his breath could be seen in front of him. With every step came a grunt of effort. He turned to look at the city below, shaking his head slowly. He couldn't live down there, with them. He didn't trust himself, or them for that matter. His mind was a cloud turned red with anger -- anger of his father driving him away, anger that no one would stand beside him. Radron housed all of the anger in his mind and took it out on his work when he could.

As Radron reached the top of the cliff he was climbing, the mountain plateau'd enough to boast enough area for a small, poorly built house. Radron smirked slightly at the sight of the shack he called home. He opened the driftwood door, ducking to enter the living quarters. As Radron dropped his latest kill of a small doe he had snuck upon while it was bedded. The blood leaked onto the floor from where it sat. Radron paid no mind. He slumped onto his massive pile of hides that he used for a bed. He grumbled softly, shifting his body around to become comfy. Propping his head up, he stared at the blood as it ran down the gentle slope his house set on. He licked his lips slowly, unknowingly. Radron slowly rose from where he lay, stalking towards the body. He lifted the head ever so gently, looking from the gray specks on her muzzle, down to her black tipped tail. "You didn't stand a chance, did you, girl?" His voice was taunting, and gruff. He smirked, throwing his hand into her chest and removing the heart. He squeezed the lukewarm organ, causing blood to run down his arms, dripping onto the floor. Laughter sounded through the shack as he took a bite from the heart, swallowing with haste. Bite after bite, he became covered in crimson, continuing to gorge on the body, laughing between bites.

Once his stomach had been filled, Radron took the body outside, hanging her from the tree to let the remainder of the body drain. "I hadn't realized just how hungry I was, little doe. Thank you for filling me." He rubbed her forehead, leaving behind a pale stain of blood. He would later skin her, and save the pelt for the market. Radron turned to face the small spring that was a hundred paces from his shack. Noting it was frozen, he took a sledgehammer he leaned up against his shack. Radron walked over to where the spring's surface began and threw the hammer onto it's surface. After multiple swings, the ice broke. He threw large pieces of ice to the side, giving him enough room to squeeze into the open water. He bathed, rubbing the red stains from his body and clothes. When he was satisfied that he was clean, Radron exited the pool, shivering. He wandered over to where his shack was, grabbing enough wood to prepare a fire inside to dry his clothing.

With a shivering breath, Radron placed the limbs and old driftwood under a patched hole in his roof. Radron lifted his arm, taking the patch in his hand, and pulled it back to reveal the cold sky. A breeze passed through the room, moving leaves that littered the floor from his comings and goings. He sat down, whittling at two sticks, attempting to spark a flame. It took perhaps ten minutes for a spark to flick from the small twigs. Radron bent over, blowing gently on the smoking litter. An orange flick of flame rose from the fire, smoke exiting the roof through the hole.

With a sigh, Radron leaned back against the makeshift bed, staring into the fire. Even though the scent of smoke filled the room, it reminded him of his home, his pack. Of the fires they made when stories were told and meetings held. He remembered his siblings, and how they were removed from the pack. The thought made him question himself -- why not me? His strange amber eyes blinked as the flames grew warmer, filling the room. Radron leaned over to pull a hide from the bed, wrapping it around his shoulders as he stood, peeling his clothing from his body. He laid the clothing out in front of the fire in hopes that the flames would dry them before he had to take his goods to market.

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Radron fastened the last of his rope across his two-wheeled cart filled to the top with animal hides. He tugged on each of the three ropes to ensure their tightness. Nodding his approval, Radron pulled his hair back, tying the dreaded locks with a string of dried intestine. With a look to the sun, he picked up the two handles for his cart and began the all-too-familiar walk down to Knife's Edge.

Once Radron reached the city, he walked directly to the inn where he would stay until tomorrow's sunrise. He knocked on the door, but was turned down. Curses mumbled under his breath, Radron turned and walked to the market place. "I guess I'll go and sleep in my stall, like a damned horse." He glared at everyone who passed by him as they stared. "The fuck you lookin' at?" He spat in the direction of a boy carrying loaves of bread -- as if he hadn't seen a mountain man before. Radron dropped his cart at his regular stall, sitting on an empty barrel he had brought along to perch on all day in the morn.

He leaned onto his knees, looking through his pack for the small rations of food he'd brought. He grabbed a small bit of dried meat from a pouch, lifting it to his lips. Radron inhaled the smoky scent, closing his eyes. The fire. When he opened his eyes, he caught sight of a crow, sitting atop his cart, tilting it's head at him. He lifted his lip in a snarl, baring his teeth in a very canidae manner. He shifted uncomfortably before shouting at the bird, "Go. Leave me to my dinner." The bird gave a soft chirp before taking flight, landing on the roof opposite of where Radron sat. Radron narrowed his amber eyes at the crow before continuing to eat, only lowering his gaze to get more food.

When the darkness came over the sky, Radron decided to bed down in front of the stall. He pulled a few pelts that were in poor condition from the wagon, laying on them. The air was dropping in temperature quite rapidly. He pulled one pelt over his body, grunting as his body ached from travel and gravity. The moon cast light on the streets, as did the lights from inside the inn. Radron gazed into the windows of the inn -- "I guess I'm sleeping with the dogs tonight.." A sarcastic chuckle and snores were the only noise coming from the market stall that night.

Why was it that when ever you drank mead the night before you wake up with your tongue feeling like a shag carpet. This was the first thought that came to mind when Jethro woke up. What he really needed right now is about twenty gallons of cold clean water or a pot of coffee either or... His head was pounding as Jethro adjusted a bandana over his head and donned a parka. Unlike some people in Knifes edge he was not a fan of the cold. The sun had just started to glimpse over the horizon and reflect off of the ice and snow making him regret what ever else he drank last night.

Jethro didn't have a home so he had to make base camp in taverns that wouldn't mind his presence but more often or not he'd find himself a place to pass out for the night at the local livery or stable. To that end the night before he passed out not just fifteen feet from a large, smelly, harry person snoring loudly, incredibly loudly. "Hey wake up!" Jethro shouted and the snoring beast probably not even being heard. He looked at the harry brute and wondered how violent things could get if he shoved a piece of saddle leather into the brutes mouth. Then another idea crossed his mind and he sifted for a bottle of something or 'nother in his refuse pile. Still half a bottle left.

Popping the cork on the bottle he offered it to the lycan mostly by wafting it under the smelly creatures nose. "Come on now. Best part of waking up and all. Might even improve your morning breath." he said as the powerful smelling brown liquid sloshed around in the bottle.