Fenris
01-31-07, 08:24 PM
Hello, all. This is the intro or 'IC Context' for my battles in the Althanaversary Tournament. I plan for them all to string together into a large story, which will be much fun and develop my character significantly. Judging will have to be...quirky, but I'll work that out with the judges. (Also, the full introduction isn't quite completed, but more is coming soon.) Enjoy!
Tonight. It was tonight.
Fihrinn sat limply on the coarsely carved stool, his back hunched, his head hung as the ale and tobacco and brash laughter crashed around him in the tiny, backstreet tavern. Loosely-clad women flung themselves about between the foul-breathed, muck-robed drunks, laughing and shouting and squealing as they downed more rum.
But the wolf sat silent, staring blankly at the wooden mug on the table before him. There were no answers in it. No peace, no forgiveness. No forgetting.
It was tonight. Thirty-six moons, tonight.
One other person was silent in the bar. He’d been watching her for some time. She sat with her father beside one of the ale barrels, shying away from his breath every time he turned to her. She eyed the crowd uneasily—almost fearfully—with blazing green eyes, and gently wiped away the drops of rum that splashed on her young face from her father’s mug.
White hair…she had white hair…
A thrust hip caught the side of his table, sending the mug clattering across the room and its contents splattering around his paws. He turned a fierce gaze to the interrupter of his reverie—a raucous tavern wench whose low-necked blouse could scarcely contain her—but she spiraled away, shrieking and giggling with the balance of a two-legged cow.
Had his heart not been dying, he would have been angry.
“No!”
His stare snapped back to the girl. A bawdy young brute had grabbed her by the forearm and was trying to yank her to her feet as her father looked on, guffawing uproariously.
“Oi be’r no’ ‘ave gran’chilen, kid!” he slurred, barely managing to keep upright.
“N—no!” she shrieked as the youth finally jerked her from her roost and slung her over his shoulder, carrying her kicking and screaming toward the door into the alley. She screamed.
No one listened.
No.
The hired bouncer by the door laughed as the man hauled the girl through the doorway.
No!
Fihrinn stood up.
~\ | / ~
“No no! Please don't...” Her tears flowed freely as he threw her against the brick wall. She screamed, and he hit her across the face, and grabbed her tunic sleeve, and yanked—
“Don’t!” she shrieked, and sobbed, and he sneered, and tossed the strip away, and gripped her shoulders.
“C’mere, baby…” he breathed, and her nostrils filled with the stench of beer.
“Don’t…” she cried, and he smiled, and grabbed her other sleeve.
“I’m gonna take you like a—”
A roar.
She screamed at the mere sound of it, like some kind of mad beast but so close—
And then she knew she was going to die.
A monster struck the man from the side and he flew to the other side of the alley, and he hit the wall, but the thing was on him before he even hit the ground, and it was roaring and screaming and tearing—
And something warm splattered against her face and the thing tore and tore and tore, and she couldn’t even scream…
And then it looked up. Suddenly it caught her with eyes of ice, and its whole muzzle was slicked and red and its torso was covered with blood.
“Ainnir?” it said.
She fainted.
~ \ | / ~
No. No no no!
She slumped to the ground, and he leapt to catch her. His paws left red stains all over her chest…
He couldn’t…breathe…
His eyes stared wide, and he felt like he would retch as the scarlet flowed over her snow-white fur, and the blaze in her green eyes dimmed.
“A…Ainnir? Ainnir! Ainnir!”
He gripped the arrow in her chest and yanked, but it didn’t come out. He yanked again, and again—and then fell to sobs, and he couldn’t, couldn’t stop…
“AINNIR!”
“AINNIR!”
He howled, he screamed in his grief, but she did not rise. Could not rise. His arms shook—they shook so badly he could barely set her down on a soft pile of scraps from the tavern’s kitchen.
And then he ran.
~ \ | / ~
The moon shone silent, casting its half-closed eye over the inky bracken of Concordia. It never blinked, looked away, or made the slightest movement as it kept its solemn watch.
Two eyes like it shown beneath the leaves. They stared, half-closed, through the nightmare-black branches that even the stars failed to illuminate. They never blinked, or moved, or looked away, but pierced the night like grief through a soul.
It was thirty-six moons ago, tonight.
Tonight. It was tonight.
Fihrinn sat limply on the coarsely carved stool, his back hunched, his head hung as the ale and tobacco and brash laughter crashed around him in the tiny, backstreet tavern. Loosely-clad women flung themselves about between the foul-breathed, muck-robed drunks, laughing and shouting and squealing as they downed more rum.
But the wolf sat silent, staring blankly at the wooden mug on the table before him. There were no answers in it. No peace, no forgiveness. No forgetting.
It was tonight. Thirty-six moons, tonight.
One other person was silent in the bar. He’d been watching her for some time. She sat with her father beside one of the ale barrels, shying away from his breath every time he turned to her. She eyed the crowd uneasily—almost fearfully—with blazing green eyes, and gently wiped away the drops of rum that splashed on her young face from her father’s mug.
White hair…she had white hair…
A thrust hip caught the side of his table, sending the mug clattering across the room and its contents splattering around his paws. He turned a fierce gaze to the interrupter of his reverie—a raucous tavern wench whose low-necked blouse could scarcely contain her—but she spiraled away, shrieking and giggling with the balance of a two-legged cow.
Had his heart not been dying, he would have been angry.
“No!”
His stare snapped back to the girl. A bawdy young brute had grabbed her by the forearm and was trying to yank her to her feet as her father looked on, guffawing uproariously.
“Oi be’r no’ ‘ave gran’chilen, kid!” he slurred, barely managing to keep upright.
“N—no!” she shrieked as the youth finally jerked her from her roost and slung her over his shoulder, carrying her kicking and screaming toward the door into the alley. She screamed.
No one listened.
No.
The hired bouncer by the door laughed as the man hauled the girl through the doorway.
No!
Fihrinn stood up.
~\ | / ~
“No no! Please don't...” Her tears flowed freely as he threw her against the brick wall. She screamed, and he hit her across the face, and grabbed her tunic sleeve, and yanked—
“Don’t!” she shrieked, and sobbed, and he sneered, and tossed the strip away, and gripped her shoulders.
“C’mere, baby…” he breathed, and her nostrils filled with the stench of beer.
“Don’t…” she cried, and he smiled, and grabbed her other sleeve.
“I’m gonna take you like a—”
A roar.
She screamed at the mere sound of it, like some kind of mad beast but so close—
And then she knew she was going to die.
A monster struck the man from the side and he flew to the other side of the alley, and he hit the wall, but the thing was on him before he even hit the ground, and it was roaring and screaming and tearing—
And something warm splattered against her face and the thing tore and tore and tore, and she couldn’t even scream…
And then it looked up. Suddenly it caught her with eyes of ice, and its whole muzzle was slicked and red and its torso was covered with blood.
“Ainnir?” it said.
She fainted.
~ \ | / ~
No. No no no!
She slumped to the ground, and he leapt to catch her. His paws left red stains all over her chest…
He couldn’t…breathe…
His eyes stared wide, and he felt like he would retch as the scarlet flowed over her snow-white fur, and the blaze in her green eyes dimmed.
“A…Ainnir? Ainnir! Ainnir!”
He gripped the arrow in her chest and yanked, but it didn’t come out. He yanked again, and again—and then fell to sobs, and he couldn’t, couldn’t stop…
“AINNIR!”
“AINNIR!”
He howled, he screamed in his grief, but she did not rise. Could not rise. His arms shook—they shook so badly he could barely set her down on a soft pile of scraps from the tavern’s kitchen.
And then he ran.
~ \ | / ~
The moon shone silent, casting its half-closed eye over the inky bracken of Concordia. It never blinked, looked away, or made the slightest movement as it kept its solemn watch.
Two eyes like it shown beneath the leaves. They stared, half-closed, through the nightmare-black branches that even the stars failed to illuminate. They never blinked, or moved, or looked away, but pierced the night like grief through a soul.
It was thirty-six moons ago, tonight.