Private An Awakening

[Oleander Webb]

Somewhere on Dxun; the Demon Moon

The small facility's grounds, once a cold steel, now speckled with greens and browns as nature reclaimed the once-populated halls. An uneasy silence interrupted by the occasional drop of fluid or scurry of a small creature, claimed most of the facility, long-abandoned by the living. Now, there was only the occasional security droid barely powered as they continued their rounds about the empty prison.

Mostly empty, anyway.

Most of the cells were rendered barren long ago, blocks jutting out of walls for uncomfortable excuses for bedframes left to gather dust. If anyone had been left unpreserved, they surely would've rot away by now with time and dust their only companions. Yet there were a few, in the recesses of the facility, corners that would've been easily avoided even in another time, that held more than just an empty bedframe. Less cells and more forgotten storage rooms, positioned among now long-empty supplies crates were tall, dark blocks. Carbonite, bringing a new definition to solitary confinement.

Each figure, encased in the substance was an individual, once. Each face was grotesque, warped in a silent scream that managed to speak volumes of whatever the individual had meant to say at the moment of their imprisonment. Varied, visceral emotions rendered still for an eternity.

And even then, separated from the immobile prisoners, a single block of carbonite kept a room to itself. A shorter individual than the majority of the others, comparatively unsuspecting. Yet for one reason or another, this block of carbonite existed in a new level of solitude, with only lichen speckling the semi-living statue for company.

The Nomad ​

 

[The Nomad]

S I N N E R​

Tag: Oleander Webb
Word Count: 1,341

Dxun.

The planet of the jungle, the planet of three thousand different critters all able to kill you in their own and unique way.

The Nomad was well versed in what could and couldn't kill him, and the list for the latter was much longer than the former. And the former? He preferred not to engage at all. That way he could play his cards close to his chest, making only the moves he needed to make to stay alive.

No. Not to just stay alive. The Nomad had a purpose that came with his plan.

He was a sort of an enigma. Sometimes he didn't even know if he was more of a person or an idea. Ever since the shell of Hiro Okuomoto had been cast off in the Nether Realm, the Nomad had traveled across the galaxy, learning new truths that he had never been aware of. The dogma of the Jedi had blinded him. But when he had been able to shrug off their superstitions, he found himself enlightened.

The light of Onderon's sun shone dimly and sparsely through the dense foliage of Dxun's canopy. Fallen leaves and other organic detritus muffled each of his footsteps, and besides the dampened crunching he made, as he strode through the undergrowth, the only other audible noise was his breathing. For a jungle that teemed with such life, it was unnervingly lifeless. The Nomad could deal the unease in his bones, but that did not disturb him. Emotions were a hamper, a biological code of survival that could be surpassed, very much like the Force itself. He had forced himself to learn to command it as he did his control over the force, control over his body, control over every muscle, and fiber that made his physical being.

He wouldn't let some spooky forest undo all of that.

His eyes crinkled into a squint as he heard a slight rustling noise above him. Peering up into the dense canopy above, the branches of the massive trees began to rustle with ferocity as a flock of avians burst from their roosting place into the sky, squeaking in alarm. Their cries were mixed with another, deeper, and guttural roar. The Nomad's eyes widened. That could not mean anything good.

One of his hands instinctively drew his blaster pistol while the other hand dove into the pocket of his robes, fishing for a moment before pulling out a small holoprojector. Holding it up to the sunlight to make sure that he had grabbed the right one -- he had numerous individual devices, each with different information stored on them -- he muttered a small curse when he realized it wasn't the one he was looking for. His hand went back into his cloak for another precious moment before he procured the right device, rotating his wrist so that the holoprojector lay flat on his palm.

With a thumbing of the button, the projector whirred to life as a holo-map beamed bright-blue into the air above it. It wasn't the highest-definition possible, but it gave a rough measure of the surrounding topography and added two pointers: one that indicated the Nomad's position, and another that indicated the point where he was trying to go. Not much further, he came quickly to a conclusion. Another roar shook through the forest, this time much closer, and the Nomad made a hurry of stashing the projector back in his cloak. If he was going to get eaten, he'd rather it not be while he was studying cartography.

"And that's my cue to get going," he muttered to himself as yet another roar echoed through the forest. His blaster pistol still in his hand, he began to pick up from his walking pace into a fast jog, now covering twice the terrain. The path through the forest had been cut through along time ago, and that convenience for the local wildlife had turned it into a natural hunting trail. That meant he wouldn't have to waste time pushing himself through any dense undergrowth, but that meant he was placed right in the crosshairs of whatever beast was looking for an afternoon snack.

He crested the top of a rise before vaulting over a large boulder, and suddenly a great overgrown structure came into view, a construct of metal, duracrete, and non-functional security barriers. He was almost there, but then suddenly, a rapid scurrying and snarling alerted the Nomad to a presence just behind him. A vision of a beast leaping and disemboweling him -- the Nomad dropped instantly to the ground as a massive shadow launched at and over him, struggling but failing to readjust midair. As quickly as he had dropped he launched himself back up to his feet to see a massive Maalraas, a wiry, muscle-heavy beast that was altogether quite ugly snarling at him with teeth the size of his blaster.

The Nomad gave a small chuckle. "Well aren't you a mighty ugly thing," he jeered towards the beast before raising his blaster and firing once, twice, there times into the Maalraas's head. The blaster bolts penetrated the Maalraas's skull and promptly fell the hunter. The beast's hide would've been able to absorb the energy of a normal blaster bolt, but the Sinner's Ruse was no ordinary blaster.

Blowing off the steam rising from the barrel end of his pistol, the Drifter took a visual scan of his surroundings before continuing on. The Maalraas were usually pack hunters, but it seemed that this one was alone.

The facility may have been maximum security in its prime -- why else would they put it on one of the most forsaken planetoids in the galaxy -- but those days had long past. Whatever security measures and emplacements that the facility had were now unresponsive, probably due to a lack of electricity to energize them. That lack of power extended to the blast doors as well, ones that the Nomad had to call on the Force to help pull them open. Unfortunately whoever had run this facility had remembered to turn off the lights before they'd left, and the Nomad had to pull a handheld glowrod from his cloak, holding it in one and while his blaster remained pointed with another.

Some rooms were filled with derelict munitions and security equipment. Others were filled with stacks of beings frozen in carbonite. But they were not what he'd come here for.

He'd stumbled upon records of a legendary Anzat in the criminal underworld. According to what he had read, the creature had worked as a bounty hunter, mercenary, slicer, saboteur, and spy. His record had been unparalleled and he'd been one of the most sought-after men of his time. But the record had gone cold. Anzat didn't live forever, but they lived for a darned-long time. And there was no mention of death, which would've been one of the most paraded things in the DarkNet.

The mystery had been solved when after years of intermittent searching, he had found another set of records -- a manifest of inmates on a Dxun prison. And on it, listed as top security, was his Anzat.

He made his way into the central containment block, prying open more doors and inert security measures before coming onto a lone carbonite block. He pulled out a scanner, inserting it into the data panel on its side. He leaned his shoulder on the block casually as the scanner chip verified the biostats against what the Nomad had been able to scrounge up from DarkNet records. It finally beeped a pulsing green. It was a match. Fortunately, the anatomicals were reading as still stabilized. Good thing that this carbonite freeze had an energy backup system or this poor frozen Anzat would've been long dead.

He quickly bypassed the security measures with a little reworking of the wires on the activation ring and scrolled through the keycodes. Suddenly, the block began to beep as steam curled off from the rapidly heating carbon. After years of slumbering, this Anzat would finally be awake once more.

 

[Oleander Webb]

There was a comfort to be found in oblivion.​

That had been what Ander had always told himself, at least, whenever a hunt took a turn for the complicated or his mind had been left vacant too long pondering the abyss. All things came to an end, all voices grew one day grew silent. Eternity was just a buzz word people used to sell you something (Ander had also been told - by others - that he was no fun at parties).

But that had been his purpose once, delivering oblivion when others would happily avoid it. And he'd been good at it, both dealing it and accepting the inevitability that oblivion would one day come for him. Such a mentality, coupled with a vigorous work ethic had made him a model killer. It was a simple existence, once. And then complicated once others were added as more permanent positions within the metaphorical equation.

In another time, Ander would've accepted carbon freezing as a sort of vacation, noncommittal nonexistence did have a bit of a twisted appeal. In the moment of freezing, however, he'd fought tooth and nail before the dreamless slumber took him. The posture his body was caught in reflected as such - fingers clawing at air, countenance warped into a snarl, mouth open as if he'd been caught mid-declaration. As steam rose and stone turned to flesh, whatever words that would've been there were lost.

The body slumped to the ground unceremoniously, dead weight that'd remain there for several moments. Then it all came rushing back, the feeling in his fingers, the rage ready to boil over, but with it also came an ache in his joints, a repressive fog over his senses. "Where--?" His question died down mid-sentence, the being still trying to gather his bearings. It was dark, not just the sort of inconvenience, but blackness entirely. What senses that did come return to him in a more timely manner suggested an area unfamiliar to him.

"What is this?" His words were slow, almost in the cold and calculating range if not for the snarl that clawed its way into his throat. His fingers clawed at the ground, head whirling about trying to find a light that wasn't to be found. Usually hidden proboscises flickered about, as if to further demonstrate both aggression and a hunger that'd been eating at him before going under to begin with.

The Nomad ​

 

[The Nomad]

S I N N E R

Tag: Oleander Webb
Word Count: 752

In the galaxy, there were the two types of beings that the Nomad had generally encountered along his many journeys and travels; those who fought merely to fight, and those who fought to survive. Those who fought for the glory of it were generally worthy foes, but they were not the true threat. The real threat that lurked unseen was those who fought to survive. Because they had nothing left to lose. And someone in that sort of state of mind was not someone to be tangled with lightly.

The question was, would this Anzat be one of the former -- a warrior who fought for glory and for the pure adrenaline of the fight -- or did he fight for survival? Because his use to the Nomad would be predicated heavily on the answer to that question.

As the Anzat began to thaw, the Nomad moved from his position on the side of the thawing carbonite block to stand in front of it, making sure to stand couple of paces away just in case that this hardened criminal and killer reverted back to what it knew best once it suddenly became awake. His hand rested casually on his blaster pistol, still holstered at his side. He was confident that even if the Anzat lashed out, he would be more than prepared to neutralize it, being unarmed as it was. The Nomad had his blaster pistol, the Sinner's Ruse, and the Force on his side. But hopefully it wouldn't come to that anyways.

The Anzat had been frozen mid-scream, his mouth open and snarling through the carbonite, his fingers curled into claws into an eternally-frozen last attempt to escape its carbonite fate. The Nomad could only guess why the Anzat had been put in that carbonite in the first place. Didn't mean there were no leads -- the Anzat had a rap that even after centuries would still make most of Ophidian's enforcers blush. It had suitably impressed the Nomad so much that he'd journeyed to this chit-hole of a planet. He needed someone with the skills that this Anzat was reputed to have if he was going to pull of the big job.

Now it was time to see if this Anzat would be up to the task.

The carbon block steamed as its temperature rose, glowing red-hot as the Anzat began to melt away from the carbonite. The first noise that the ancient being made was a deep gulping gasp for air as the body awoke from its carbonite induced hibernation. Then the Anzat stumbled forward and fell unceremoniously flat on its face, its head landing right in front of the Nomad's feet. An aura of remembrance and a sudden rush of anger emanated from the Anzat through the Force, and the Nomad's eyes narrowed slightly as the alien continued to regain its conscience.

"Where-- ?" The question ended before it could be finished, the Anzat cutting himself off short as he continued to try and ascertain his surroundings. One of the side effects to carbonite freeze was the temporary blindness that it inflicted, the extent to which it lasted being dependent on the being's physical composition and a wide variety of other factors -- the grade of carbon that had been used, the time that had been spent in carbonite -- the list went on and on. Fortunately, the vitals that the Nomad had gleaned from the block seemed to guarantee no permanent, lasting damage to the Anzat's eyesight.

The alien struggled once more to try and answer another question, finally asking it in slurred, stilted speech. Expected for someone who had been in hibernation for centuries. "What is this?" the Anzat asked slowly. Even after hundreds of years in carbonite freeze, though, it hadn't lost that sense of fire and aggression. A snarl was barely prevented from escaping the back of its throat, and its fingers clawed at the ground. The Anzat's head whipped back and forth, as if trying to find a scent, and its probiscus that were usually hidden by members of its species flicked about. The thing was hungry. The Nomad didn't exactly want to be its wake up meal.

He squatted down on to be on par with the Anzat's level cocking his head to the side. "You been in carbo-freeze for quite a long time. Your vision will be restored, but it'll take some time," the Nomad said carefully. "You're Oleander Webb. Trained spy, assassin, slicer, killer. And I'm the Nomad."

"Here to bring you a chance at salvation."


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[Oleander Webb]

His movement came to a halt as the other spoke, head down though the proboscises continued to writhe about like tiny serpents. While his eyes still evaded him, his other senses were not so elusive and a combination of rudimentary echolocation and sense through the force offered a rough layout of his surroundings. Decrepit, decayed, like could've been had he experienced the time lost first hand. Like he should've been.

Where are they? he wanted to ask, demand even. The memories of his imprisonment were still fresh, as if it truly was momentary (which as far as he was concerned, it very much was) and with those memories was a bloodlust ready to enact vengeance on those who would lock him away. But like so many others, those sensations staled the longer he spent dwelling on the new reality. His prey gone, his reality displaced, leaving only confusion and an uncomfortable silence in its wake. There was no place for rage without target, just as there was no time to dwell on what he had lost.

A hand shot out to grasp at the figure in front of him, with an intention to capture the individual by the throat., more a display of reflex than to actually deal damage. "I know who I am," he hissed through clenched teeth. "Just as I know what I am." He paused for a deep inhale as if he were surveying the room by scent, preparing for a hunt. Unseeing eyes stared off somewhere in between his metaphorical savior and the ceiling above. Perhaps if he just looked intently enough, he'd make out something more than the void.

At last, his hand dropped back to his side, posture shifting from aggression to resignation and eventually, curiosity. "You, however, I don't know, Nomad." He tried to gather himself again, to rise to his feet and take a quick inventory of personal gear that'd remained with him. Daggers and vials of dubious liquids had become more set pieces than actual sources of utility in his pursuit of soup. Though part of him wondered if those tools would become more of a necessity in a new age. The proboscises also slid back into their hiding places, though the hunger remained. "Nor do I know what salvation you could possibly offer."

The Nomad ​

 

[The Nomad]

S I N N E R

Tag: Oleander Webb

The Anzat's hand shot out, aiming to grab the Nomad by the throat. He raised his left arm up reflexively, and the Anzat's hands instead grabbing the Nomad by the wrist. The Nomad pulled back, but the Anzat's grip was dead solid, even for someone who'd just awakened from a centuries-long sleep. "I know who I am," the creature hissed. "Just as I know what I am." In what was either frustration or disgust, the Anzat threw the Nomad's arm back, and just to be sure, he took a step back in case the alien tried to pull off another strike.

The aggression in the Anzat seemed to fade however, replaced slowly by a sense of what seemed to be intrigue. "You, however, I don't know, Nomad." The Anzat rose to his feet. He wasn't particularly tall, but his height didn't mask the aura of malice that accompanied him. The creature's proboscises retracted as he took stock of himself and the Nomad. "Nor do I know what salvation you could possibly offer."

"Heh," the Nomad responded, chuckling. He kept his blaster lowered, though it was notably still out of the holster -- mainly keeping it in his hand for the light that it gave from the glowrod attachment. "You been in cryo-sleep for a couple of centuries, brother. Whatever kinda connections you had, whatever assets you had earned before you got frozen? They're lone-gone."

He cocked his head to the side. "I'm running a job with an opening for someone with precisely your area of. . . expertise. And it'll pay well."
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[Oleander Webb]

"You been in cryo-sleep for a couple of centuries, brother. Whatever kinda connections you had, whatever assets you had earned before you got frozen? They're lone-gone."

He'd figured as such but nevertheless, the confirmation stung more than he'd like to admit. All that time previously spent on building himself up, making a business, gone. What he'd had before wasn't much, sure (after all, you didn't need much when your livelihood and your job were one and the same), nevertheless, starting from nothing, displaced from all, was hardly an ideal situation.

He was slow in rising to his feet, testing his limbs before committing to anything wild. Even if it'd been just moments in his memory, the weight of the long slumber was heavy on his shoulders. Just as it was on his stomach. Reaching out through his senses didn't inspire much culinary confidence, either, unless he wanted to settle for local fauna (or the Nomad, something he was far from against at this point. But no, even when hunger suggested otherwise, he was not so far gone to believe making a meal of his waker would be beneficial in the long run, at least not until he recovered his vision.

"Soup first, then I'll consider it. What's the job?"

The Nomad ​

 

[The Nomad]

S I N N E R

Tag: Oleander Webb

"Heh heh," the Nomad chuckled again. "I like your jibe, brother," he said as his hand slowly came away from his pistol.

He moved his hands to rest on his hips as he looked at the now-standing Anzat. For some reason, the alien had thankfully decided to not and try to make the Nomad his first meal. That he could appreciate. It was little things like that which made a trusting relationship. "Dxun ain't the place to get some finest meals, I can be the first to tell you that. But I know a little place on Ando that has a lot of good stuff. Good seafood, if you like it, but plenty of other cuisines, too."

"As for that job. . ." The Nomad tilted his head, his eyes crinkling slightly as he squinted at the Anzat. "It's a heist. There's a small force-using sect called the Knights of Obsidian who work for a government called the Confederacy of Independent Systems. You wouldn't know them, but all you do need to know is that they're a pretty big operation." He moved away, taking out a small glowrod and prying open the electronics panel, flashing the glowrod inside to try and find someplace he could jury rig the power grid and get everything online. "They got an artifact, something whose value is, well, priceless. But to obtain such an artifact, I need a competent team who's able to stand up to laser-sword wielding Knights if things go sideways."

Growing frustrated, he took a fist and slammed it into the box, the force amplifying the power of the punch. With a sudden whir, the power began to kick back on. "Huh," he said, mostly to himself, "didn't think that would work."
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[Oleander Webb]

"It doesn't need to be fine." For a moment, Ander paused, head tilting to the side, considering for a moment. Did the Nomad mean actual seafood or..? No, if he knew enough of Ander to know who he was, sure dietary needs had also been on the list of info. "Whoever, whatever, doesn't matter so long as it's soup." Aqualish, human, it really didn't matter.

As the Nomad started describing the job, Oleander meandered about, going slow lest his senses outside of sight had failed him too. "Force users, huh? That's no problem." Now that was a delicacy he could go for. The stronger they were, too, the better. A meal worthy of the hunt. His brow furrowed as the Nomad went on. Taking a person or two down was no problem but stealing? Especially from a big operation, as the Nomad said? That could get complicated. "What sort of artifact?"

His shuffling continued on into the next room, hand eventually coming into contact with another block of carbonite, reaching up to make out a face in the frozen features. And as the power whirled to life, an idea began to form. "You'd be surprised what lasts. Hey, is this one still alive?"

The Nomad ​

 

[The Nomad]

S I N N E R

Tag: Oleander Webb

The lights flickered on throughout the facility. The Nomad had to work quickly to make sure that the security systems of the prison didn't come online as well, but a few rips of some wires and a scramble key did the trick easily. The prison had been manned by organic staff, for whatever reason, so he didn't have to worry about centuries-old droids coming online either.

The Anzat asked about what the artifact was. To be honest, the Nomad only had a rough idea of what it was -- he'd seen a passage of it in the texts in the archive back when he'd been Hiro Okuomoto. Research had traced it from the Jedi, through the Templars all the way to the Knights Obsidian. And he wouldn't be able to grasp its true nature until it sat in his hands. But nevertheless, he did have a rough idea of what it was. "It's some sort of. . . time manipulation thing. Heavily controlled and used by the Force, if you know anything about it."

He heard the Anzat making a comment about the other prisoners in the carbo-freeze, and he knew why. Still, he didn't care too much. So long as it wasn't him or his assets. "If you're still alive, they probably are. Doesn't hurt to check the bio-mon, though," he said, verbally shrugging. "Soon as you're done. . . ah, feeding, we can get off this chit-hole."
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[Oleander Webb]

The hum of electricity suggested lights were now in the picture, yet Oleander's world remained just as dim. Or perhaps nearly just as dim - he could swear things were beginning to brighten up, if only minutely. Though, whether there was actually a change or he just wanted one hard enough, that remained to be seen. "I'm familiar with it," he replied at mention of the Force. Sensitive to it, yet hardly formally trained, his grip on the wave of mysticism didn't extend much beyond its manifestations that made for an easier hunt. It was what allowed him to stumble about now with mostly accurate footing.

He refrained from a snide remark, can't check what I can't see, but only just. Settling for an annoyed huff, his fingers went about feeling the edges of the carbonite slab, feeling for a control panel. Mapping out the placement of the buttons, he spent several long moments contemplating which buttons to push before thinking Kark it and hitting a couple at random. If he hit the wrong ones, there was always the next slab to try. The third time was the charm, and Oleander knelt near the figure's head, waiting for them to stir before pouncing.

. . .​

It wasn't enough - it never was - but the meal did help Ander feel somewhat alive again. There was a renewed energy to his step when he returned, proboscises sliding back into their pouches once more. "Alright, let's blow this popsicle stand."

The Nomad ​

 

[The Nomad]

S I N N E R

Tag: Oleander Webb

The Nomad was glad he was in a different room than the feeding Anzat. He wasn't sickened by the concept of death -- he'd seen much more than his fair share, and he had no qualms about killing another living being. But the way the Anzat fed? It wasn't the prettiest sight, and the Nomad wasn't about to gross himself out before a hyperspace jump. Out of the many adages he'd learned over the years, one of the most important ones had been to never jump to hyperspace on a queasy stomach.

The Anzat finally finished, and the Nomad fished a beckon call from his coat and signaled it, calling his ship autonomously to their position. No more walking through predator-filled jungles. "So, brother," he said, tilting his head as he looked at the Anzat. "What do you say? You in?"
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[Oleander Webb]

The Nomad's question gave him pause, leaving him silent for a moment of quiet contemplation. On one hand, such a job, especially one involving a team, could be an ideal jumpstart back into the galaxy. On the other hand, however, any lessons on teamwork and camaraderie had been centuries ago and incomplete. Not to mention, the Nomad now saw him in this...weakened state. He had a reputation to uphold.

Reputation aside, there was something - a call for adventure, a disinterest in being alone again, whatever else one could with to call it - that discouraged Oleander from turning on the Nomad now. It also occurred to him, even if the Nomad did work against him in the end, he could always make a hunt of this most dangerous game at a different time. "If it means getting off this rock and back into the world, yeah, I guess I am after all."

The Nomad ​

 

[The Nomad]

S I N N E R

Tag: Oleander Webb

The Nomad smiled broadly as the Anzat, after a brief pause of contemplation, somewhat reluctantly agreed. He held out his hand to shake the Anzat's. "Glad to have you aboard, brother."

His ship had landed just outside of the compound, and the Nomad along with his new 'partner,' made their way out of the jungle-infested prison complex and out of the ship. He keyed a few inputs on one of the control panels and a screeching noise began to reverberate through the jungle as the prison began to close itself off once more. He didn't want anyone else to have access to the same sort of treasures that he had. He turned his face once more ot the Anzat before boarding. "Let's get this holoshow on the road, then," he said, a rogueish grin crinkling the corner of his eyes. "We gotta lot of work to do."
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[Oleander Webb]

He'd say he was glad, too - glad to be awake, to be part of the team. But of all the things Oleander was, a liar wasn't high on the list. Both of those very much remained to be seen. Nevertheless, he grasped the Nomad's hand (nearly missing it mind you) in a firm yet cold grasp. "We'll see how long this plays out."

Navigating the prison complex was an almost surreal experience. Having been encased in carbonite and brought to the prison itself at a later date, his centuries-old home was a complete stranger to the Anzat and it showed. He tripped every so often, foot catching on aged debris or a vine of nature reclaiming itself as he shuffled and shambled to keep pace with his companion. Upon exiting the prison itself, just before making for the ship ramp, he stopped with a deep inhale. Fresh air, had it always smelled like this? He lowered himself into a squat for but a moment, fingers clawing into the foliage and coming up with a fistful of dirt and moss. A moment later he was back on his feet and moving forward, a piece of moss tucked into his pocket.

"Another day, another job," he mumbled with a nod. He gave a slight sigh as he rolled his shoulders, stretching once more, getting reacquainted with his still-sleepy muscles. "Good to be back in it, I s'pose. It's time to wake up."

The Nomad ​

 

[Redd]

A PREMONITION?​

Tags: The Nomad | Oleander Webb​

Wolves were one of the wisest animals in the universe, as their connection with nature was unparalleled by anyone else. No, anything else. Wolves were mother nature’s finest creations and so were always susceptible to the outside forces; forces such as dark and light. It was why the species had always placed an emphasis on both halves; to create a symbiosis between light and dark. Or in this case, a symbiosis between wolf and human. When one was out, it created a vacuum for the dark side to flow in.

At least it was in this case, as a redheaded woman tossed and turned. The sheets entangled between her legs, as sweated beaded across her face. Pale fingers grasped at the fitted sheet underneath her body as she felt the consequences of her recent outburst, become known. Had the woman realised that her grasp upon the dark force had been strengthened, she might have been a little more careful. Might have restrained from the outburst that had made animals on a massive scale act in such an unnatural way. Instead, as untrained as she was, the lupine didn’t know to quell the dark forces that she unknowingly channeled on a consistent basis. How could she know? For the beast sought to kill and devour. It hungered and lusted, which had been left unchecked ever since she had been a pup.

Such urges only allowed the dark force to call to her in her dreams; plague them even as it left a sense of foreboding dread which slithered down her spine. Such dreams only happened from time to time, but of late the dreamland had begun to offer up more. It didn’t speak of old times; times that she had never had lived herself, as they had been times of those that had once lived in her old pack. No. These ones spoke of things that even she had no memory of. Lands that she had never been on and people that she had never seen.

This one in particular wasn’t exactly clear. It was buried under a dark fog and although dark outlines of things could be seen, it was still unclear as to what exactly it was. Redd just wanted to reach out, to pull the veil from her eyes so then she could clearly see. However, the wolf hesitated as that sense of dread slammed home and an urgency to find out the reason for such a feeling, settled in. How was she supposed to fight if they didn’t know what it was?

Finally, she reached out to pull back the veil only slightly and a man appeared before her. A man that she had never seen before. The man’s most striking features were that of his eyes, as they were as black as obsidian; but that was the only detail that she could pluck from the dream as the veil began to slowly fall back into place. Almost as if it was a blanket that she could no longer hold up and it clouded her sight once more. The sounds however, were as clear as day. Almost as if she wasn’t currently being smothered by the blanketing veil and she could hear the sounds of a roaring Maalraas defending its territory.

Then almost as if on cue, the red wolf heard the sound of other wolves. Some howled, others’ yelped and she knew then that the force had plunged her back into a familiar nightmare; one that pulled her back into a wakeful state as a scream parted her lips and her body flew up into a sitting position. Redd’s sides heaved with gasping breaths, as she felt her pale skin slick with sweat and she gently touched her lower stomach with her right hand, only to reach out with her left to place it upon her Mate’s stomach. It had only been a dream. At least… That’s what she thought it was. Could she have been wrong? Had it been something more? The woman wouldn’t know. Not yet anyway...​

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