The Born and The Bitten

Chapter 1 - The death of Karakoff Black

The sound of footsteps was faint against the sounds of the swaying trees, the outline of a figure waiting among them even fainter against the darkness.

A full moon that should have been bright white in the sky, shedding light over the plains, forest and distant mountain range, was dark and distant, covered completely by black clouds and accompanied by the harsh whistling sound of violent wind.

A sound in the distant marsh caught the figures attention, drawing him nearer to the edge of the border marked by deep gashes in the rock, the suspicion of being watched making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Squinting into the darkness, he strained his eyes to see what stared back at him.

A driving force knocked him over, leaving him winded and face down on the damp, slippery rock that lie below him. Trying to catch his breath, he heaved onto his side when something sharp slashed the side of his cheek, leaving a trickle of warm liquid to ooze out of the cut.

He scrambled to his feet immediately, a dagger in hand as he spun around looking for his attacker.

"I know who you are!" He yelled out to the darkness and wind. "You will not get near my people!"

He heard a low growl from his left, and he slashed out blindly with his dagger, scraping a tree but hitting no attacker.

A cold sensation flooded over him, making it hard to breathe and his mind foggy.

There was a 'whooshing' sound, ending in a thud right over him. The wind was knocked out of him again and he staggered backwards, hitting the ground hard and feeling his arm shatter as he landed on it.

A heavy, four legged creature stood on him, digging its claws into his chest and leering its gnarled face close to his.

In the darkness he could make out a crooked muzzle, chipped teeth and yellow eyes of a wolf he recognized, but never came to fear like he did at this moment.

The unusually sized wolf pulled back its lips into a snarl, it's ears lying flat on its head in a sign of rage, it's breath smelling of rotten meat.

Coughing and spluttering, the man grabbed his dagger and slashed the great beast in the face, resulting In a yelp and an outraged yowl of fury.

Managing to roll out from underneath it in the moment of distraction, he tackled the wolf with his dagger in hand and drove the silver blade deep into its shoulder blade.

The thing howled and lashed out in fury, ready to lunge again with the dagger sticking out of its back.

The man ran, no weapon, no means of protection or chances of outrunning the four legged giant mutt. He took the only opportunity he had- to climb the trees.

He used his toil ridden hands to pull himself up the tall oak tree, managing to just get out of reach of the canine.

It scratched uselessly at the trunk of the tree, its shaggy grey fur matted with the Crimson blood oozing from its shoulder.

With a wimper, the wolf collapsed at the base of the tree and gave a shudder, leaving his wolf form and becoming a man.

Unshaven, gaunt, sunken in eyes and a hollow looking face, he looked sick- dying.

He reached to the dagger in his shoulder, and without hesitation tore it out of himself, leaving a bigger wound than before.

"Karacoff." Acknowledged in original man in the tree, recognizing the old Lycan at once.

The wounded lycan only wheezed In response.

Seeing no danger present, he made his way down the tree and jumped easily to the ground, swiping the bloody Crimson dagger from the ground.