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Post by kitearadarkblade on Mar 12, 2007 21:23:22 GMT -5
Shetan Shetan hefted his pack to ride more comfortably on his shoulder, settling its greater bulk against his shoulder blade. Provisions and gear made the leather pack bulge slightly, though not quite enough to strain the seams. The hilt of his sword rose over his opposite shoulder, hanging from the baldric slung across his chest, over his vest. Both pack and baldric could be shed easily enough if the need arose. He rather doubted that it would, but it never hurt to be prepared. Although the mountains higher elevations were chill, he wore only his trews and vest. Only very rarely did the tall therian wear actual tunics. If cold, he preferred fur to cloth. The only reason he wasn’t in either hybrid or bestial form was caution. While the mountains were, for the most part, secluded there was the chance that he could happen upon someone along the trails leading to the plains. He would likely pass through another ‘village’ before he left the mountains anyway. The tall therian devoted most of the day to his westward trek, pausing only to eat a brief noonday meal and drink from a skin of water that hung at his side. A direct route would bring him into the plains and then to the coast relatively soon. From there, Shetan could either follow the coastline or trek directly northwest to hit the Nordak. Either way, he would pass into the woodlands beyond the mighty river. Perhaps I should start carving my territory from the river westward. he mused, casting his dark eyes skyward. The soft blue of day was beginning to slowly leech away into darker hues. Shetan frowned thoughtfully, his brow furrowing slightly. Allowing his thoughts to turn from the conquests ahead, he began to truly look at his surroundings. The higher peaks and hidden caverns had slowly given way to lower, scrub strewn land. Judging the remaining light enough to press on by, he continued through the scrub, seeking a place to bed down for the night. He had little fear that it would rain, but he had even less desire to merely curl up where he stood. Some searching would eventually reveal an almost ideal location. A holllow, carefully dug out by some other creature. The earth around the hollow was hard packed, with no fresh prints that he could find, though large enough to allow both his pack and himself shelter. Pausing, Shetan let his pack slide down his arm to hit the ground lightly, then removed the baldric holding his sword in place. Shifting to sit on the ground, he quickly shed boots, trews and vest, tucking them within his pack before pushing it and his sword to the back of the hollow. Crouched before his temporary shelter, Shetan let his hands rest on the ground, bracing himself. The change began as what felt like a ripple of electricity pass over his entire body, sending a shudder through him. A second, stronger shudder traveled over the therian’s spine, this time of delight, as he felt the familiar pop and crack of bone shifting and reforming. His breath grew labored as the change seized him, his hands curling against the hard packed earth, a low rumble forming in his chest. Within a few, albeit painful, moments the large dark man was replaced with a muscular black wolf. He panted for a few moments, a low growl of satisfaction rumbling between his pants. He would gladly relive the pain of the change a thousand-fold to shed the weak human skin for this. Lifting his nose high to take in the scents riding the air, Shetan slowly allowed his jaws to gape with a lupine grin. This was power. This was living. The wolf pricked his ears slowly, licking his lips at a rather tantalizing scent on the wind. He would feed. Then return to the shelter to rest until morning’s light. After all, there was no hurry now. Not when he could revel in the sheer power and exhilaration of what he saw as his truer form.
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Post by kitearadarkblade on Mar 27, 2007 19:32:10 GMT -5
Shetan The dark furred wolf stalked slowly along the sparse brush that dotted the mountainside and grew denser as the elevation fell. His nostrils flared as the subtle scent of his prey tantalized him, making his mouth water as it rode the slight breath of wind. His hackles rose as he repressed the urge to lunge from his cover at the creature that taunted him so, a shudder running down his spine in anticipation. Slowly his lips curled back over his teeth as he stalked closer. The unwitting creature before him flicked an ear back, even in slumber. It began to stir slightly. Perhaps if it had been younger, keener, it would have lurched to its feet but the alarm bells hard-wired into it had dulled with age. Shetan licked his lips slowly, a low rumble forming in his chest and beginning to strengthen. By the time that the old mountain goat before him roused enough to react, Shetan's snarl sounded in full and it was too late. The dark therian fell upon his prey, claws raking savagely as his jaws clamped over the old goat's neck. It thrashed and kicked at the wolf gripping it, frantically. Trying to free itself from the therian's jaws, it rose, tossing its head but such efforts were in vain. Its thrashing slowed, pain and fatigue leeching away the goat's strength, even as its hooves lashed out at the predator. Shetan only released the creature when its struggles ceased and it hung, limp and torn, from his jaws. Dropping his kill to the ground, the dark therian allowed himself to savor the coppery flavor of the creature's lifeblood mingling with its musky fur on his tongue. The goat's eyes were already glazed and glassy; blood pooling sluggishly from its wounds and mouth. Finally, Shetan settled before the cooling corpse on his haunches, lowering his head to claim a mouthful of relatively tender flesh at its belly, already torn from his claws, and shook his head violently. Flesh tore away with a soft ripping sound that sent a new shiver dancing along his spine. Licking his lips once more, Shetan paused to cast a curious look around before setting into his meal in earnest. Let others approach if they dare. My kill, my meal. If any wish to share it, they may wait until I've eaten my fill or pry it from my dead jaws.
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Post by kitearadarkblade on Apr 3, 2007 1:27:11 GMT -5
Shetan By the time that the first few rays of morning's light had risen over the horizon, Shetan was curled up within his makeshift den, around his pack. The remains of last night's hunt had long since been licked clean and his fur smoothed over his muscular lupine form. His ears flicked back tightly at the first soft birdsongs to the morning. Unfortunately for the dark wolf, those sounds would only grow and intensify until they drove him from his slumber. Shetan wrinkled his nose at first, trying to bury his head beneath his paws, but lifted his head with a low rumble when it failed to block out the sounds. His eyes were still half closed and blurred with sleep when he began to look around slowly. Shetan emerged from his den with a slow, lazy stretch, allowing his ears to swivel to the sounds around him. The slight breath of breeze brought him few scents interesting enough to immeadiately catch his attention. He needed to move on, if he was to reach the edges of the Plains by the evening. Casting a look back at his pack, he briefly debated the merits of merely continuing to travel in his present form, but soon discarded the idea. He may run into others before he reached the Plains, and he didn't care to lose what few belongings he carried in his pack. With a reluctant sigh of breath, Shetan looked around carefully, enjoying his last few moments of bestial form, before beginning the change. He would dress once it was completed and move on.
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Post by kitearadarkblade on Apr 10, 2007 10:35:47 GMT -5
Shetan Shetan continued his trek in silence, seeing no point in wasting energy or breath in speaking to himself. He scowled slightly, unused to the schedule that he has forced onto himself. Waking at dawn hardly suited his lupine instincts. He would much prefer to travel during the afternoon and well into the night, but felt that the temptation to change would be too great. Besides, I'm making good time this way. He had already begun to descend from the mountains. In fact, ahead he could see the steep drop that would deposit him in the plains. His scowl faded, along with his irritation, at the sight. Perhaps there is something to this early rising.Once he reached the drop, Shetan paused a moment before shrugging off his pack and letting it drop to the ground beside him. He could afford himself some rest. Shifting to sit cross-legged on the ground, the tall man stretched his arms high over his head, arching his spine. He groaned softly at a series of pops as vertebrae slide back into their proper places. Relaxing, the therian leaned back to support himself on his hands, stretching his legs out before him. In the plains, he would have to be more careful about his changes, to avoid the notice of humans. They were not so reclusive on the plains. He would eventually run into hunters and tribes as he continued across. In a way, it both irked and excited him. He didn't wish to deny himself the sheer joy of his truer form. If someone saw him, they would have to be silenced. A part of him shuddered with delight at the idea of what that silencing may entail. With an exaggerated yawn, Shetan rose and shouldered his pack once more. Further down the drop there was a narrow, winding trail. He would follow it to the plains below and continue his westward journey, refreshed.
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