RP:The Night of Blood Snow
Part of the Arctic Construction Arc
Chapter Eight of Arctic Construction
Once a dense section of Frostmaw's behemoth forest, this area has recently become a man-made clearing. Tents are scattered along the eastern side of the site, near a brush-choked pathway, and one large tent seems to be home to a makeshift forgery, with worn tools collected outside as they await their rebirthing. The center of the lumberjacks' camp is home to a burning pile of debris, kept safely away from the other trees, and other small fires mark which tents are currently occupied by the logging crew. Beside the western path is a large pile of stripped logs, trained mammoths carrying them off in twos and threes only to have fresh ones replace the old ones in short time. The once deep snow here has been packed flat against the earth by many boots and mammoth feet, allowing the stumps of former trees to be visible peeking above ground-level. Despite the many trees felled thus far, it seems to have made hardly a dent in the forest, with a veritable wall of trees running for countless miles to the north and east.
Allanon and his men awake on the next day and work begins. Another wolf is spotted just out of range of a humans eyesight, it seems to nearly blend into the falling snow and heavy winds even with the eyes of an elf. Other than this the day proceeds normally, tools seem to be accepting the cold a bit better as are the workers. Breaks to warm themselves are becoming far and few between for most. For Allanon however he didn't feel the need any longer to do so except for when he would just wake up in the mornings and just before bed. Very many moons would have come and pass by now since they arrived in Frostmaw he was sure, how many he did not know. Without the Sun in the sky it was hard enough to tell morning from mid-afternoon already and left the area in a somewhat gloomy existence. if not for the time spent every night around the large fire where the men would sing and rejoice in another day of survival in the lands where many said they couldn't, it would be a very depressing way to spend ones time working.
Each night, the scout creeps closer to the camp, only to retreat out of eyesight the following dawn, leaving only massive pawprints as evidence of his passing. These creatures, smaller than the ones that usually hunt them, are intruding on pack land and it is his duty to watch them while the rest of the wolfen family crosses their territory to confront the interlopers. The wolves of Frostmaw have a disturbing level of intelligence and coupled with their large size, they're well equipped to endure the deadly environment of the north. The scout himself is of a keener mind than most of his kin, and it's this mind, and the night and day observing, that's allowed him to make the connection between the small intruders and the strange items they carry. Clearly these wooden limbs are of use to them, if they do not part from each other for the entirety of the day. It's with this simple conclusion running through his mind that the scout begins to steal. Each night, a few axes, saws, and other tools go missing, whisked away between steely jaws to be buried in the snow far from the camp. Any discord among the crew over missing tools caused by this stealthy thievery is an unforeseen bonus to the wolf. Soon, he hopes to rid them of all their tools in time for the pack's arrival in two night's time.
Allanon and his crew continue to work the next day. So far few have made complaints of missing tools and weaponry. It was normally brushed aside as being simply misplaced or perhaps one thought they had simply left it at the smithy and forgotten they had taken it there. However it wasn't until the dwarf that ran the smithy approached his captain, Hector, and began to complain that they began to question these misplacings. “Lord Hector, a word please?” he asked. “Aye, whats on your mind.” The dwarf explained to him the tools that had been left outside his tent, how some were now missing, and how other workers had come to him in search of their own and he have no memory of their arrival. Some had exchanged unkind words with the dwarf, words he in turn didn't take to kindly. The only reason a fight had yet to break out was due to one of Allanon's largest laws. One fight, one missing paycheck. It was a stern rule and one that had been tested only a handful of times in the past. Employees had been lost over it, and some had remained because of it. The law had made working with him safer, even amongst the rough cutthroats that worked with Allanon. Accepting the words the dwarf he thought on them for a fair time after dismissing the dwarf. It wasn't long until he had brought this information to Allanon and Eliwood as well. “Something is indeed a miss.” Spoke Allanon as he looked around at the men working. “So, any ideas who might have done it?” A moment of verbal silence followed as the sounds of chopping and running machines continued to break what would have been a stale cold silence. “I do not think any of our crew would be responsible,” spoke Hector. “Indeed, think about it. We are in the middle of nowhere. Nearest town is at least a four days march if one is in a hurry and knows the way, no way to sell our tools of trade,” added Eliwood. Allanon answered next. “We need to know whats happening with our bloody tools. They have to be disappearing somewhere!” Allanon's gaze turned to the north and after a moment of gazing at nothing but his own thoughts upon the wind a movement would catch his eye once more. The wolf. “Perhaps I should speak with Tharn on this, he may know a more likely cause for the tools vanishing.” With that he gave a nod to each of his old friends and trekked off in search of the Giant.
Tharn is spending the better part of his time watching the wolves--or a single one, if his guess is correct. The young giant is bothered by this fact, for winter wolves are rarely lone animals, which must mark this one as an advance scout. Thoughtfully, the frost giant strokes the blade of his axe with a rough thumb, musing on ways to take the animal's constant attention off the worksite. If he can't deter the creature soon, the pack is bound to show, and once it's set its eyes upon Allanon's crew as prey, there'd be no end until all of either side were dead. "It'll be you, but at the cost of how many of -our- lives..?" Tharn asks aloud, almost as if questioning the wolf creeping among the distant trees. The lupine turns golden eyes on the giant as if hearing the question and merely lifts its lips back in a silent snarl before stalking further into the forest, disappearing like a white ghost in the snow.
Allanon reached the Giant finally after a time of walking through the constant snow fall and bitter winds. Giving the Giant a nod he would speak right away, “Tharn, I wish to speak with you about a possible problem.” In the next few minutes he would explain what had been reported to him along with his own farfetched thoughts on the issue. “What do you think of this? Is there perhaps some creature that has a fascination with shiny things, such as a Kelay's crow...but larger?” The thought had been quick to come to him, and as quick as he said it did he feel rather uneducated.
Tharn shakes his head briefly, without taking his eyes off the distant location he knows the wolf to be lurking. "If it's a crow, it's the sort with fur for feathers and paws for wings. The howling sort." The frost giant offers the lumberjack a lopsided grin--the teasing kind he's unwittingly picked up from his Queen. "We're being watched, and have been for some time. You should warn your men that we're likely to be ambushed soon. The wolves around here are territorial. Very territorial. We've seen nearly full packs attack warbands before. They're brave, throwing all their lives away to chase off intruders." Chuckling darkly, Tharn fingers his axe once more. "Have you ever fought an enemy with no fear of death?"
Allanon wasnt sure how he felt, at first it was a token of fear, fear for his men, fear for the job he was being paid to do. Then all at once that feeling was gone, in its place a feeling of excitement, for battle, for his men to truly stretch their legs once more. Among his crew were the sort of people one would not normally accept to work. However Allanon was one to overlook ones past, and give a second chance. But this was all he had ever given, those that needed a third were asked to leave, most forcibly. Allanon operated a crew whose true abilities were not those of loggers, but instead those of thieves, of traitors, of warriors, of assassins, of cold blooded killers. More than once Allanon had to defend himself from his men. More than once one would disappear, never to be seen again, the only witnesses were those of his crew. Those that remained now were loyal to Allanon, and he believed this to be true as well, though he never let his guard down. Allanon looked to Tharn now, with a look of excitement in his eyes, “I cant say that I have, but it has been some time since the men were given a mission. Lets see how these wolves fair against the Rynvale Lumberyard's Crew.” With that he turned and walked away whispering words to the wind, “After all, how strong can a group of lumberjacks be?” Finally reaching his men he called over Hector and Eliwood. It took only a few words to explain that something may happen and soon. It took a good time longer to spread word throughout the ranks. Within minutes the men had returned to their tents and returned with their weapons strapped to their bodies, most carried simple swords, others had things such as rapiers, broadswords, daggers, and throwing knives. Hector carried his regular large axe, one that seemed to be far too large for his size. Eliwood on the other hand had strapped to his belt his elven blade, one dawned with the power of his homeland, the runic carvings upon the blade birthed fire. The men seemed to return to their work, it may not be as quickly as they were before, for each of them were more aware of what was going on around them. Meanwhile, Allanon would seek Tharn out again, perhaps he could shed more insight on the four legged fiends that would soon be terrorizing their camp.
Tharn watched the swift process of explanation to preparation with something of an approving eye. Young the frost giant may be, but he's still a warrior, and knows the signs of a skilled group when he sees one. Certainly, this band is far more than simpleminded loggers. "This proves promising," the youthful giant murmurs to his double-sided battle axe, giving the blade another affectionate stroke. And so to watching and waiting Tharn returns, the art of patience one not wholly common among his kind, but one he excels in--it's the reason he was chosen as the queen's personal guard, rather than a more veteran, and hot tempered, knight. It's like this, waiting on the outskirts of the camp, that Allanon will find him, and will also find information. "Our wolves, like all that live in this part of the world, are warriors. They will fight to their last to defend what is theirs. They're smaller than Vailkrin's wolves while larger than the other sorts, but they're quicker, and meaner. They're skilled in darting around and beneath blades if fighting alone. In groups, they'll charge and overwhelm with numbers, biting onto limbs to hold their foe still long enough for the head of the group to go in for the kill. Watch the snow closely. The wolves are skilled stalkers, and can slink among drifts nearly undetected. It's the glint of gold from their eyes that you should look for." The giant chuckles as he rests his axe upon his shoulder. "Unfortunately, they have no fear of fire. I don't know if it is because of their sharp minds, or because we rarely get fires here, so they've yet to learn to avoid its bite. You should try teaching them, eh?" Giving Allanon a sidelong glance and brief smirk, Tharn turns his eyes back to the distant snowdrifts as the sun sets. As predicted, once the weak sun bathes the snow blood-red, the wolf scout can be seen slinking closer, creeping amongst the crimson shadows toward the camp. If a wolf's expression was readable, Allanon and Tharn would see that this one is grinning with something of a delighted, devious air, tongue lolling in excitement. The pack is on the Hunt, and he is their Herald.
Allanon thanked Tharn for the conversation and turned away from him as others approached. Hector, Eliwood, and another of his men, whose name was Red, had just appeared before him. “Sir, may I introduce to you, not the lumberjack, but the master Archer, Red. Allanon nodded, “I know well of him, we faught together while he was on his last mission. My question is a simple one, How far and true can your arrow fly?” Red only smiled as he stepped around them and raised his bow, notching an arrow he pulled back the line as words of magical enchantment filled the air. Suddenly runes upon the arrow would flare to life in crimson and forest green. When silence filled the air once more he would release the arrow. Not caring to verify his strike he turned away, knowing it would be true, for it always was. The others watched onwards, quickly losing sight of the arrow, though it was still glowing. The Forest green tail seemed to help it fly as needed, the tip nearly appeared as though it itself, not the runes, glowed brightly with its crimson light. Wherever the arrow should hit, the tip would release a small explosion sending small shards of shrapnel from the tip every which way. His target was the wolf. A white coat against the white tundra would surely be a hard enough sight to see. But somehow, this archer had seen him, had taken his aim, and released his arrow. Still they looked onward, hoping to see the wolf fall from the arrows strike. “Im returning to camp.” spoke Red, though not a soul had heard.
Tharn closes his eyes during the arrow's flight once it's left his range of sight, and instead the warrior simply listens. And sure enough, there it is, echoing shrilly in the cold silence of the woods: a wolf's pained yelped cut off mid-bark. The thump of the animal's body hitting the snow is faint, but still audible in that eeriely quiet forest. For a long moment all remains still, as if the wolf's death has gone completely unnoticed... but as the archer turns to depart, it starts. First one howl, high and lonely as it creeps through the air like the encroaching nightfall, and quickly another voice lifts to join it, followed by yet another and another until the dusk-drenched forest quivers with a chorus of countless voices. The wolves are singing their hunting song, barks and howls covering the faint sounds of paws padding across snow and fur brushing against shrubs with the steady approach of the Pack. "They're here," Tharn murmurs, opening his eyes as he hefts his axe and takes a firm stance at the edge of the camp.
Allanon heard the painful cry as well, Red's marksmanship was still as sharp as ever. But then the howls would fill the night. Each one signaling the ready of the pack to hunt. Allanon didnt wait for the enemy to attack, he turned and with another shout, "To Arms!" The men would seemingly change once more. Before they appeared simple Lumberjacks. Then, through a possible threat of battle it was clear they most of them were hardened warriors and thugs. But now, that the battle call was issued, silence. Each of them had gathered their weapons of choice, the crew seemed to be ready, to have done this before against others. And indeed they had. The crew was spread out amongst the whole of the work area, but only just far enough apart to give room to fight should they have need, and they knew they would. Allanon simply closed his eyes for a few moments in prayer, the words where whispered, not even audible in the least. However, the longer he prayed it seemed the more powerful the magical aura about him would become. Finally reaching for the hatchets at each of his sides he prepared himself for combat. As the rest of his crew. Red had gotten a clear line of sight. Notching three more arrows he pulled back on the strings and with the time he had muttered powerful enchantments upon each arrow. They would fly and kill the same as the one before. For now however, he waited for signs of movement in the snowdrifts and lightly blowing wind.
Tharn readies himself, muscles tenses not in fear or anxiety but preparation. The warrior takes slow, measured breaths as his pale blue eyes scan the tree line, seeking the faintest glimpse of soft white against hard. Nothing reveals itself to the many searching human eyes, and the only sign of the wolves is the unending tune of their howls as they wait just out of sight. For what? That much becomes obvious after another handful of tense moments, as the last rays of sun disappear beyond the horizon, transforming Frostmaw's forest into a world of black and white. With the loss of what meager warmth the distant sun provides, the temperature immediately plunges, and with it comes a thickening in the ever-falling snowflakes. The blanket of snowfall is the Pack's signal, for as soon as that vision-obscuring screen appears, so do they, winking between trees like colorless spirits with glinting eyes of gold. With no change in their howls to provide a warning, the wolves attack, rushing out like a snarling fog from among the trees, coming toward the camp from all sides in a crushing wave of white. "Find the pack leader! Kill it and you kill the pack!" Tharn roars over the sounds of weapons and animals, dispatching a pair of attacking wolves with a mighty swing of his axe that sends their crushed forms flying to land near Allanon in a bloody heap. But the alpha the giant speaks of isn't among the attacking pack just yet, watching and observing from a safe distance, unnaturally intelligent eyes calculating the flow of battle.
Allanon and his men entered the battle now when it was almost too late to notice the pack amongst them. A small series of battle cries are issued from some members of the once peaceful logging crew. Moral was high, they had faced things far more fierce than these creatures, or so many of them thought. Allanon, Eliwood, and Hector all were in combat. Allanon careful not to let them too close so that their fangs and claws could be used, but not all the time was he able to do so. A scratch here, a nip there, all wounds he would carry upon his body before being able to dispatch some of the wolves forces. Hector was human but had a speed that one would believe that of a half elf. He was slowed down however by the massive axe that he wielded, larger still than the one Allanon carried upon his back. His double ended axe worked to cleave through his enemies, much of his strength was wasted on his attacks however, he constantly swung too wildly and with more force than was needed, possibly his only major flaw. Eliwood was elven, expert in the ways of combating in-humanoid creatures. But he had never foresaw wolves as a threat until now. Eliwoods mental powers surpassed most. However his weapon of choice physically was that of a simple short sword. While defending himself with his sword he would be attacking the wolves mind with his own. His weakness was the inability to switch this off. He could always concentrate upon a single mind, however his mind, once opened, would brush constantly against all those around him. He was a master at ignoring those normally, but cries of pain and feelings of anger were harder to ignore. And he heard many at the moment. Some of their men had already fallen to the wolves fangs and claws. Red stood in the center of the camp near the flames, allowing them to cast their crimson light upon everything around them. As always the flames stood near twenty feet in height. With this light he helped to defend the men. A normal arrow piercing wolf flesh provided enough opportunity for the Rogues most times to extinguish the wolfs remaining life force with a blow from an axe or sword.
Tharn roars with a warrior's fury as a wolf sinks its fangs into his calf, and with a swift axe blow the beast is cloven in two and hurled aside as the giant wades his way toward Allanon. A path naturally opens up for the giant as he moves, wolves thrown left and right by his pumping arms while the less fortunate ones are crushed beneath his armored boots, but the moment Tharn halts, the battle swells around him once more. "Any sign of the leader yet?" the Frost giant asks Allanon as he brings the butt of his axe down on a wolf's skull with a sickening crunch. "If we can't cut off the head, the body won't stop attacking." As if hearing the giant, a howl rips through the night, coming from deep in the woods and reaching the ears of every wolf still swarming the camp. As one, the pack shifts, their wild charge becoming something far more organized--something no animals should be capable of. With practiced ease the wolves split and regroup, bands of five and more forming a tight circle around each logger or pair of loggers, while outside of the circles slinks the remaining numbers, wolves far smaller than the others. These slighter of beasts prowl outside the rings while their brethren snarl and feign snaps at the loggers, distracting the men just as the small wolves dart beneath their packmates' paws or across their broad backs in ambushing lunges for Allanon's crew. Tharn's height is his only saving grace against this unusual form of attack, but even the giant is dragged to his knees by the weight of young wolves hanging from his arms by steely jaws. "Fire, archer! Fire!" the giant shouts to Red, jerking his massive head toward the blaze the archer has his back to.
Allanon wasted a swing at a wolf when suddenly the creature had backed off, seemingly to retreat. This was a thought but for a moment as they suddenly reorganized. The battle resumed with the surpise attack. Many of the twenty three men would fall in this new ambush technique these creatures had sprung upon them. Allanon could yet tell how many of his crew were left. The howl he had heard a moment ago had finally ended and as another wolf would leap over the back of a larger one he would have to leap himself and swing the small hatchet he had downward breaking the handle as the blade stuck itself in the wolves skull and pushed him back nearly losing his own balance. Trowing both of the hatchets downward he removed the axe from his back, a sigh of relief would come over him as his back finally was allowed to bend with movement. Gripping the Frost enchanted War axe he allowed the magic of his paladin abilities to inhibit the blade. Its enchantment would now double in power and the axe would somehow become only slightly lighter. But as Allanon would wield it and supply it with his power it would slowly begin to grow heavier once more. Meanwhile red near the center of camp was being protected by six other men who were almost in a constant battle with the wolves. Red carried on his person several quivers filled with many arrows. It was now that he realized what was needed to be done. Pulling a single arrow from his light coat he chanted a long incantation aloud. When finally it was done and he notched the arrow the whole of the projectile was aglow. Aiming it straight into the air he finished a second and then a third. Releasing it the arrow pierced through the air alone, the arrow once at the peak of its arch would turn and begin its return flight when a sudden bright light would fill the air possibly blinding those whose eyes were cast skyward. When the light would fade in the place of the single arrows was instead an amount of roughly ten. The arrows fell towards the ground before suddenly they to would shine a bright light. However these did not multiply, but instead they would twist and turn as each was aimed for a different Wolf. Only a small dent in the population but a helpful one he would be sure. Seperate arrows were fired now, one to each of those defending him as well as a few towards the wolves hounding Tharn. His arrow count was already growing low, nearly empty. Once they were gone he would be vulnerable to attack...he knew this and accepted it.
A grunt of effort comes from the giant as he heaves the clinging wolves off himself, only pausing long enough to grimace at the bite wounds riddling his form before he sweeps aside half of his surrounding lupine circle with the broadside of his axe. "Put the fire to your backs! Night animals can't see against the light!" Tharn bellows to the fighting men as he charges through the pack, throwing them aside with his massive frame en route to Red. One wolf has the misfortune of getting between giant and archer, and gets almost comically punted into the flames for the effort. With a shrill howl the wolf tears out of the bonfire an instant later, fur blazing as it races through its packmates toward the distant trees, blinded by flame and pain alike and unwittingly setting fire to the fur of others it passes. Tiny fires spring to life throughout the battlefield as other wolves ignite, with a raucous chorus of yelps preluding a collapse of their former organization into a mass of thrashing, burning animals, fangs turned on each other in their pained fury. Tharn uses the moment of discord to speak with Red, even as he peers into the darkness of the trees' upper branches. "Our leader is above ground. You heard the howl too high too, right? Can you see him? A tree-climbing wolf will be a one of a kind sight, and a one of a kind shot." That commanding howl ripples through the air once more then, trying to bring order to the chaotic pack and only partially succeeding. Many of the animals lie dead or dying in the snow, smoke rising from scorched fur and whimpers peppering the area as badly burnt ones refuse to budge from the relief of snow even as their life leeches into the slush. What wolves haven't caught fire, or have succeeded in smothering the flames, gather once more in a semi-circle around the remaining crew. Golden eyes blinking against the light of the bonfire, but the wolves still press forward snarling and snapping, trying to force the men back and into a tight group.
Allanon | Red nodded the Giant who by now he had come accustomed to. Much had the being protected them from before now. This was no different. His knowledge of the creatures here continued to be a major asset to them. He looked to the trees in the distance hoping to see their leader. It took several long and horrible moments before the sight of the creature was barely noticed. Drawing three arrows from his quiver he muttered a series of enchantments. He knew what was required of him. A shot so far he had yet to make a shot like it. None of his enchantments would send an arrow that far, not upon their own. But he had an idea, a far one, but one he hoped would work. As he notched the three arrows and pulled back upon the string he gave the center arrow one last enchantment, and then after one last check of his aim he released. The archer reached for another arrow to help defend the men once more only to grab hold of the air...none remained. All of their hopes were in those three arrows.... The magic he had given to each of them began to take hold. The outer arrows that soared barely behind the center began to weaken as the center arrows last enchantment began to feed off their magic through flight. It was the only way the arrow would make it the distance. The two spare arrows acted like fuel tanks, once they were dry gravity and the wind would take hold of them throwing them ground-ward. The sole arrow remained held fast in the air, its magic waning quickly as well but able to make the distance. Or so it appeared. The magic from the other arrows were not enough. Now it fed on the magic in its tip. The arrow would no longer possess the ability to explode a moment after impact. If his aim was off, even by a hair, the wolf may survive and their lives may become lost. Meanwhile the battle raged on still, allanon Eliwood had stepped back to where Red was now to help defend him. But now he was preparing his own attack. He found each of the minds in the area, those with canine minds were his target. Preparing himself for a few moments he prepared the largest mental attack on this many beings he had ever attempted, he had no clue if it would work or not. He hoped at least for the wolves to flinch giving the crew the moment needed to slay them. Then he attacked.
To the end of his days, Tharn will remember those last few moments as clearly as it plays out now. Much happens in a span of seconds, and it all weaves itself into the tapestry of a battle tale, every thread bolstering the next to build the full picture. The alpha chooses the very second Red releases his arrows to leap forward to another branch to bring himself nearer his pack, head lifted back in a howl. The howl is only half-lived however, cut brutally short by the single arrow that suddenly sprouts from the wolf's exposed throat--he would have been safe, had he not moved and lifted his head to bare that weak point to Red's arrow. With a gurgle the leader plunges to earth, crashing in a mangled heap at the foot of the tree. It is no ordinary wolf lying twisted in the snow, however, but truly a white lycan, one who has spent the better part of his life ruling a pack of animals and turning them into cunning soldiers, teaching them with his warped human mind. But the menace is slain, and with his howl cut short, the wolves are at a loss. Eliwood's mental strike hits upon minds already weakened and uncertain without an alpha, and all too readily do the submissive beings crumble beneath the blow. A number of the wolves crumple to the ground dead from a mental overload, even as the majority turn tail and flee, yipping with a mixture of fear, confusion, and loss. In seconds, no living wolves remain in the camp, although the ground is littered with the corpses of them as well as Allanon's men. Solemnly Tharn wipes his blade clean and returns it to its place on his back before he speaks, voice low but carrying easily in the dead silence the wolves have left, "The dawn paints our snow crimson early. You've earned your new day with a night of Blood Snow."
Allanon turned quickly and once the wolves began to retreat did he hurl his large axe with all of remaining strength towards one, it would fall short, his own strength diminishing, and land handle upward in the crimson earth. The few that lived raised their battle instruments in victory shouting cries of amazement that they had survived. Something they had believed was certain, but was nearly proved otherwise. Allanon, Hector, and Eliwood looked to each other before their gaze would land upon the blood stained snow. Niether of them cheered or showed any signs that a great victory had been won. The three of them knew that should another pack come or any other such beasts as cunning as they, they would not survive with only the twelve men they had left. Nearly half of them were gone, scattered in a bloody heap all over the camp. He let the men cheer and celebrate a few moments longer before he would issue orders once more. "Though our battle is won, it cost us far too much to be considered such. Look around you. Many of our own along with those of the enemy lay slaughtered upon the soil. Those of you able to walk Get those unable to Miyu's tent. She will care for them there. The rest of you prepare an area to burn our comrades. For they died with honor amongst us, something they could not do elsewhere. Those of you that are able, skin these wolves, take what meat you can. I believe we may be able to get a fair gold piece for their pelts, and if not. Well we shall all have matching Fur coats. Now, disperse." With that order given he fell finally to his exhaustion. Resting upon one knee in the snow his breaths became heavy. The magic of his gods gave him much strength. But at a greater price in the end. He fought himself to stay conscious and so far was winning the battle.
Tharn bows at the waist to speak quickly with Red while watching the crew begin the arduous process of cleaning up the battlefield. "The leader's pelt is your trophy. I can make arrow tips of the fangs for you." Nodding once, the giant straightens and moves toward the outskirts of the camp, settling once more into his place as guard. While the rest restore order, the warrior watches over them, patiently waiting for the next challenge to be born from the deadly woods.
The crew does as is commanded of them. Allanon is gathered up and losses consciousness on te way to a bed in his tent where the medic shall look over his wounds to make sure he is fine. Red and a couple others, perhaps Tharn as well, trekked through the wilderness to the north to find the dead Lycans corpse. Red first pulled his arrow from its neck before he and the others would carry the corpse back to camp where he would be skinned, gutted, and cleaned. The meat would be tossed aside, not to be eaten. His pet would go to Red and the fangs would be given to Tharn for the arrow tips he had promised. The camp would spend the next couple days recuperating, or so they hoped, the remains of the wolves and the lycan that could not be used in someway would be tossed into the flames where the scent of burnt meat and flesh from their comrades would work their way northward. More foes were sure to come..