A Nap Interrupted

  • The Beast was pulled from his stupor by sharp scraping sound and the smell of man mixed with blood. The scent reminded him of the ones Cyre called “bandits”, those he was allowed to hunt. It was still faint, so there was still some distance between the source and them. It would be best to alert Cyre then, he thought.


    For his part, Cyre was sleeping on the side of the man-trail they had been following for the past two moons. As Cyre’s eyes were closed, the Beast could not see what was happening around them, but from the warmth they were bathed in, the sun was most likely at its peak.


    Taking a moment, the Beast pooled several memories from their most recent hunts, particularly those involving pain. The arrow piercing Cyre’s shoulder. The sword slicing across his arm. The fire burning their fur. Once he had gathered these, he sent them towards the presence that was Cyre’s mind. Within moments Cyre was awake, his mind whirling from the memories.


    As the Beast had taught him many winters ago, Cyre did not move, nor did he open his eyes. Instead as quietly as possible he spoke, “Darling, what is it?” Even in this situation his voice was still tinged with mirth.


    The Beast summoned up the memory of the scraping sound and then sent it and the scent to Cyre.


    “Oh, so some friends have come to play have they? Shall we see what they want?” Cyre seemed to be almost bursting with anticipation for what was to come. The Beast agreed.


    Standing up, Cyre made a show of stretching and then looking around at the trees on either side of the man-trail. Once he was done he took in a deep breath, giving them both the chance to check the strength of the scent. It had grown stronger since the Beast had first noticed it. They were getting closer.


    Cyre stood stock still and a pleasant smile plastered across his face as they waited. The Beast payed special attention to their shared sense of hearing as time passed. Before long, he could make out the crunching of feet upon the fallen leaves and the panting of creatures who were not properly rested. As he had done many times before, he directed these sounds to Cyre and returned to waiting.


    “Thank you Darling,” was Cyre’s only response.


    Before much more time had passed, a group of five lightly armoured humans – four male and one female – stepped out from the tree line. Each of them had their weapons readied and were watching Cyre as though afraid he would pounce at any moment. They spread out and formed a semicircle in front of them before the centre-most one spoke.


    “Hail Elf. We mean you no harm; simply hand over your gold and we’ll be on our way.”


    The moment the man finished talking, one of the others called out, “What do ya mean no harm? I say we just gut him n’ take everything he has.” The one that had called out was scrawny and reminded the Beast of an animal that was just days away from death. Ultimately, the Beast cared little for what they said; it would end the same either way.


    Before any of the others could speak, Cyre gave a deep sweeping bow and spoke, “Greetings, gentlemen and lady. I’m afraid I do not have much in the way of gold, and what I do have I cannot spare. Perhaps you would instead prefer to let me keep it and leave with your lives?”


    The Beast ignored Cyre’s theatrics and instead focused on the humans before them, in search for any signs of attack. Cyre’s words seemed to have enraged the sickly man and the woman who stood beside him. The big man in the centre seemed to be trying to judge Cyre’s strength as he spoke to him; he was the most dangerous of their foes. While the Beast watched on, Cyre continued to talk with the big man, which seemed to only enrage his companions further.


    Eventually Cyre held up his hand, indicating for the big man to stop talking, and said, “It would seem we are unable to come to an agreement, so instead I propose we ask my Darling to settle our dispute.”


    With that, a wolf-like grin spread across his face and he relinquished control of their body.


    Intense pain assaulted them as their bones shattered and their muscles tore, to only moments later be reformed into those the Beast was most familiar with. Mentally stepping forward, the Beast took control of their body and let out a howl which set a couple of the bandits to shaking.


    A new scent radiated from them. Urine.


    Leaping forward he swung his right hand towards the head of the big man. His claws tore into his flesh followed by a cracking sound. One down.


    Swinging his left arm, he sent one of the others flying into a tree. Then he jumped onto another, tearing his throat out. Pain. The woman had stabbed him in the shoulder. It mattered little. Rearing up onto his hind legs he swung his arm and impaled her on his claws.


    Looking around he noticed that the sickly man had fled down the man-trail. The scent of urine trailed behind him. Within moments he was behind him, jaw clamped around his neck. He jerked his head and the man stopped moving.


    He thought about feeding, but the scent of urine hung heavy in the air and left a sour taste in his mouth.


    An image of Cyre pouting entered the Beast’s mind, followed by the sound of Cyre’s voice. “Darling, if you aren’t going to eat, could you at least get away from this smell? If you stay any longer, we’re going to reek of it for days.”


    Even though it was just a thought, the Beast could still hear Cyre’s usual playful tone seeping into his words.


    Moving upwind of the mess, the Beast stopped when he could no longer smell the urine and returned control to Cyre. Once again their body was racked with pain as bones and muscles were reshaped into those of Cyre’s form.


    Letting out a long sigh, Cyre raised his arms above his head and stretched his back.


    “You know Darling, I’ve heard that our good friend the Jarl is in need of assistance. Perhaps it’s about time Sir Fluffles and his lovely assistance Chuckles arrived to lend a hand. What do you say?”


    The Beast thought about it for a moment. The Jarl was one of the few who knew about him and still spoke to Cyre. He sent back an image of a tail wagging. With that, Cyre smiled and started back down the man-trail.


    A Table of Cyre


  • Golden Fool
    Golden Fool   ·  June 24, 2016
    These are outliers even amongst other outliers 
    I've already got an idea for their next misadventure, I just need to work out how I'm going to have Cyre interacting with the kids of Whiterun. I know I want him to do that, but I'm not sure what will ...  more
  • Sotek
    Sotek   ·  June 24, 2016
    My appologies for not reading this sooner.
    This is exactly what I was hoping for, a unique take on the werewolf beast and the man. While Red/ Aela, Sotek ect in my story share senses and the like and they are aware of eachother's feelings, the comun...  more
  • Paws
    Paws   ·  June 23, 2016
    Cleverly done Goldie, two distinct personalities really shone through. I like the urine thing, a good RP point on why not to feed sometimes. I definitely would like to see more of them both. 
  • Lyall
    Lyall   ·  June 23, 2016
    This is a great take on the werewolf/human... bond? Relationship? Whatever you would call it. Looking forward to some more stories with these in them 
  • Golden Fool
    Golden Fool   ·  June 22, 2016
    @Lissette, thanks. I hadn't actually thought of Valtheim Towers when I was writing this. I'd have to say that these guys were way less organised then those at the towers. Only one of them had a brain.
    And yes don't mess with Darling or Chuckles or w...  more
  • Jeffrey
    Jeffrey   ·  June 22, 2016
    I liked this :) is this a series? In particular I liked seeing the man and beast as two separate but aware consciousnesses
  • The Long-Chapper
    The Long-Chapper   ·  June 22, 2016
    LOL, this was great. Valtheim Tower's eh?
    Don't mess with Darling.