Under a Moon so Red

drawn by the smells of the kills, the rather large figure of Uragu would lurch from the darkness, her keen smell guiding her more than the dull green orbs of her eyes.

accompanied by the dull gurgles and foul smells she would scavenge what was safe to before lumbering back into the dark.

as strong and slow witted as she is her instincts tell her not to linger too long.

A hooded figure, dressed in soft brown leathers, walks with an easy familiarity into the forest. He would stride stealthily, but confidently, going ever deeper into the woods. He would attempt to glide across the land like a shadow and avoid the local beasts; if challenged, however, he would deliver a sound thrashing to any pouncing pack.

Upon reaching the very heart of the Fangs of Malar, he would sit down, cross legged, and stare into the leafy canopy around him as if seeking some measure of solace. After several long minutes, he would reach beneath his hood, tugging at a thick cord to draw out his talisman - a severed panther's paw infused with an unmistakable aura of bloody predation.

He would hold the paw cupped between his hands, his gaze lost in the crimson whorls of matted blood. Staring deep into those pools, he would speak with a soft voice, the tongue of light breezes and deep glades and rustling branches rumbling forth from his lips: "So... what am I to do now...?"

When the rumors reached the western Cormanthor, it was met with a quiet sigh. Disappointed it was, albeit acquiescent. If the forests were to erupt in noise, better that it was in purpose, and not pain. For the time being, menacing howls were far more welcome than the lamentation of plagues.

The one who sighed resumed her daily tasks, pondering her next move.

Waverider wrote:

At the sight of Uragu a few of the wolves group up and bare teeth with unfriendly growls and snarls but for some reason they don't attack.

*when confronted the towering genasi would loom and shake making her armour clank, Opening her maw wide in a threatening display she'd emit a deep gurgled hiss at them*

at their lack of action she would back off with her scavenged meal.

Sion grinned wide, dropping the nymph like fey creature from his jaws. his great white wolf body shook with joy when he heard the thunderous howl, responding with his own rapturous howl. (Sion is in winterwolf form)

DM Waverider wrote:

The wolves form around him in a loosely made circle.  For a moment they seem to be preparing to strike before a thunderous howl in the distance disperses the pack, leaving the man to sit alone in the dark.

As the wolves surrounded him, the brown-clad ranger would look up, eyes revealing not a hint of unease. He would move one hand to his side, preparing himself for rapid movement, and then blink in surprise at the thunderous howl... and the dispersing wolves. He would stare vacantly after them for many minutes, before turning his emerald gaze back to the bloody paw. Once more he would speak softly, his tone now betraying confusion and frustration: "That... was not very helpful..."

*once more lured by the smells of fresh meat Uragu can be seen warily watching from a distance, testing teh air with her sense of smell and a deep grumble*

*if no one approaches she will herself approach like a great carrion beast, slowly and cautiously*

The morning after his keep was attacked from the west ((https://dalelandsbeyond.rpg-board.net/t33670-a-letter-to-the-cormyrians)) Cruven would make his way westard to investigate. Eyeing Uragu from a distance Cruven would approach the bloody mess, sword gripped in his hand. After getting a good look at the black skinned flesh he would kick one of the lumps of meat before turning and making his way back to the Hounds Keep.

*uragu would only greet his approach with a deep rumble until she realised he had no aggressive intent or other interest in the mess before returning her attentions to the scene picking the choicest parts before the crows and wolves take their share*

At the Altar of Fangs

~@~@~@

Coming from the Midwood early one late summer morning a pair of forest walkers enter the Fangs. Him, a tall, thin, copper skinned Nexalan hunter sporting a wolfskin cloak over chainmail armor. Her, a large, black jaguar from the Jungles of Payit. The pair approach silently, avoiding the wolves that wander the Fangs but leaving behind the hindquarters of the deer the pair hunted the previous night at a convenient spot for the predators to find.

The pair reach the Altar, and the Hunter takes his time to retrieve the offerings, along with some incense and strips of scented wood. Mictlali sits down atop a nearby large, flat rock and awaits while keeping watch over her companion.



Hun-Balam approaches the stone altar and withe the help of a small brass censer burns the incense and scented wood. Next, he places three hearts into a stone bowl, which he places on the center of the altar. They are the bounty of his latest hunt. He exults the name of the Beastlord and intones a brief chant in Nexalan boasting of his and Mictlali's battle against three dark elves and how they fell in bloody battle, all for the honor of Malar. As he does so, he sticks cactus spines into his thighs, and offers them bloodied as sacrifice by placing them in the bowl along the hearts.

Lastly, he takes off the simple necklace he made from the drow's ears and places it in the bowl. Hun-Balam prays for the blessings of the Beastlord in the next hunt he undertakes, and asks for the continual strength and ferocity his hunt will need. Lastly, he prays for guidance in regards to the Worg pack he will try to convince to relocate to these eastern lands, and to bless them with bountiful prey.

Once the small ceremony is finished, the hunter leaves the Altar as is, and takes Mictlali off towards the ruins located nearby. The pair set up camp there, for they will be staying the night in order to retrieve the stone bowl and censer from the altar the next morning, and to rest and recover their strength.