[M] The Brumal Horde (IC)

[Yggdrasil_Hugger]

The night was alive with flame. Fires danced high, throwing embers that drifted down like burning snow. Around the bonfires, lycanthropes celebrated. The night after the full moon was often one of festivity. While their animal spirits had run wild, they let their human side experience a taste of the same wildness. Human forms moved heavily in the night, moving in and out of the flickering orange light. Music was being played from somewhere, a band of weremice striking up a lively tune on fiddles and drums. Elsewhere in the revelry, other lycanthropes were celebrating in other ways. A werebear and wereboar were attempting to outdrink the other. A werewolf and werestag strained against each other in an arm-wrestling competition. In a more primal version of this contest, a werepossum and werebadger wrestled through the underbrush. Two wererams charged each other like jousters, slamming into each other with a shuddering slam that would shatter bones in weaker lycanthropes.

In the midst of these festivities, a scarred man with dirty blonde hair was busy trying to drown himself in beer. He groggily brushed away the hand of a mischievous wererat and snarled a threat before the long-toothed wererodent scurried away, muttering something under his breath. Gregor resumed his suicide by liver failure.

[Highland Sniper]

Through the forest, a small werefox runs, dodging trees in the dark night. Bruised and very disheveled from the attack on their village. they had set a few minor traps a few miles back and were still running. How long had it been? half an hour? three? It didn't matter, get as far away as she could and get help.
Flora continued to run through the dark woods.

[Moonlit_Fae]

The observant wereowl stayed in the shadows of this grandiose festivity. Her keen eyes ever watchful of the activites among the different werebeasts. A quill pen scratched furiosly upon parchment as she wrote down everything she saw. Wondering if certain characteristics were normal for certain creatures. All of this information had to be recorded to be brought back to her chaw one day. One day to let her back home. For now she was a wandering soul all alone in a strange world unsure of herself. She did her best to not succumb to her instinct to fly off into the night...

[Alura]

Oddbjorn Vetle had little interest in society of any stripe, but Wilbur Gammon had always treated him well and left him be for the most part unless there was work to be done. In fact, when he had first run in to a small band of fellers cutting down trees in the considerable forest in which he made his cavernous home, Wilbur had been the first person who had spoken to him. He had helped haul wood back for their village collier and craftsmen and been invited to return when the weather thawed - whenever it decided to thaw - in order to trade with the locals.

Some of the village folk weren't so keen on Wilbur, being rather short and a little obstinant. He was hardworking and spoke little, but had a temper like a boiling tea kettle. Oddbjorn didn't mind - their work was relatively simple, though hard, and there was little need to speak. They were something like friends, he supposed, after all these years. Time to time the wereboar would arrive to Oddbjorn Vetle's cave and trouble him to go along on some sort of trek or another. The werebear didn't fancy travel, but Wilbur was good at playing into his simple wants.

Tonight, it had been the promise of all the beer he could drink if he helped to move the portion of the heavy trappings of the festivities that were his village's contributions to this site and erect the bonfire. Oddbjorn had been reluctant, but once he had agreed, the wereboar had decided to join him and offered a bet that if the werebear could out-drink him, he would give him not just the promised drink for the night, but a year's worth of hops and a bit of seed to cultivate his own. The Gammon family had one of the most coveted heirloom crops within walking distance in any direction and Vetle's honey-coloured eyes swam with the images of rivers of beer he could brew with such a treasure.

Wilbur's brother, Karnac, was the village blacksmith. He stayed with them for a drink or five before red-flushed and grinning amicably at his own unwillingness to drown himself into a stupour alongside the pair, he staggered off to investigate the crack and rumble of the wererams clash. He had almost made it to the ring of other lycanthropes that had formed loosely around them when the drink caught up to him in a rush and he staggered to the forest's edge. He relieved himself of the wave of nausea behind a tree and righted himself only to stagger back around the tree and make eye contact with a woman who seemed to be... sketching? Something. He offered a good-natured apology and waved her towards the wereboar and werebear drinking beyond the ring of spectators, promising her that they would make up for his rudeness with a drink if she cared to join them. Best beer she'd ever taste, he told her. Gammon beer.

With that and a nod, he wandered back towards the fighting with a loud cheer for one of the two combatants. He moved along the ring until he sat down, without invitation, across from a tough looking were who was fending off an enterprising wererat and nodded to him. Pointing into the circle he lifted his brows.

"Something, eh? Young one'll go though. Nothing compares to strong old steel." He shoved his brew at the other man. "Try this and I'll bet you forget that piss you're drinking. Gammon beer. Best you'll ever taste."

Wilbur chuckled at his brother, pouring himself and Vetle another drink and lifting it in acknowledgement to the wereowl near the treeline. He followed the other wereboar's path and smiled sympathetically to Gregor before turning in an effort to toast his werebear friend.

Vetle stared back at Wilbur blankly and began to down the beer. He did not notice that Wilbur's eyes seemed amused at the inelegance of his friend's manner. Vetle would not have cared if he had. He felt small, cold and exposed out here despite the tenor of the celebration and the warmth of the fires. There were too many people, and their revels drowned out the sounds of the forest. Many of them seemed at home in human form, and he recognised the faces of many from Gammon's village as he squinted blearily into the festivities. With a deep sigh, he grabbed up a small keg of beer - annoyed with the effort compared to the easy strength of his bear form - and poured them another round. Wilbur had insisted they drink in human form, and it seemed worth it at the time, but it seemed neither of them were intending to lose tonight. They could as easily have done this in his cave or Wilbur's cabin. This was damned good beer, though. Damned good.

[Corvina]

I walk a lonely road
The only one that I have ever known
Don't know where it goes
But it's home to me and I walk alone

I walk this empty street
On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams
Where the city sleeps
And I'm the only one and I walk alone

Mismatched eyes watched the forest. Lila knew something was happening but did she honestly care? No, not today. Golden hair caressed the middle of her back as she sat in the tree. This was honestly where she felt the most at home. Sighing softly to herself, the young woman knew she would have to venture into a town and steal what she could today. But that was at the back of her mind.

I walk alone
I walk alone
I walk alone
I walk a

My shadow's the only one that walks beside me
My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating
Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me
'Til then I walk alone

Ah-ah, ah-ah, ah-ah, aaah-ah
Ah-ah, ah-ah, ah-ah

Lila stretched and swayed gently to remove the kinks in her back. Being pressed against the trunk of the tree in her human form was the most uncomfortable feeling she had experienced thus far. A pale finger traced the jagged scar that ran across her face, a wince was apparent on her face. It was still raw, and fresh. The pain shot through her each time she cleaned it. Though it’s honestly what she deserves after attempting to fight a being larger than herself, for food.

I'm walking down the line
That divides me somewhere in my mind
On the borderline
Of the edge and where I walk alone

Read between the lines
Of what's f#cked up and everything's alright
Check my vital signs
To know I'm still alive and I walk alone

She stood on the large branch with her cat-like balance and she crouched down on the branch letting the palms of her hands lightly fall on the branch. The jump would be easy as it was less than 10 feet. While in human form she tended to err on the side of caution because other humans didn’t seem to accept her kind to live among them. Quickly surveying the area, Lila was confident no one was around and leaped to the ground. Her landing was a bit rougher than she had expected, maneuvering in her human form was kind of a challenge. Lila preferred to stay in beast form, for the most part.

I walk alone
I walk alone
I walk alone
I walk a

My shadow's the only one that walks beside me
My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating
Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me
'Til then I walk alone

Ah-ah, ah-ah, ah-ah, aaah-ah
Ah-ah, ah-ah

After standing she once again stretched and looked around. “Now where is the nearest village?” She muttered to herself half expecting the trees to answer her. Lila sighed again and threw her hair into a single ponytail, cursing once again to cut her hair. As if that would actually matter, it would grow back once she transformed anyways. Sighing softly, Lila randomly picked a pathway and started following the forest to the right, hoping she would eventually find a village.

I walk alone
I walk a

I walk this empty street
On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams
Where the city sleeps
And I'm the only one and I walk a

My shadow's the only one that walks beside me
My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating
Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me
'Til then I walk alone

[Yggdrasil_Hugger]

Gregor eyed the half-drunk wereboar and grunted. Tossing the beer he had been drinking over his shoulder, he took the flagon offered. He sniffed it suspiciously, then, obviously convinced it was not piss, poison, or drugged, took a deep drink. The boar was not as right as he had hoped. Then again, most of these northern beers couldn’t hold a candle to the cactus-based moonshine he had loved back home. Still, it was better than what he had been drinking. He opened his mouth to speak, ready to tell the boar what he really thought of the beer, but was cut off by a deep croaking sound. A fluttering of heavy wings made him look over his shoulder to peer at whatever werecritter had interrupted him.

Standing in the branch of a thick old oak was the fusion of a human man and a monstrously large raven. Black feathers coated the wereraven like a heavy cloak. Wings sprouted from the arms, leaving small claws at the last joint. His head was the complete head of a raven, made disgustingly large and placed on the man’s shoulders. The wereraven croaked again, and the band of weremice quieted. Maybe he was going to recite a poem, as wereravens are prone to do.

“A fine evening, is it not? A wonderful evening for a revelry. She likes parties, she does.” He cackled, obviously a bit mad. A cold feeling settled in Gregor’s stomach. Somebody from the crowd, a werestag, called out.

“Get on with it!” Somebody threw an empty tankard at the wereraven and laughter rippled through the clearing. The wereraven twitched, then smoothed his ruffled feathers.

“Fine. You have been chosen. Kneel and live, fight and die. It’s simple.” With that, the raven turned and winged off into the night. The cold feeling in Gregor’s stomach deepened, and he realized he could see his breath. The temperature had suddenly plummeted, and the fires, which had made everything deliriously hot, flickered and shuddered as heat was sapped away. He could barely feel the warmth of the nearest campfire.

A bone-chilling howl echoed through the wood. Nobody moved nor spoke. Another howl picked up the call from the first, then another. Two more howls joined the song of the hunt, from the opposite side of the clearing. They were getting closer.

[Highland Sniper]

Flora continued to run as the howls came, they must have her scent and were close behind. Her traps might slow them down, but it would do very little besides. She kept running for all she was work, panting hard as she ran.
Ahead, she say a light and continued towards it. Must be a fire of some sort.

She continued to run until she got into the clearing and saw the silent crowd looking over.
The disheveled werefox in all her hybrid glory, with tattered clothes, continued a stumbling run through the clearing.
She was winded and out of breath.