Wolf RPG

He dragged the girl victoriously into the clearing beside his den. Leaving her among the the various scattered skulls, Lecter regarded her with a mixture of incoherent emotions. "You will serve me here." His eyes glowed with a maddened, feral light.

"And the first thing I require is your pelt." Not in its entirety, but how was she to know that? Leaping at her, Lecter intended to bear her to the ground beneath him, with a warning growl for her to submit.

The girl submitted with a shaking form beneath him, and Lecter flung the length of his thin legs over her, pinning her to the earth of the clearing. Snaking his muzzle close to her shoulder, Lecter began to pluck her dark fur, spitting it onto the loam, a warning growl emanating from his muzzle lest she try to rise and flee.

"Tell me of yourself," the shaman invited between his lashings of pain to her. He would not take a great amount of fur, just enough for his rites; it was her blood for which he lusted most, and eventually he would cause that to well upon his tongue as well.

He listened to her tale, pausing in his blunt torture to allow her the time to speak. A tale of death and horror, and sadness and fear. He had beneath his claws a true victim, and had he not wished to rouse the collective disgust and terror of the Creek, he would have reared her upon blood and honey until she was a fitting sacrifice for Sos.

Lifting himself, he carried his clutch of her fur to his den. "You are bound to me now; I carry a piece of you, and should you turn upon me, or attempt to escape your time at this place, I shall kill you." He spoke the words calmly, knowing somehow she would believe him, for woe be to her if she did not, and tested the shaman.

Tyrande spoke, but without the fear he had come to associate with her, and Lecter turned to give the girl a hard stare. "Come here." He ordered her with alacrity, not at all caring that she held a place within Swiftcurrent's ranks; for all intents and purposes, the woman belonged to him, and him alone. Fox's gift for her beloved shaman, he joked to himself.

Awaiting her obedience, the madman thought of what else he would amuse himself with before returning her to Fox and the redwolf's mercy, and what Fox would do with Tyrande. She was not a cruel creature; perhaps she would elevate the dark woman, as she had served her time.

Lecter did not speak to Tyrande, merely located an oakleaf that was not covered in dew and set it at her paws. "Hold still." Locating the bared patch of skin from where he had plucked her fur, Lecter lashed out carefully, lacerating the flesh just deeply enough to bring dark crimson droplets welling to the surface.

Grasping the stem of the leaf, Lecter held it to the woman's shoulder, catching the rivulets as they ran. Quickly did the blood dry, but the shaman had taken that which he wanted, and moved away from Tyrande with a contented chuff.

"You have done well here," he observed. "It was a good thing that I decided to spare you, though I had considered offering you to my God." A quizzical tip of the head; "do you yourself have gods?"