Wolf RPG

He had thought long of the disservice that the black male had done to his fetish; though he had tossed it into the river, the man had not rinsed his mouth before taking the deer to his wolves, presumably. The curse would run rampant through the pack regardless. Much of his contemplation had been during a dozen small hunts, mostly for rats and mice, though the occasional rabbit had found its way into the pile of carcasses.

Though any other wolf would find this wasteful, Lecter had set himself to dissecting the bodies, removing the entrails and heads and setting them aside in a pile of leaves. Into the cavities went a mixture of juniper berries, new grass, and wildflowers; innocuous to the educated, though against the backdrop of gore, it would seem frightening to any who did not recognize the herbs.

The entrails he also kept, and presently Lecter licked gouts of blood from his jaws and regarded his work with pride. Two dozen bodies lay before him, along with a pile of viscera and heads, and three large rats the shaman had kept whole for his purposes. He lifted his muzzle to call for Tyrande and Sitri, eyes glimmering in the darkness; dawn had not yet kissed the earth.

The muscular brute, Sitri, arrived first, and Tyrande secondly. Giving a nod to the both of them, Lecter licked cooling blood from his jaws. I have prepared these fetishes to take down and...give to the wolves of Blacktail Deer Plateau. I gave one of them a fetish and he threw it into the river. Foolish man, Lecter muttered, clucking his tongue in a mocking fashion.

Therefore, I propose that the three of us decorate the flatlands as close to their borders as possible with these beautiful things. And blood, he laughed darkly, alluding to the possibility that these 'gifts' were not at all innocuous.

Yes, Lecter purled pleasantly to Sitri, and to Tyrande, he proffered a flat no. These animals are fresh, and stuffed with herbs. I removed their entrails. They shall be a sweet smell in the nostrils of the Plateau wolves. They are harmless. Rousing himself, the shaman gathered as many small bodies into his maw as possible and began his trek down from the Mount, expecting that the two would follow with the remainder of the fetishes and the bodies that Lecter had left whole.

With single-minded intent, the madman headed for the flatlands, into the small dip where he had first encountered the blackfur. Setting down his burden, he surveyed the distant border of the rival pack, and then cast a glance behind himself to appraise where Sitri and Tyrande were.

Turning back from his survey, Lecter lifted the first body into his mouth and flung it into the flatlands between themselves and the borders of Blacktail Deer Plateau. He and his party were far enough away to run for the safety of the Mountain, should any of the neighboring wolves emerge from the forest, but mirth shook him.

He scattered the bodies a long length of the flatlands, tossing them as closely as he dared.

Presently, he paused, tongue lolling, to rip into the whole body of a muskrat he had brought, and breaking into a rare run, Lecter drew a wide swath of blood across the grasses, tearing its flesh as he raced, entrails falling in his wake.

He was pleased to see that his minions took pleasure in this exercise, and danced in place, cackling lowly with delight. The ground soon ran red with blood and, strewn with bodies, would give any unheeding wolf a fright. Waiting until the others were close by, the shaman gave a long howl, retreating as its echoes rose in the air, and gesturing for the others to do the same. They were not here to fight, but it might be well that the Plateau wolves would try such a thing.