Serpent Lake Off To Never Never Land (Kidnapping)

Recruitment/Kidnapping thread. Only reply if you are ok with being dragged back to Nightwalkers. 
 He was on a mission. Not the most fun mission, certainly, but a mission vital for the survival of Nightwalkers. At least until the pups were old enough to contribute. He made his way to the lake he had met Black Hat, spring grasses and early flowers pushing through the cold earth, cracks and pings rising from the melting ice on the lake's surface. 
 He was looking for a particular type of wolf- rangy, roughish, tough but obedient. A good soldier that got shit done. Too bright eyed and naieve, and they would fail. Too unruly and Savage and young Hela would be unable to control them.

scylla had been good company for a few days, but they'd eventually parted ways, and urias was left to his own devices and his own goals.
in just those few days, winter had finally shut the door behind itself as it left. frosty drafts still ruffled the open grasses, the sun was still distant and anemic, but green was starting to show through the slush. the smell of growing life was almost overwhelming.
he would've appreciated it, if
one: there wasn't a white blur creeping over his vision, and
two: an impending headache wasn't barrelling towards him at a slow but steady speed.
he closes his eyes and cradles his head in his hands and wills the aura to go away. he doesn't know why he even tries— those misfiring neurons in his brain chugging away in a hallucination factory couldn't give less of a shit about convenience. that white cresent-shaped blur grows zigzagging limbs.
perhaps the headache would come in a few minutes. perhaps a few seconds, perhaps hours or days. urias is left helpless, knowing that there is discomfort coming his way, but not feeling any pain just yet. he continues his journey across the flatlands, on edge.

It had only been a few days since "the incident." Knowing enough about medicine from his mother he was managing to keep it clean, his face still raw and swollen and one eye still swollen shut. He had left the borders after, dissapointed in himself. Twice now he had come close to dying. Damned shoulder...if that fucking boar hadn't slowed down his reaction times. 
he hadn't noticed just how ghastly his appearance was, with molars exposed, and his neck and chest smeared with blood and fluid. It hurt to move, to open his maw sent fire down his body. But he needed something to show for his time out of commission. He couldn't afford to put strain on the dwindling pack. 
He spots the stranger and approaches quickly, mangled features looking like some undead creature. "Cooperate and I'll make this easy on you. Fight me or run, and I will let them torture you."  It was clumbsy, but hopefully effective.

some suicide attempt survivor walks up to him out of nowhere. half his face blown off, no discernable mouth. just a dark and wet tunnel that air whistled to and out of. if he weren't so distracted by the white blur, urias would've gotten his camera out and started recording.
a threat comes from that ruined mouth. torture. what the hell? and who were they? and this man, with barely even a face to call his own, what were his intentions? he's incredulous— like if a shellshocked soldier with his pants still wet from the last time he'd pissed himself were to try and intimidate him.
you've got the wrong person. i have no idea what you are talking about.
briefly, scylla crosses his mind. the cursed forest crosses his mind. did this stranger belong to them? he smelled of another pack, but not of blackfeather woods. there's some blood on your chin. he can't help himself. a smile crashes through his face, but it isn't pleasant.

He hadn't expected the other immediately obey. He hadn't expected so much resistance, but it wasn't altogether unwelcome. Ha. Wait till Hela knocked some sense into him. He noticed the man staring and twisted the useable side if his face into a grin. 
"You think I got a pretty face? You want one, too?"  He moved closer, a snarl rising in his throat. "I can show you who I got it from." 
He wasn't good at this. He wasn't good at kidnapping. Now leading an army- or a pack- that he could do. But being evil for the sake of it wasn't his forté. 
"We got some pretty ladies too. " 

the disjointed words of the stranger, his destroyed face, they both intrigue him. he comes closer and closer. there is something surreal about seeing gore in broad daylight. instinctually, you would assume that blood and guts were usually spilled in the dark, and that you'd only see them in full relief on hospital trays.
he responds with a sharp and cruel and grating noise. please do. show me the ladies too. ever since he had met her, he would often ask himself what would scylla do, that child soldier of a girl. but she was already fading away in his mind, turning into a two-dimensional skeleton like a coil of magnesium in hydrochloric acid.
well. what are we waiting for?

The man has guts. He decides he likes that, and his demeanor relaxes, now that his recruit seems to be more willing. 
He gestured for the man to walk ahead of him, normally there would be a nip or nudge but with his face the state it currently was in, that wasn't happening. 
"Name's Memory. Yours?" 

urias, he responds, intense and sane. urias arlli. he steps in stride with memory— he had expected to find a job sooner or later, but not in the form of someone who should've been dead but against all odds stayed living and breathing and talking. on the other hand, it was rather fitting. his own charon, leading him to a job interview full of teeth and eyes. how's the boss like?

Urias. A fitting name. He carried himself with the stride of a wolf that was confident in battle, and if it weren't for the current state of himself he would test him out. He asked about Hela and it was all he could do not to chuckle. 
 "Don't underestimate her. Hela is a vicious little thing, despite her age. My loyalty to her is merely a matter of circumstances, but don't let her hear I said that. She killed a previous warlord known for being a tyrant." 

memory's voice is strange and guttural coming out of a mouth that by all means did not look much like one. he wants to talk just to see the breaths spurting from his teeth. the light spray of blood at each plosive consonant. oh? he raises a brow. what is it called? what do you all stand for? in his head, hela looks a lot like scylla— a girl who does not mince words, who has not been afforded the luxury of childhood. (little did he know, that they were sisters.)

It hurts to talk. He'll be grateful when this damned wound heals- Serem said it would potentially take months. Plus the whole situation with his eye. Being partially sighted took some getting used to- he had to adjust how he moved to accommodate the depth perception. But Nix had trained him well- nomatter what, he would not give up fighting, training, leading, or protecting. A warrior was meant to die in battle. 
More questions. "We are the Nightwalkers. Mercenaries, thieves, killers. Not all of us are big bad, but every one of us share Wolfbane's blessings." 

nightwalkers. everything down to the name intrigues him. a pack made up of criminals, a sort of black hand— was this the cursed group scylla had talked about?
it was admittedly a bit gauche for his taste (it was like naming a drone citizen-killer) but he could forgive that. it was appealing in its own way, like getting exactly what you asked for. urias, who had worked as a nightcrawler for most of his life, felt that he could fit right in. you'll have to forgive me for all these questions, he draws his brows together, but who is wolfbane?
his instincts tell him that wolfbane is some sort of god-figure, that they are a cult. he wouldn't mind joining a commune like that. though he supposed the real problem was finding out how to leave, eventually.

Questions were good. An informed recruit meant a willing participant. Maybe he could even talk Hela out of putting him in the pit. 
The enquiry about Wolfbane brought a throaty hum from his chest. "In simplest form, a dark god from the religion I was raised in." 
Not caring whether his recruit had any interest in hearing more, he continues. 
"There were three wolves. Fenris, god of the sun, the Allfather. Tor, the great mother, the one we sing praises to at night. And then, there was Wolfbane. Wolfbane is the darkness in the heart of every predator. Wolfbane is the creeping corruption, death, rot.. Wolfbane is the acid on your tongue when you kill a fellow wolf. 
The story goes that as Fenris and Tor made the earth, Wolfbane grew jealous. He made man. And when wolf saw mans power some became twisted, lazy, greedy. Fenris grew enraged and there was war. Wolfbane was banished to the darkness, to the land of the dead. His creations were scattered, and the traitorous wolves made to stay forever bound to man, losing their senses, forgetting our language, forever enemies to be killed on sight. This is why wolves know to kill dogs, and a halfbreed is an abomination." 

fading here or with the next round^^

religion mostly existed to him as some vague, incensy mysticism— miracles, blood, wine, symbols.
but something about this story, about fenrir, tor, and wolfbane, burrows inside his mind and refuses to leave. wolfbane, the outsider. wolfbane, the hated. who had made man and corrupted all of wolfkind. dogs, who were traitors who had grown soft and forgotten their true nature, a sickly sweet perversion.
this was a belief that ate itself. why did they accept wolfbane's blessings when his own creations had led to the existence of dogs? was war that much of a reason to change one's perspective? was the true unity based on mutual resentment of fenrir and tor?
he had asked enough questions. he hums thoughtfully, toying with gods and dogs and wars and humans, and allows memory to lead the way to the nightwalkers.