Redsand Canyon Like you held onto Light

Locke is looking to be hurt, self pity and all. Fell free to jack him up.

 

Far too long to his lonesome brought an act of lunacy upon him. He moved with the darkness, as always and ever, out from the gloom of the dark forests and into the land of red and rock. It was a labyrinth and just as quickly as he arrived, was he lost. But lost he had been, for far too long. A man yearning and pleading for the companionship of others (for while his mother was alive he was constantly at her side) yet horribly and uncontrollably fearful of interaction, obsessed with the thought of what he may become, what he may do...

No matter how many good deeds he did in life it would never change the fact of who he was. An abomination, a sin of the flesh, a curse against all wolf-kind... 

He could end himself, the spidery wolf had thought time and time again. Toss himself from the cliffs where he had met the towering, stripped half-breed. @Donovan, he remembered him, the man with the wild yellow eyes, a man of war and yet even he had been cautious of the hellhound. He thought, for a moment, he could smell him on the dewy air...

The Titan Witch had been sniffing around, then to the air, catching the unfamiliar scent. She made her way from her patrol, following this new canine's scent until she saw him.
Soundlessly, the pitch-white giantess moved from place to place, getting ever closer. She was sure he probably heard her a few times, or smelt her coming, yet amazingly she seemed to stay out of sight just fine.
She was in a really bad mood though.

Nyra poised herself, briefly unmoving like a statue of divine death.

And sprinted forth. 

Four...

Three...

Two...

Nyra slammed into Hemlocke with an ungodly, monstrous roar. Her fangs immediately saught his neck and the fleshiest parts of his throat as she toppled the hellhound. 
Words could be saved for later.
For now, he was only an intruder to her, and she would bring the wrath of damnation and divine down on him with her jaws until he was either dead - or she was forced to stop.

To clarify, Derg will attack in his next post <3

No call bestowed the Overseers's ears.
No song wishing to meet him or Donovan.
No. He could see Nyra weaving through the land not too far off.
Then stop.
Pause.

The watch the insolent intruder that already had Derg sprinting for the scene.
Nyra launched like a whirlwind into them, and Derg was still a few feet away.
He still needed to close the gap, but the intruder would already be battling for their life.

Soon enough though, his paws would carry him upon the scene. And that midnight intruder would be in deep, deep trouble.

He would hear her. A wolf which only, and only could, move throughout the night, Hemlocke had been quite accustom to each and every sound. A wolf, as any could see and hear in the dark, though it was forced to a life of this and only this. But he didnt care. Lost and lonely within his own mind, Hemlocke wanted to be found out, hoped to, if only to find a means to end the cursed life which he had been granted. 

But she, as quick as the large beast might have thought she was, was not quicker then the Thinman. It was instinct which caused him to move, despite having come here with every intention to be offed, per the might of the great stripped beast and his heirloom. 

As she comes thundering towards him through the rocky red terrain, his body suddenly tenses, long legs hunching down in order to spring into action at the right instant. He lurches away, nearly toppling over himself in the process as long legs scramble into action. He feels her teeth pierce into the skin of the side of his neck, buried under the dark, sleek coat of his. Hot warmth, his blood spilt already as he was quick enough to avoid her slam but not her entire attack as a whole. 

He could outrun her, this much he knew, and the shadow began to run, run as fast as his long legs could carry him. But not away. No, he ran further into the cannon, further into their territory. But for whom and why? Towards a wolf he barely knew, towards the last creature who had ever spoken to him now months ago. 

But he could only run so hard, for so long and eventually those great beasts behind him would catch up...

As the Hellhound fled from the slashing of her fangs on his neck - into the deeper parts of the Canyon, Nyra was quick to follow, twisting, skidding, pulling herself into a fast run to gain on him, snapping at his haunches and his thighs as she sprinted behind him. She wasn't thin or meant for much speed, but built momentum would do just fine for the time being. 
The Titan Witch briefly glimpsed Derg joining her, and she assumed he would follow to take this intruder to the ground.

Derg wasn't expecting a chase.
He narrowly slipped from Nyra's grasp and sprinted into the canyon.
Who was he looking for? A mercenary sent by Yuèlóng or some shit perhaps. Sent to hunt Donovan.

He spurred himself on, alongside Nyra now, sprinting after the interloper.
He wasn't the fastest and was sure Nyra would shortly burst forward to bring down the man with her long legs, and when he caught up they'd rain hell down on him.

The wraith chases the shadow, a flash of solid black and stark white through the land or red. She is large, powerful, a towering woman with thundering steps behind him. Her hot breath at his ankles, her snaps dangerously close so much so he could feel her teeth tug the furs of his haunches. 

And then Derg, another fast on his heels yet less so then Nyra. He does not feel this man so close, but hears his pace behind, awaiting for Hemlocke to slip up so that he may use his might. 

He finds himself lost then amongst a passage of tall and narrow corridors, The Catacombs, as he does not know them by. Maybe he would loose them in here? Maybe he could break free? (Unlikely in their own territory) But why, why had he even come here to begin with? Forgetting his whole reasoning behind this, he then suddenly remembers- and why run!? 

And so he cries, tears streaming down his black cheeks, and he whispers through panted breaths, Forgive me, onto the dark skies and falls suddenly. So much so his body skids across the rocky earth until he is curled into a ball, huddled and awaiting his demise.

The pale wraith chases him into the Catacombs, moving through the labyrinth with ease though no doubt just slightly slowed due to avoiding hitting the stone she had to weave around. 

She watches as the Hellhound collapses and she lowers her head level with her spine, hackles raised as she charges Hemlocke. 

A damnated hell of a miracle would be the shade's only savior.

Donovan can hear yelling echoing throughout the canyon. His ears swivel on his crown as he scans the horizon with his gaze. He’s seeing two or three small forms running straight into the catacombs. They’re fast, he vaguely recognizes the voices. That’s his pack chasing something.

He’s on his way, abandoning the small stream he was drinking from to begin a quick stride to the commotion. Sprinting into the tall walls of the catacombs he’s hearing their steps. He knows this place like the back of his paw and is expertly navigating the maze of rock. 

Finally slowing down he breaches the scene. Nyra, Derg, a stranger. A black shadow of a wolf, slender curve and tall ears and legs. That wolf, or not wolf, he met on the coast — Hemlocke. 

He’s sidling you to the others, powerful form confident and brows furrowed. “Nyra, back down! You as well Derg.” His order booms throughout the canyons close knit walls. “I know him.” He comments easing closer and gazing down to the pitiful form of the thin, other worldly male. 

“What’re you doing here, Hemlocke?” He asks sternly, addressing the intruder.

Derg peeled off as they entered the catacombs, knowing that he could head him off.
He peeled before him as Hemloke skidded to his feet.
Nyra pounced upon him, and Derg dove down too, ready to rip this man apart.

Donovan, however, had other ideas.

He dropped the prey as his voice sounded, brows furrowed and not moving far. Barely lifting his head.
This man was surely an assassin, Derg was assured of it.
And wasn't going to give this fucker an inch.

The fact Donovan knew him made it all the more plausible.

Just as Nyra had landed on the stranger with fangs at the jugular, Donovan arrived, bellowed for her and Derg to stand down. 

With a growl, she let go and stepped off of the shadowy intruder. It looked like the Overseer wasn't giving space, therefore, she would hover just as close in case she needed to attack again.

Teeth. 

They grasped for his neck in the form of the white witch. They bit down onto his backside along his spine which caused a yip from his jaws. Already, he bled, even as pause was given to the King's arrival. 

And ol he comes, his death, decending down the rock face to meet Hemlocke's end. His Saint, the fallen angel he had secretly longed for. He comes to stand between the shadow and his troops, to finish the job himself Locke could only presume. Nyra backs off, but Derg does not move even as he let's go, still hovering, still waiting.

I....I... His breath hitches, through tears, through pants, the pounding of his own heart so loud he folds down his bat-like ears to try and block it out. I dont know...maybe I thought, if I came here... He was almost whispering to the man he knew, Donovan, as burgundy eyes glanced over to the man's guardians, ready to surely take him out with the flick of their leader's muzzle. Just one movement and it could all be done with. He could suffer no more...or would his suffering just begin, with his soul surely set for damnation? 

I dont wanna die... He sadly admits, to the stripped wolfdog, to himself. But I dont deserve to live. Look at me! He cries out as he lurches his upper half off the hot red earth, his red eyes wide, his face solemn as he looks to Donovan. The Thinman, lost somewhere between wolf and thing,  forced to never feel the sun on his face, to hide in the darkness all his days, his only friend...I'm a monster... And there he slumps again with a lay, a sigh, a pathetic excuse for a wolf.

His breathing is wild, unhinged. He’s panicked and Donovan stands tall before him — a judge of fate. Though he has already made his decision the moment he realized that this demon had slithered into his garden. This demon is intriguing, interesting. Donovan wants to keep him.

So he stands listening to the weeps of the outsider. He is indecisive and the sheer desire for his own demise has his ears perking up. Yet, he doesn’t want to die. In a seconds time the brindled make’s maw is tilting with an easy, yet mysterious smile. 

Donovan shakes his head and motions at himself to the other. “Look at me. I’m different, but I’m making the best out of it. Just gotta learn to do the same.” He hums like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “Join us. Perhaps we can give you a purpose then. Maybe you could learn how to embrace the way you are. I have.” 

He could feel the trepidation running off of the man.
He was desperate for something. His life? 
He needed something from them, and Derg grew curious...cautious.

Then the anger burst, and he was already crying and yelling.
Lurching up...His head jerked back, and he was ready to drive in again to take him out, just like he wanted.
But he wasn't on Donovan. And Donovan didn't order it so.
So he slunk backwards, assessing, debating.

Was this a ploy? Or real?

Nyra simply watched, edging as close as possible until she was almost standing over the shadow ghost's form again. She was suspicious as Derg was, and would be ready to lend her reign of fury should this potentially be a ploy, trap, whatever.

It was ironic how things went sometimes, how life played out...  Here be the boy, told of his witch mother he was created within her from a deal. A deal made with the devil himself. And he, the cursed son. Now Hemlocke trembles, looking upon this large man he had sought out. Like no wolf he had ever seen before in his life as he was part dog, yet bigger then any trueblood wolf he knew. And he himself was a half blood truly which he did not know. His fallen angel and Hemlocke, the hellhound. Lucifer remade and Hemlocke, the pet. 

The sentinels still stood close, waiting. This could have been the best decision or worst decision the shadow had ever made. 

He watches as a smirk plays to the corners of the stripped man's lips. Watches as he shakes his head and gestures to himself. Despite being a half breed in a world of wolves, he had risen above it, risen to be their leader. But Hemlocke shakes his head and frowns. It not just appearances... He murmurs. His appearance was only a reflection of what was within. If he embraced it? Well, that would mean a cruel and devious being. Evil in itself and Hemlocke didnt want that. Even this lot here, as rough as they were, lived by a code. They protected one another, trusted one another, were their own family. True evil had no such code. 

But Donovan wouldnt understand...how could he? Its, its different...my mother... He frowns deeper, dark red eyes side glancing to the other two wolves standing there. They would make fun of him. Donovan might even. Would they even believe? Did any of them even believe in the Gods? He gulps hard, devilishly pointed ears flattening and even his eyes tighten closed as he waited out the condescending snickers. My mother was a witch. She did something, made a deal with someone, and then suddenly became pregnant, with me. Vague but, maybe he would get the point across.

Donovan’s smirk remains as the devil laid out on the dusty ground continues. He sees nothing wrong with him. He’s different. Perhaps he is a spawn of a bad dead with the devil. It only makes Donovan like him more.

His coingold eyes take over his lean form. A barrel chest trimming down to a slim waist. Those blood red eyes.
Donovan can’t help but stare.

“Get up.” He orders. He hates the self hatred, the self pity. He might be able to make this one strong. They’d have to see. “Come with me.” He hums.

Witch. Deal. A deal for life.
His face contorted into concern and...perhaps a bit of fear. He was glad he stood practically behind Hemlocke so he could wrestle his surprise from his face. He'd hate to make him feel even worse for something so debilitating -- or so it seemed.
He still held suspicion.

The child of a witch born from a promise was something to be feared. Something that brought chaos and discontent. Perhaps that woman...what was her name? Macaria. Perhaps she knew more. Maybe he'd find her again.

He watched Donovan as he gave out orders.
This would be something. But felt he should leave before he starts on some dumb shit. Nyra didn't seem as bothered.
"I'm going back on patrol," he announced to them all before sidling closer to Nyra to whisper in her ear, "Don't let him leave your sight tonight." He was sure that even if she didn't know which one she referred to, Donovan wouldn't be leaving Hemlocke anyway. Still, that was his worry.

And if he wasn't called back, he would move away to finish his patrol and the rest of Nyra's.

Nyra's brow raised a bit. He seemed to have gone through a similar thing to her and the sisters she left behind. Similar, but very different. 
As Derg whispered in her ear, she gave a subtle nod at his words before he left, prowling to stand next to Donovan to gaze upon the hellhound again before she began circling like a shark, watching Hemlocke. As the Grandmaster ordered him to get up, she nudged her nose under him as if a quiet coax to get on his feet.

Hemlocke did not see the shocked expression on Derg's face at his confession. Didnt see the subtle look of fear and be was good for it. It was that fear, hatred, disgust or otherwise which often had Hemlocke shying from others though he longed for companionship. He was a wolf, after all. Though he hated the judgement, the confrontation, though understood why it was given. More often or not, other wolves didnt trust him and he too didnt trust himself and what he had every capability to become. 

Donovan demanded him to get up and Nyra, whom had changed to soften now at Locke's last words, coaxed him up with a nudge of her muzzle up under his flank. And he did so, lifting to his long, stilt legs. A tall wolf, perhaps as tall as Nyra and Donovan even, though easily half their mass.

He spoke nothing, those large ears perked up once more, both curious and afraid of what Donovan had in store for him next. Still he would follow, his heart still a heavy pound in his barrelled chest. His eyes, like dried blood, never leaving him.

Donovan almost wants to chuckle at Derg’s expression, though he does not, it doesn’t stop his smirk from appearing. He announces that he will continue his patrol, but he says something to Nyra under his breath. He wonders what he says, momentarily wonders what would happen if he demanded to know. Yet, at this moment he would let them have their secrets. He’ll confront Nyra about it later, knowing she’ll probably tell him or risked Donovan’s rage. 

She even helps the poor not wolf up. He approaches and immediately, Donovan turns around, nodding his head at the hell hound to follow. Once he does, the Grandmaster will look to him with curious  gold eyes. “You said you want to die, yet you have a such a strong will to live. What are you searching for in this life?” He wonders, getting a feel of the other halfbreed.

Nyra's exit from this thread! <3 

The great wraith followed a bit behind, watching her Lord and the newcomer closely as they walked from the labyrinth. 
Her main task was done. Thus, she would remain a quiet guard for the rest of their journey, and then she would retire to her den to sleep.

His movements are slow, quiet. Each stride one large fluid step with long legs. The black wolf is like a shadow at the man's side, fitting in the gloom of nightfall which they tread. Which Hemlocke only tread. 

To his words, a single ear turns back, finding himself trying to figure out the right words to say. There is silence for a moment and then, Absolution. He says finally then, and sighs, head hanging. I want to do good for this world. Help others, make my life worth something. He wanted to become someone he was not. The accursed, the damned. I just feel like no number of good deeds will make up for what I am, and what I can become. The life of a wolf was but a blink of an eye to a God. Surely 10x the amount of life's work meant little to that of a God to keep him from being damned to Hell.

Forgiveness? Absolution? This is the wrong place for that. Still he continues listening to the odd hell hound’s words. They’re full of hope for something better, to be forgiven and redeem himself. Donovan has to tell him. He won’t be finding that here.


Donovan pans his gaze over to the other. “That’s a lot to ask for. How do you find yourself going about it? Dying is sure not to give you redemption. So why come here to die?” He asks softly.

Got the song 'blinded by the light' and 'I saw the sign' equally in my brain now due to the ending of this post

Donovan was right in saying that in dying, Hemlocke would find no redemption. He would not be able to go good for the world, to find purpose in his life if he were dead. Still, he was at a constant battle with himself. He didnt know what the Gods willed of him, if anything at all. Hell, he was still yet young and after his mother's death whilst he was a yearling Hemlocke had become hopelessly and horribly lost. 

I just thought maybe the world would be better off without me. After all why would the world ever need an Antichrist?? I long for forgiveness, but I dont know if the Gods will ever hear my plea. If they will never, maybe to die is what they would rather? A religious man he was, which now be known. Just saying well F the Gods was not an option, not for him. To do so would be to become what he strove not to be. But how could he ever know the Gods will if he had no signs? 

Maybe he did. Maybe being here was already a sign but the young man of such self loathing did not see it. He was blinded by it as he was equally blinded by the light.