[Asgeir] White Pine (Quest Area)

Ralf Valgard's camp is nearby, as is his arsenal of silver weapons. It seems as if he traveled into the forest to scout ahead. Whatever the case, any volunteers should wait at the camp and choose their weapon. Ralf will arrive shortly.

(Any silver weapon is okay, use your imagination)

Mountain Spirit the words were etched in gold. Ancient tongue upon a black card the pad of thumb running across the uneven surface. A male sat at the center of a small clearing still grasping onto a small bundle of cloth that had been left with in his care. The instructions were clear at least to the one that had read them and with that he folded the card into of the folds of cloth which covered his naked form. Adorned in only what seemed bandages, which bound his arms and legs completely preserving some form of modesty. His torso was bound as well and those white strands of cloth were stained in various colors a mixture of dirt and something else.. and though the fabric appeared worn it was applied with some sense of care and attention and tied neatly at either wrist, excess lengths of fabric dragging along the snow covered ground as he laid out the package before him, slowly untying the long sash which had been used to hold it in place before unrolling it upon the snow.


A simple white cloak, the fabric seemed to disappear upon the canvas of white, though it was littered with various objects. Three small golden bars which sparkled under the star strewn sky. Slowly -- as if performing a ritual the male collects the items and sets them aside before slipping the cloak over his head. Seemingly unfazed by the cold or the snow which had accumulated upon his motionless form. Crystalline breath fell from pale lips with a slow exhale. And the male gathered the remaining objects, a roll of stripped cloth, two small leather pouches, and a small dagger made from silver.


Rowen drew the small blade and tested its weight-- its sharpness-- and though it was highly crafted the range at which it would be effective seemed rather lacking. He was expected to slay the Great Wolf with this? Very well. . . The unnamed benefactor was long gone, a mission that most would consider suicide given the male's current state. Slowly the being rose though not entirely, digits rummaging through the snow, unearthed a long lance which glowed under the pale lunar glow which cast shards of silver every which way. Pale skin held a faint bluish tint which seemed to radiate in that light like a specter he appeared gliding through the surrounding forest which the ease of someone who had lived there all their h lived. Though there was something labored with each step and soon the male arrived at the small encampment.


Snow crunching softly beneath bare feet, Rowen stood just yards from the one who had arrived previously and had already felt comfortable enough to start gorging themselves upon the camps provisions. The male stood in silence -- as if a mere part of the scenery . And though that white cloak did well to camouflage him with the flurry of snow it was really that bright crimson cloth which was wrapped around his hair covering both eyes, that gave him away.

   Renner greeted Ralf with a nod. After the Valan warrior's invitation, Renner gathered up his weapons and pack and follow Ralf into the woods.

   "So it is a werewolf we're hunting? I was not given the details about your quarry, just that it was not a normal beast. I made the connection when I arrived and saw the variety of silvered weapons. And it's true then, that only silver can harm a werebeast?"

   "As to why I came, I am a hunter, and new game is always an enjoyable experience. Just yesterday I was able to take one of your elk. It was the largest I've ever seen in fact. I have a feeling that this hunt will be a little more grueling though."

   As he was speaking, Renner made sure to cinch his boots tight to prevent snow from falling in them. He hadn't hunted in snow more than a few times, having only been this far north one time previous, and never in Valland. He wrapped his cloak tightly about his body, but kept his arms free to hold his short bow in his left hand and use his right to navigate through branches and other obstacles.

(Renner Rowen)

"I'd give you more details," Ralf told Renner as they made their way thicker into the woods, "but I have not seen it for myself. I've seen the evidence, however, and heard the rumors. It's big, it's strong, and it's face. They say it vanishes just as quickly as it appears, striking out at any poor sod who happens to be in its way. Why it has decided to come out of White Pine, and not before, I wonder that myself." Ralf drew his sword; normally he only carried two, but this time around he carried a third: a silver sword. "They say only silver can harm a werebeast. Never had to fight one myself, so I wouldn't know for certain. But there's some truth to every legend, no? We shall find out if silver can puncture the beast's hide. And pray that it does, my friends."

Ralf only looked at Rowen with some quick but observant motions. He was... peculiar. At least, compared to Renner. Still, Ralf needed the help, and so Rowen was a welcomed addition. "What is your story, friend," Ralf asked Rowen in a friendly gesture, trying to not pester him to much.

"Wait," Ralf stopped walking in the snow. He felt something. It was... strange. It was familiar, but yet 'new'. He pointed northeastwards and said, "there, we will find the beast there." Ralf began heading in the general direction.

Wait, what?" Ralf wondered how in the world he knew the beast was northeast. It was almost as if he was drawn there... like instinct was pulling him there...

Friend? If only Ralf knew the types of friends Rowen had, then he would not cast the word around so casually. Though if anything it showed the male's intentions-- or rather attempt at striking some common ground with the Lancer. A notable sigh slipped past pale lips, breath crystallizing like a wisp of steam seeping from his mouth. The coldness did not bother him, despite his lack of clothing and barred feet-- The metallic scent of blood, it was is own filled his senses with a slow inhale, yet he felt no pain but rather a numbness which overtook his entire from. Slowly he shook his head as the other continued to press, inquiring about his story. Was he referring to that bright crimson cloth, or those bandages that seemed to cover his entire body?


Regardless Rowen did not seem intent on sharing anything personal with the male. 'Not much to tell.' he stated dryly before offering his own thoughts. 'If it's a wear-beast as you say, then I will likely make very good bait...' it was well known at least to hunters that wolves often stalked those to be weak and frail, and the Lancer had plenty of qualities that made him a prime target. Thankfully however, the beast would find it quite the challenge to sneak up on the male..


The silence of the woods was noted, and the male focused to expand his senses, attempting to perceive the forest around him. Indeed it was odd that the male was able to walk with such ease through the rugged terrain, though he walled with a sort of practiced step, striking, the ground in front of him, reveled the area if only for an instance. A chime which resounds off the lance sending slight vibrations up the shaft which ripple outward. --- Shadowing the steps of those before him, he moved with a certain confidence almost as if the male and the forests were somehow synonymous.


He was pulled from his own thoughts as Ralf spoke once more indicating the directions of the beast, with a sort of certainty that seemed odd given their circumstances . And he mused quietly to himself.


'Perhaps, I shall go first, lure the beast. You two set upon it from the rear.' It was a plausible, yet risky plan.

"Raarrghhh!" The Wolf of White Pine turned its head, looking at Renner and Rowen. Ralf Valgard, son of jarl Aesa, and the Wandering Warrior, was the Wolf of White Pine. This was his domain, and these two outsiders were trespassers! Was Ralf still in its head? Or was this just a primal beast now? He smelled everything in the woods, he saw everything around him with newfound perception; every sound, every taste - it was clear as day.

Ralf, the Wolf, was easily larger than Rowen and Renner, towering at least three more feet over them - and that was without his legs extended. His two great, powerful arms hanging over his sides, and his gums snarled up, ready to pounce.

Rowen was right: he was the first target. The mighty white beast lunged forth in his direction, intent on tackling him to the ground with his superior strength, speed, and size...

When his suggestion had been rejected The Lancer, contemplated going on ahead regardless of what the other men had to say... though Rowen would not make it very far he was h still standing behind Ralf and near Renner when he hear the other start to back pedal away from the warrior. The sound of shifting bone and skin, it was something that the Lancer was 'accustomed' to, and immediately he jumped backward during the sequence of that transformation creating a breadth of space between him and the man. The lance undergoing a transformation of its own, ribbons of cloth flailed wildly about , the cloth that bound the head of the lance was removed in a single motion exposing the blade beneath. A glimmer of light reflects of the surface of that blade, casting shards of silver upon the snow.

The blade itself appeared as if had never been used, and with an almost empirical -silver glow, though it was no actually made of silver. He noted Renner's position-- the drawing of a string, the notching of an arrow. So it seemed that was not going to be abandoned. Though the lancer had little time to -worry- about others. And he braced himself as the creature rumbled. He remained still-- not wanting to betray his intentions until the last possible second. And he had anticipated the creature to rush him immediately. And that's exactly what happened.

The movement was swift and decisive, the balled tipped end of the lance burred into the ground, muscle tensed as he lowered spear -head towards the creature using its own size, its own weight, its own momentum against it. Both hands clenched the shaft tightly bracing it for the impact-- it was a tactic that spear-men used to employ against Calvary-- have them impale themselves. Would it work? Would it even break the creatures skin? Regardless of the outcome however the lance was long enough to provide some space between him and the creature.

   Renner saw the arrow dig into the beast's shoulder with little effect. It had at least penetrated, so there was hope for suddenly embattled pair.

   The second arrow was already in flight when the werewolf changed course and leaped for the tree next to Renner. It was unlikely the arrow would strike.

   In a practiced motion, Renner tucked his bow into his chest and rolled away from the tree. Rolling over his left shoulder left his right hand free to draw the silver dagger he had acquired at the hunting camp. When it came out, he was holding it with his thumb on the pommel, blade downward, ready to strike with a quick downstroke if the wolf landed close. If it was low, he would go for the gap between the beast's clavicle and neck. If it was high, he would slash for the inside of a thigh, hoping for an arterial strike. If the beast swung at him, he would try to use the bow in his left hand to ensnare its arm and use its own weight against it to pull forward and off balance, and strike the top of its shoulder, hopefully disabling the arm.

(Renner Rowen)

Renner was fast, but the Wolf was faster, easily dodging the arrow without much problem. Renner's downward strike would find itself going towards the snow. The White Wolf may have very well finished Renner off, but something stopped him; he hesitated, as if fighting an urge. The approaching Rowen, hwoever, broke the trance and the primal instinct of the beast before. Before Rowen could deliver his ankle-shot, the White Wolf's reflexes kicked in and he sent his leg flying up at alarming speed towards Rowen's chest, in an effort to use his powerful muscles to kick the man away. At the same time, Ralf the Wolf used one his clawed hand to grab Renner's right wrist, and then used his other hand to deliver a powerful push into the hunter's chest.

Hopefully, the Wolf thought, both of his attackers would be sent flying back. It seemed he was to quick and perceptive for one to fight normally. However, the Wolf was not at his zenith either, as he had hesitated. Something in his mind was preventing him from using his primal fury, and it locked out much of his strength, cunning, and awareness. He seemed to be at odds with himself. Something about these two men was... familiar... it lit a spark of familiarity in him that tried pushing his feral instincts away, but he fought it off. Without the much-needed primal fury, the Wolf would be locked in a drawn-out fight with these two men; he needed to find easier prey, something to sate his bloodlust for now and ward off whatever was trying to overcome his mind; unlocking his inner beast would let him handle these two much easier.

"Arrrooo!" The White Wolf scampered away a good distance and let out a feral howl. He then darted away at blinding speed, into the distant wintry wood. As he disappeared, the duo of Renner and Rowen heard the growling of wolves behind them...

When they looked, they would see a pack of five wild wolves, bearing their sharp teeth and slowly moving to surround the two. They all had black fur, with bright red eyes contrasting against the snow. The sun was going down, and the dark forest would only grow darker; nearby, however, was a cave. It was only a matter of time before the Wolf of White Pine found a lone hunter, or renegade bandit hiding out in the woods and sated his lust for blood... Then, Ralf's mind would have no chance of fighting off the beastly instinct...