Post by Lilystar88 on Oct 10, 2018 16:46:02 GMT -5
Most people hated the sound of a blade against a whetstone. Aed however, loved it. That low growl of protest that came from the stone, combined with the high pitched zing of the blade -- as if it was relishing in the stone’s anguish -- was better than most forms of music to the man. Perhaps that’s why he spent most of his time down in the basement levels -- sharpening blades, practicing with them, or just, simply, taking in the atmosphere of the basement to Lortüth’s mansion.
The modern levels looked like they belonged to a criminal overlord -- swish, modern open plan living rooms. Pool tables, and surround-sound speakers. Hot tubs and dance floors. Lots of pretty girls -- with low cut tops and the cans to match, all giggling and drinking as they fell into the arms of one of Lortüth’s many sons -- or, if they were especially unlucky, the wolf himself.
But the basement levels did truly look like they belonged to the King of Wolves. There was no smooth plaster on the walls -- no open plan. Instead, the ‘basement’ was really just a catacomb of caves, connected by tunnels. It was a dreadful security risk really, which was why Lortüth never complained that Aed spent all his time down here. His best security agent really should be guarding his most precious possession.
For it was down here, in the basement, that Lortüth kept just that. Amongst the dripping wax candles that lit the main chamber, set on a black marble alter that sat upon the gravel of the ground, was the moon-rock. It was a pretty stupid name for something so incredibly significant. There were a few similar like it on the planet today -- but, none as powerful as Lortüth’s.
It gave control to werewolves on the full moon -- although Aed always felt irritable on the night anyway. Although, it had other, more subtle benefits as well; there was a connection with Lortüth that none of them would’ve had if they hadn’t been a pack with a moon-rock. It kept his beta’s strong, but submissive -- and loyal too.
Well, except for Aed. He didn’t know if it was because he’d forced him to be with him. Maybe, if he’d asked it would’ve been different. But no, Lortüth just forced the bite upon Aed. However, in all honesty, Aedán loved being a werewolf -- every bit of it; the strength, the speed, the healing, the belonging. He also loved being trained to kill too. No, he wasn’t afraid of it. Taking life made sense to him -- he didn’t ‘relish’ in it, but saw it as his duty -- his identity, even. My, how disappointed his mother would’ve been.
But what his identity was not in, was Lortüth. It never was, from the start. It was only about what the alpha could give him, not what Aed could give to him. God, he wished he could be free -- he’d quite happily rip the King’s throat from his neck. That would be the one kill he relished in. Yet, it could only ever be a fantasy. The man had eight sons, who’d be loyal to him even if they weren’t bound by wolf-blood. Outside of that, he had another eight close friends who ‘advised’ the pack. Then, there was the twelve beta’s, of which Aed was one. Even by wolf standards, it was a huge pack.
The thought irritated him more and more, until eventually he stood up from his whetstone stool, and put the blade on the rack. It was a war-axe -- titanium made, clean and well kept like the other five that lay beside it. For a moment, Aed caught a sight of his reflection in the blade; his eyes like ice in the middle of his desert-sand skin. He’d always detested his freckles -- they make him look like a child. He had some twine on his wrist, that he used to tie back the sides of his rippled hickory-brown hair. It was something he did before practice.
Then, in a fluid, powerful motion he took an axe from the rack and threw it at the target he’d daringly set up right beside the moon-rock. Perhaps if he destroyed the thing, he’d have the courage to kill Lortüth, even if it meant he’d die in the process.
It landed in the centre of the target, slicing right through the wood. He wasn’t satisfied. Again, he tried -- an inch to the left of it, nearer the moon rock. Again…
Then it came to him -- the smell flooding through his senses and into his very veins. Not from upstairs. But down here. Not pack.
“A threat,” he whispered out loud, before silently putting the axe back on the rack, picking the blade from his boot and walking on soft, bare feet towards the tunnel entrance it came from -- hoping his quarry would not be too far away.
The modern levels looked like they belonged to a criminal overlord -- swish, modern open plan living rooms. Pool tables, and surround-sound speakers. Hot tubs and dance floors. Lots of pretty girls -- with low cut tops and the cans to match, all giggling and drinking as they fell into the arms of one of Lortüth’s many sons -- or, if they were especially unlucky, the wolf himself.
But the basement levels did truly look like they belonged to the King of Wolves. There was no smooth plaster on the walls -- no open plan. Instead, the ‘basement’ was really just a catacomb of caves, connected by tunnels. It was a dreadful security risk really, which was why Lortüth never complained that Aed spent all his time down here. His best security agent really should be guarding his most precious possession.
For it was down here, in the basement, that Lortüth kept just that. Amongst the dripping wax candles that lit the main chamber, set on a black marble alter that sat upon the gravel of the ground, was the moon-rock. It was a pretty stupid name for something so incredibly significant. There were a few similar like it on the planet today -- but, none as powerful as Lortüth’s.
It gave control to werewolves on the full moon -- although Aed always felt irritable on the night anyway. Although, it had other, more subtle benefits as well; there was a connection with Lortüth that none of them would’ve had if they hadn’t been a pack with a moon-rock. It kept his beta’s strong, but submissive -- and loyal too.
Well, except for Aed. He didn’t know if it was because he’d forced him to be with him. Maybe, if he’d asked it would’ve been different. But no, Lortüth just forced the bite upon Aed. However, in all honesty, Aedán loved being a werewolf -- every bit of it; the strength, the speed, the healing, the belonging. He also loved being trained to kill too. No, he wasn’t afraid of it. Taking life made sense to him -- he didn’t ‘relish’ in it, but saw it as his duty -- his identity, even. My, how disappointed his mother would’ve been.
But what his identity was not in, was Lortüth. It never was, from the start. It was only about what the alpha could give him, not what Aed could give to him. God, he wished he could be free -- he’d quite happily rip the King’s throat from his neck. That would be the one kill he relished in. Yet, it could only ever be a fantasy. The man had eight sons, who’d be loyal to him even if they weren’t bound by wolf-blood. Outside of that, he had another eight close friends who ‘advised’ the pack. Then, there was the twelve beta’s, of which Aed was one. Even by wolf standards, it was a huge pack.
The thought irritated him more and more, until eventually he stood up from his whetstone stool, and put the blade on the rack. It was a war-axe -- titanium made, clean and well kept like the other five that lay beside it. For a moment, Aed caught a sight of his reflection in the blade; his eyes like ice in the middle of his desert-sand skin. He’d always detested his freckles -- they make him look like a child. He had some twine on his wrist, that he used to tie back the sides of his rippled hickory-brown hair. It was something he did before practice.
Then, in a fluid, powerful motion he took an axe from the rack and threw it at the target he’d daringly set up right beside the moon-rock. Perhaps if he destroyed the thing, he’d have the courage to kill Lortüth, even if it meant he’d die in the process.
It landed in the centre of the target, slicing right through the wood. He wasn’t satisfied. Again, he tried -- an inch to the left of it, nearer the moon rock. Again…
Then it came to him -- the smell flooding through his senses and into his very veins. Not from upstairs. But down here. Not pack.
“A threat,” he whispered out loud, before silently putting the axe back on the rack, picking the blade from his boot and walking on soft, bare feet towards the tunnel entrance it came from -- hoping his quarry would not be too far away.