RP Stories/Jira's Hunt (The Second Blackmoon)

 Jira lay wheezing on the ground, ribs broken, every gasp for breath agony. Blood trickled from under her hair - a blow from a panicked conscript far too young to be in battle - he had ran after he had seen the damage he caused, but Jira lay crumpled, her healing staff just out of reach from her bloodied knuckles to be of use. The denmother wrenched herself up on one arm, looking desperately for Tara, for Môr, for any healer nearby... but their forces were divided, the pack either wounded as she was, or too blinded with bloodlust from the effects of the potion... no mortal ally, wolf or not, could hear her rasping breath.

 'I'll have to do it.'

 She swore she wouldn't. She swore that while the pack was under the influence of the Blackmoon potion she would remain sane, remain fully conscious so to watch over and heal them, to look after them if the potion backfired. The potion smothered logical thought, suppressed magic, stifled restraint - but in return set the blood on fire, heightening the senses, boosting speed, stoking adrenaline and bolstering strength... and strength is what she needed.

 Pain lanced through Jira's crushed ribs as she tried sit up, her hands shaking as she found the remaining vial in her belt. Her arms ached as she wrenched on the stopper, barely hearing the thundering of feet drawing closer above the white noise in her ears as she fought the urge to pass out. As the thick blue potion fell down her throat, the last thing she heard was a voice... "JIRA! NO!"







 Pain feels weird when it's not painful.

 Like, knowing there's air all around you, but forgetting it's there. Her wounds were still open, but they were nothing but a nuisance, a fly on sweat.

 A face was close to hers.. wolfkind, male, crest of hair... Alpha. He said something.. seemed worried.. why? Why should he be? New power filled her with every breath, her muscles felt stronger than ever before. Her eyes flashed, crazed and staring, and her guttural breaths came roaring through a manic smile. A roar split the air, and Alpha suddenly raised his blade in defence, alarmed - and she only barely recognised her own voice as she roared again.

 Alpha afraid of her... That was new.





 Her nose flared as she breathed in, scents and smells now her guide.

 *sniff* Wolfkind, female, magic - Tara. Protect her. Suddenly her staff was in hand, the wood whirling and colliding with enemies as she stood her ground, snarling as she protected her sister.

 *sniff* Elfblood, fury, the stink of authority - Eldar. Enemy. Kill. The sickening crunch of oaken staff on elven skull sounded like music in her ears.

<p class="MsoNormal"> *sniff* Human, gunpowder, polished steel - Witchhunter! With a frenzied roar she pounced, her weight bringing her prey crashing to the ground, and she ignored the cries of fear as her knee dug into his chest and her dagger dug into his collarbone.

<p class="MsoNormal"> *sniff* Adrenaline, sweat, joy ... Family. A great manic grin appeared on her face as she sensed the pack regrouping around her, preparing for a charge...

<p class="MsoNormal"> She wiped the witchhunter's blood from her face as she saw Alpha stalk to the head of the pack, axe and blade gripped tight. Muscles bunched and flexed as the pack waited for his call, salivating, straining to run, to chase, to track and hunt and bring down their quarry. Swords beat on shields as the enemy thought to intimidate them... But where others saw warriors, the wolves saw only prey. And as the Alpha's roar was joined with the howls of dozens more, the hunt of the Blackmoon had begun.

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