Blood in the Air

Music: Echoes of War (United we Stand/Divided We Fall)


She could smell them. The acrid tang of dried flesh and old blood hung in the evening air, and Roseth Everette lifted her face to it, inhaling deeply. They were close.

A sly grin spread across the woman's tanned features, and she pulled at the reins of her warhorse, slowing the enormous beast to a slow trot. Roseth's head swiveled around a few times, trying to locate the direction of the inticing scent, and after a moment, her amber eyes caught sight of something large and hulking in the distance.

A group of them lay just ahead of her, a caravan of some sort it seemed. Two heavily armed Deathguards led at the front, followed by a single, bloated Abomination, and behind that,  a wagon, carrying large, glass tubes, filled with a sickly green liquid. On either side of the creaking wooden wagon stroke two or three additional Forsaken guards, not quite as heavily armed, but still equipped with some basic weaponry.
A delivery, no doubt.

"Shame they won't make thier deadline, eh Keegan?" The woman spoke outloud, stroking the midnight hairs on the neck of her warhorse. The horse nickered in response, and shook its spiked head, pawing at the ground with an edge of a hoof.

The woman's grin leaked into a wide smile, showing for the first time that evening the glint of sharp, inhuman teeth hidden behind the woman's dark lips. She nudged the warhorse in the flank with her heel and the creature began forward, a bit faster now.

Roseth took her hands from the reins, cupping them around her mouth as Keegan strode smoothly into a full on gallop.

"Say your last words to your Lady, Forsaken! There will be no tongues in your skulls with which to speak, when I am done with you!"

The woman called out her warning, before tilting her head back and letting forth a fierce scream, the sound slowly edging into something more bestial after a few moments, until it finally shifted into the echoing howl of a wolf. Roseth concentrated on her own sound, feeling the muscles of the warhorse work beneath her, as her own form shifting and reorganized itself.

By the time she had launched herself forth from the saddle and into the surprised face of the forward most Deathguard, her hands had becomes claws. When she bit into the Forsaken man's dry, cracked throat, her mouth had become that of a wolf. As she tore into the bodies of his two flanking officers, the rest of her had settled into the form of a rusty colored worgen.

The caravan was did not make thier deadline.