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The House of Wolves "Value"
The sound of cheers disrupted Alder from his spiral of thoughts. They came suddenly and with great force, a sledgehammer to his ears and a liberator from his mind. He sprang up instantaneously, afraid for where such sounds came from. Outside his window was a massive gathering. At least a thousand or so odd ruffians, bordered by several well dressed individuals comprised the crowd.They were all clapping and cheering at the sight of a singular individual atop a stage. The man appeared rather unremarkable. His clothing was of high quality and his appearance quite polished, but that came with a rather average build and appearance. His face was not even showcased, for he hid it under an ornate mask. What could be so praiseworthy about a man behind a mask?But yet he was celebrated all the same, and with great intensity too. It was remarkable...as if he were some sort of god amongst men. Just looking at him was enough to dispel all Alder's doubts and fears. He wished the moment could last
The House of Wolves 'Bring it On'
When it was all over, Alder could not help but stare at the knight's corpse. The sight brought to him a tinge of disappointment. When they came every two months to ask for payment from the older boys and girls they seemed so menacing. Alder had known not what they intended to do, but their presence just felt so...distinct.'Where was that impression now?' he asked himself. Perhaps that quality came not from them, but from the armor they wore. The scene in the alley is what happened when a weakness was found in it, and this was what happened when they were without it entirely.He rose slowly from the ground, trying to pull himself away from the grotesque sight, but he kept being pulled back to it. It was entrancing in its repulsiveness, like some sort of dark message from god himself.He still remembered the cold feeling of the stones in his hands as he threw them. It was invigorating, as if some spell had been cast upon him.'What are you so happy about?' he thought to himself. The si
The House of Wolves Whispers of War
Before his eyes could process, before his ears could catch the spilling, before he could feel the liquid as it distorted his solid world, he smelt the blood. Like copper from deep under the ground. It was familiar to him, for most coppers he had seen came dyed in crimson. Crimson, the color of revenge. Only he had yet to feel such a sensation. Like an arrow it emerged from the depths and struck his soul, penetrating it with a smell reserved for coins. He liked copper, for it gave him power over the rats and the dark things. Not as much power as gold, but gold burned. It held a desirable yet insatiable luster, but not one which could be grasped yet. No, for now he would settle for copper. Intermingled with the coin's complexion was satisfaction, but not enough to be called nourishment. He hated that word, for words had power over the hearts of man, and a word like 'nourishment' was especially dangerous. So were all the other words engraved into gold, for they could not be bound to the
The House of Wolves The Baron and the Businessman Once Again
Pale skin, now caressed in the reaper's hands. Clouded eyes, now empty. Golden locks, no longer flowing by her own will.Lysander saw the woman's corpse as it was extracted from the brothel. Lodged in her chest was a knife, her hands fixed upon it, unmoving.She had killed herself, abruptly. Suddenly. Without apparent meaning or buildup. Did she pine for the world beyond this place so much? Was she so burdened by sorrow that she chose to end it all? Did he bring this upon her through cursing her with his drunken touch?These questions raced through Lysander's head like arrows strung from an invisible bow. One chiseled from yew bark perhaps.It didn't matter. These thoughts needed to be discarded from his mind. The reason for her death was insignificant. Just more oil to the flame that swelled in his chest, another phantom on his back.But he couldn't help but wonder. It was a wisp of a thought, but it perplexed him. The mystery of what she was living for. Her eyes had been mystified,
The House of Wolves To voice or not to voice
Not good enough. These words were lacking in understanding, this tone without spirit, this ink devoid of passion. Had such a speech really come from the hands of Ardos's pen? Was this really how he intended to impart himself on this city?What arrogance. The kind that could only be presumed of a man who did not know the city of crows. Who had not yet seen the sight of a boy choking on poisoned air, who had not been able to save a child from assault, whose eyes had not been accustomed to seeing corpses strewn on the ground. Corpses which looked like him, which had his same sheltered eyes.This place wasn't just a city shrouded in shadow, but one carved in it. The shade extended everywhere, to this house, this desk, to everywhere but his feet. The only one exempt from it entirely was Teresa, but she was a miracle which defied expectations. One protected by the hands of the god who sheltered her and the crest which marked her fate.As long as she was pure….nothing else mattered; but no,
The House of Wolves Discussions Among the House
'When hunting a wolf in these woods, one must always bring an army.' That is the creed of the hunters who dwell in Volicheus's western lands. But what can one do, when trying to hunt a pack? A pack of vicious, bloodthirsty wolves at least four times the size of any creature to walk the forests or prowl the mountains. The answer is simple...you run. You run and you pray to every god there is to pray too and try to forget that you were ever there and perhaps even regret your own birth. You swear to give up your bow or your blade and perhaps even make an oath to never touch meat again as long as you live. And most importantly, you cling onto the desperate, slim hope that you are not hunted. Thankfully, there was not a single hunter forced into a situation like that on that day. They were far too intuitive to be so foolish as to walk into the woods that day. There are alway telltale signs to indicate the mood of the forest. When flowers are wilting and larks are quiet and rabbits are mee
The House of Wolves The Chariot
The smell of fresh bread. With it, the irresistible temptation to indulge himself. The sensation it brought tempted Alder to drop the wood in his hands and give chase. The market of the people was bustling all around. He saw everything that occurred, and was taken by the feelings which animated this 'everything'. The exhaustion of the workers heaving the boxes and the anger of the fruit seller lady as she smacked a thief. No, it was not apt to call him a thief. He was a boy not yet ready to be a beggar, not truly desperate to steal. Simply poor. But not enough to truly hunger or dream. It was a pathetic existence, but that existence crackled within the spirits of everyone around Alder. But not him. He would become a knight one day. He hadn't gotten many glimpses of them, except when they came to his humble alley to discuss with Aurelia. The older kids understood, but for him big words were not so interesting. Because of that he was different from everyone else in this place. They wer
The House of Wolves Broken Mind
As soon as the chariot passed...Alder ran as fast as he could. He didn't know where he was going, or even what he was really doing. He just ran to clear his head from the confusion that pestered him incessantly.Along the way he stumbled over stray stones and crashed into members of the now dissipating crowd which had gathered to see the chariot. His torn up, rugged shoes which he had worn for the past three years squeaked as he ran, barely clinging to Alder's feet."What is that little boy doing?""Could he be a thief? Morris, where is my wallet?""What an abnormal little brat.""This inconsiderate little..."Alder heard all of these things as he worked his way frantically through the mass of people who to him were...frankly insignificant. Despite hearing what they were saying and catching glimpses of their disgusted faces, Alder's mind was hardly processing any of it, he was too occupied on his own internal conflict to care about what they thought.After all, why should he devote an
Latest Chapter
- The House of Wolves
To voice or not to voice
Not good enough. These words were lacking in understanding, this tone without spirit, this ink devoid of passion. Had such a speech really come from the hands of Ardos's pen? Was this really how he intended to impart himself on this city?What arrogance. The kind that could only be presumed of a man who did not know the city of crows. Who had not yet seen the sight of a boy choking on poisoned air, who had not been able to save a child from assault, whose eyes had not been accustomed to seeing corpses strewn on the ground. Corpses which looked like him, which had his same sheltered eyes.This place wasn't just a city shrouded in shadow, but one carved in it. The shade extended everywhere, to this house, this desk, to everywhere but his feet. The only one exempt from it entirely was Teresa, but she was a miracle which defied expectations. One protected by the hands of the god who sheltered her and the crest which marked her fate.As long as she was pure….nothing else mattered; but no,
- The House of Wolves
The Baron and the Businessman Once Again
Pale skin, now caressed in the reaper's hands. Clouded eyes, now empty. Golden locks, no longer flowing by her own will.Lysander saw the woman's corpse as it was extracted from the brothel. Lodged in her chest was a knife, her hands fixed upon it, unmoving.She had killed herself, abruptly. Suddenly. Without apparent meaning or buildup. Did she pine for the world beyond this place so much? Was she so burdened by sorrow that she chose to end it all? Did he bring this upon her through cursing her with his drunken touch?These questions raced through Lysander's head like arrows strung from an invisible bow. One chiseled from yew bark perhaps.It didn't matter. These thoughts needed to be discarded from his mind. The reason for her death was insignificant. Just more oil to the flame that swelled in his chest, another phantom on his back.But he couldn't help but wonder. It was a wisp of a thought, but it perplexed him. The mystery of what she was living for. Her eyes had been mystified,
- The House of Wolves
Whispers of War
Before his eyes could process, before his ears could catch the spilling, before he could feel the liquid as it distorted his solid world, he smelt the blood. Like copper from deep under the ground. It was familiar to him, for most coppers he had seen came dyed in crimson. Crimson, the color of revenge. Only he had yet to feel such a sensation. Like an arrow it emerged from the depths and struck his soul, penetrating it with a smell reserved for coins. He liked copper, for it gave him power over the rats and the dark things. Not as much power as gold, but gold burned. It held a desirable yet insatiable luster, but not one which could be grasped yet. No, for now he would settle for copper. Intermingled with the coin's complexion was satisfaction, but not enough to be called nourishment. He hated that word, for words had power over the hearts of man, and a word like 'nourishment' was especially dangerous. So were all the other words engraved into gold, for they could not be bound to the
- The House of Wolves
'Bring it On'
When it was all over, Alder could not help but stare at the knight's corpse. The sight brought to him a tinge of disappointment. When they came every two months to ask for payment from the older boys and girls they seemed so menacing. Alder had known not what they intended to do, but their presence just felt so...distinct.'Where was that impression now?' he asked himself. Perhaps that quality came not from them, but from the armor they wore. The scene in the alley is what happened when a weakness was found in it, and this was what happened when they were without it entirely.He rose slowly from the ground, trying to pull himself away from the grotesque sight, but he kept being pulled back to it. It was entrancing in its repulsiveness, like some sort of dark message from god himself.He still remembered the cold feeling of the stones in his hands as he threw them. It was invigorating, as if some spell had been cast upon him.'What are you so happy about?' he thought to himself. The si
- The House of Wolves
"Value"
The sound of cheers disrupted Alder from his spiral of thoughts. They came suddenly and with great force, a sledgehammer to his ears and a liberator from his mind. He sprang up instantaneously, afraid for where such sounds came from. Outside his window was a massive gathering. At least a thousand or so odd ruffians, bordered by several well dressed individuals comprised the crowd.They were all clapping and cheering at the sight of a singular individual atop a stage. The man appeared rather unremarkable. His clothing was of high quality and his appearance quite polished, but that came with a rather average build and appearance. His face was not even showcased, for he hid it under an ornate mask. What could be so praiseworthy about a man behind a mask?But yet he was celebrated all the same, and with great intensity too. It was remarkable...as if he were some sort of god amongst men. Just looking at him was enough to dispel all Alder's doubts and fears. He wished the moment could last
- The House of Wolves
Poelle
From his oversized closet of a room, Poelle could hear the drunken ranting from his father as if it were happening right in front of him. He had been too lazy to come witness the speech, but Poelle was hardly surprised. When his wasteful wreck of a father wasn't cursing or beating him, he was ranting about bygone times and drowning himself in mysterious substances. Strangely enough, he hadn't touched Poelle in quite a few days. In fact, he only had one noticeable welt on his abnormally skinny body now. But Poelle hardly cared...how could he after all? That man was an animal, an inhuman beast trapped inside a sack of flesh. His bat-like features only accentuated that. And yet despite his hideousness, Poelle's mother, a human had fallen in love with him. Yet he still dared to curse her name? And hurt the son they had birthed together? And waste himself away whining about his heritage and the distant lands to the South from whence he came. It was pathetic. When he was younger Poelle
- The House of Wolves
The Baron and The Businessman
Lysander commanded respect with every step he took. He had changed into a white coat with a flaming red Phoenix embroidered on the back. He looked truly like a savior, one prepared to rebirth this city from the ashes and reform it anew.Yet, despite his appearance the presence he seemed to cast in Aurelia's mind had become slightly clouded due to doubt. She still had faith, but part of her was skeptical. She had been told very minimal information about what Lysander's plans entailed, and she had simply chosen to trust him due to the salvation he promised.'Stop it. You've always been easy to change things up. These last several days have done nothing but solidify that. Just show a little follow through goddamit! Have some faith!' she followed this thought with a spit, and by doing so cast out all doubts she had from her mind forcefully. 'Besides, you can ask him about the specifics after the speech. Just do your job and get moving.'"So, Aurelia...what happened to your contacts?" Rans
- The House of Wolves
Panic
He was bound. Bound from speaking, bound from moving, bound from even seeing. Submerging him in darkness. Darkness like last night, darkness like the scary places he had wandered into for the first time. His throat was raspy and his stomach yearned for something, anything, to satisfy his hunger. He flailed about, trying to create some semblance of motion, trying to defy the invading, violating abyss which manifested in his mind. He could not imagine anything, for if he dared those vivid memories of last night would crawl back into his conscience and rip him apart. Yet by doing nothing he could not fight them either. For the faces, the corpses, they all began to emerge around him in the emptiness around him. All he could feel was the solidness of a chair, and the itchiness of floor against his bare feet, tying him to this solid world. He used to hate chairs, especially ones as uncomfortable as this. But now, his greed had been stifled. His perceptions had become more complex, and the
- The House of Wolves
Madame Lockewind
After meeting with Lysander, Aurelia had spent the rest of the day relaxing with Alder in a new home he had secured for them. It was a full two story house on the edge of the underground, and was made of oak. The polished exterior revealed a very homely interior, with a cozy little fireplace, two sleeping quarters, and a basic kitchen made of stone. Aurelia had lived in a house once, with her parents, before they were killed. But she hardly remembered it, so by all means this was the first time she had truly lived inside a house.The pillows were stitched with flower patterns and seemed to stay consistently cool, allowing the rest of her body to embrace the warmth of the woolen blankets. Aurelia slept for the day's entirety, letting her body melt into the mattress and revel in the bed's embrace. Not a care passed her by during those moments of comfort, for she was enamored with the bed. Not the idea of the bed, or the feeling of sleeping, but the bed itself, in which she was able to f
