A new pack of wolves had entered the town of Newrose, ME and right away, their Ulfric threatened the long-established Dionne pack. Unknown to the human community, there was a war brewing between the two packs; a war to run the town, leaving the other inhuman beings to take sides. It was safe to say that most of the two packs hated one another. But they were not all like that. Some found a strange sense of comfort with the members of the so-called enemy. But was thing was certain: This means war.
Oct. 09, 2012
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“And the crowd goes wild!” He said to himself as he ran around the trees in the forest like bases on a field. He hadn’t thought much of it when he left the town and decided to dick around for a while. It was a cold, dark night with clear skies. The conditions were perfect for all manner of beasty to come out and play while the unknowing humans spent their night in ignorance to the world around them.
Atlin was, if nothing else, easily bored. It didn’t take a lot to entertain him, but he didn’t find much of anything the Human’s did interesting anymore. In an attempt to find his own amusement he made his way to the forest, knowing it would be empty aside from the few critters that may be out. He needed something to help him relax, so he decided a little practice in the forest was a good reason to go out.
Atlin hadn’t taken his swords outside in a few months, and he had to admit it felt more than good to have there weight on his side and back again. Like a Cowboy without his gun belt, Atlin felt nude when he didn’t have his swords; or at the very least one of them. On his back he held a nearly six-foot Greatsword, it’s weight close to fifty pounds. The hilt was wrapped in blood red leather, the guard shaped like a Wolf’s skull with an angel’s wings jutting from either side. The pommel held a dim gray jewel that was roughly the size of a large marble. As he ran around the field, the swords blade gleamed in the clear moonlight. It had been polished to a mirror shine, and reflected all that it saw.
At his side he held a Katana, exactly four foot nine inches long from pommel to tip. The hilt was tightly wrapped with a cotton band that matched the scabbard in a tan-cream color. The pommel was adorned only with the Kanji for snow, and was flat black in color with a red shine. The guard, like the pommel, was black with a red shine, and shaped to resemble a snowflake. The blade within the scabbard would be a thing of beauty. It’s curve and cut were a work of art that only gods and demons could appreciate in its entirety. Sure enough that’s exactly what they were, the work of a demon. One of the three blacksmiths Atlin had made a deal with was Halphas, the arms master of Richard the Lionheart. Halphas had taken his name from the demon prince,and outfitted Atlin with the Greatsword in the early days of Richard's rule.
The Katana was made after Atlin lost someone extremely close to him. The sword itself serves as a memorial to that person’s memory and soul. As he stood on the stump of a downed tree and stared at the forest in front of him, wondering if maybe he could make a living as a Lumberjack. It was a fleeting thought as he realized he was to much of a show off not to use his very noticeable abilities in a job that required physical labor.
Deciding to leave the daydreaming for his next walk in the park, he kicked the tip of his boot into the stump, making a small hole. Taking the Katana from his belt he stood it up within the hole, and let it tilt a bit. Given that it was on a mound of wood it closely resembled a memorial given to a fallen Samurai.
“ Itsu tame za nai, soshite hitan tame za seikei.”
Looking up from the resemblance of a grave, he drew the Greatsword from his back and let it land heavily in the dirt at his feet. A small cloud of dust jumped into the air, but was quickly pushed back by a chilled breeze. Lifting it up once more, he realized just how long it had been since he last held it in a ready manner. For the longest time he had thought it was nothing more than ten pounds in weight, even taking into consideration his drastically increased strength. To find out and now feel after so long that it weighed five times his original assumption was an odd feeling.
“Show Time!” He said aloud, mostly to himself, as he tossed the sword into the air. Running towards where it would land he leapt up, and in a Superman posed grabbed it before sliding to a stop. Upon stopping Atlin pushed the blade into the ground, using it as a sort of pole vault to send him backwards. Standing upright once more he began to twirl the sword around him with great ease.
To even the most naive of children it was obvious he was just showing off, but he enjoyed the act of doing so enough not to care. He had no need for real practice; he highly doubted that he could forget nine hundred years of fighting in just a few months. He continued in his act as he played with the sword, almost making a toy of the massive blade.