9 months earlier
The sun hangs above the corpse rich land like a torch in a dungeon, the bodies of the previous battle leave a foul smell, pungent and unavoidable as the shy winds carry it over the fortresses wall. All that can be heard is the clatter of hammers smashing steel and barks of commanders training their subordinates within these old walls. It is just another day in the Wolf clan military, after all.
He stands behind the fort wall, his blade leans against the wall as he gazes into the silvery reflection of his weapon, he can see his spiky snow-white hair with strands that fall over his brow that point to his almost black eyes piercing into his reflection, staring into what might be what is left of his soul.
His armour is a faded steel-like set and is scratched from years of battle, contrasting to his untouched and fresh dark blue clothes that hides beneath his armour. His chest, forearms, and forelegs are covered in the Wolf Clan's finer armour, he chooses to wear more clothing than armour to use his quick reflexes and speed effectively, a perfect match for his high risk/ high reward fighting style. But what makes his gear unique is his scarf, its light grey silk wrapped loosely around his neck and collar dances with the wind. It is an intricate and beautiful apparel, but it has been made into a symbol of impending doom to his enemies.
He is the Fang.
Over the horizon, The Fang witnesses an army of noise rise. The clan of Bulls return for a second raid to challenge the Wolf Clan once more.
The Fang grabs his sword, a thick and heavy sword like a giant cleaver, a butcher's blade made for battle. It has a wolf's head design for a hilt, and a handle that curves away from the blades curve. His iconic weapon hungers for blood he approaches the wall with murderous intent on his mind.
The horn is blown, and the chaos begins all over again; the clashing of swords, shields and clubs fills the battle field once more and bodies pile up all over again.
As both the clan's warriors mix during the battle, the Fang and the Vanguard he belongs to jump and slide down the sloping walls. The Fang launches himself off the wall, raises his sword high above him, ready to strike, the sword awaiting a victim to delve into. The Fang swings down and lets gravity do the rest on his poor unsuspecting victim.
The impact throws up sand and dirt, covering the damage made in the middle of where the fighting line is. As the dust clears and the warriors of the bull clan gaze at the dissipating dust cloud, The Fang lifts his sword from the victim's chest, now crushed by his sword, the corpse is buried in sand and blood. He stands up as he is now itching to get on with it.
The Fang turns to the cowering Bull Clan who slowly walk backwards, creating distance from the lone warrior. The Fang stares down at the crowd before charging forward, the Wolf Clan following his lead join him soon enough.
Blood splatters across the sand as the Fang drives his blade into his next victims, the first strike hitting through the collar and into the belly, he rips his sword out to force the victims guts spill out to the ground, next he goes straight for a clean decapitation.
He's attracted the attention of two enemies. Strikes from left and right, left and right, left and right again, but Fang blocks flawlessly, he adjusts to the pace and the rhythm of the attacks until he sees his opportunity, he parries the left attacker then swiftly cuts the arm of the right attacker before he can swing again. The Fang impales the parried enemy and heaves them up, lifting him into the sky, the enemy lets out a pained cry but it is silenced as the Fang swings him into a crowd of oncoming enemies.
The Fang breathes deeply from the heavy lifting and returns to his other 'friend'. He is frozen, terror injected into his veins and stopping him from moving.
The Fang kicks him down to his back, a boot to his chest keeps him down without any escape now. His victim forces himself to look his killer in the eyes, but neither any sadistic pleasure or unending anger is written over his face. Then the Fang presses his same foot down on the disarmed warrior's temple as he tries to crawl away, slowly you can hear his victim go from a slight pained groan that ascends into a blood curdling scream that is drowned out by the battle around him. His tears mix with the blood and sand before The Fang gives his foot one last push.
Scattered across the battlefield, the clans clash in a violent battle for survival, bodies pile up slowly, blood soon swamps the sand around them but the battle of attrition is doomed to last hours, even days at this rate, there is plenty of warriors itching to fight for the glory of their clans. But the Fang shows no care for bull nor wolf.
He stands amongst the chaos, stuck to his thoughts like the blood on his clothes slowly drying. It's too easy. The Fang needs something more.
His sole purpose that he is used too surrounds him, cause what else am I good?
The Fang stalks the battlefield. The sand and dust seem to explode over the blood that flows, each swing and body that drops creates erratic waves of sand on the battlefield, it obscures vision, so all you can see are the ones in front of you trying to kill you.
The Fang finds his challenge. A naked warrior with the decapitated head of one of his allies licks his lips and smirks at him. Fang shakes his head, who goes into battle naked thinking it is a good idea?
The Fang charges, catching the creep by surprise. He slices toward his legs, but the creep jumps. The creep uses his axe handle to hit the Fang's head as he lands, disorientating him. Fang backs off to regain his balance, he looks up and just dodges the axe aimed for his head, Fang counters with a jab to the ribs and a head butt, gaining distance between them.
I am about to show you why no clothes or armour is a bad idea…
The creep charges this time, slicing downward on Fang's head, but he steps right, and grabs his genitals, and pops them with a full grip. The creep crumbles to his knees, in complete agony and disbelief, wailing so loud the fighting around them stops for now and the dust finally settles for a moment. The screams are cut dead as Fang drives his sword into the back of his neck.
The creeps' blood trickles down his sword, but this is not enough for Fang. The surrounding crowd disperses in a mix of retreating and continuing skirmishes and soon enough the Fang cannot see past the wall of sand they make. He cleans his blade with his scarf while seeking out his next battle, and what he finds is a true challenge, the Bull Clan chieftain himself, Duhorn.
The Fang storms toward him. His eyes finally sparking with a bit of life, his aura pulsing with a murderous intent, the crowd either disperse for him, both ally and enemy, or attack him, but Fang easily counters each one of them one 1 hit and quickly disposes of these distractions on his way to his next challenge.
Duhorn turns to the silent crowd parting, clearing the way for the Fang who stares right at him like a hungry animal. The chieftain chuckles to himself and grabs for his two-handed great axe from a dead warriors' chest it was dug into and aims to meet the Fang half way.
The Chieftain is much bigger than most of the warriors on the battlefield, towering over most of the Wolf Clan military, his armour is the complete opposite to the Fang's, it is fused with multiple armour types, a mess of various clan designs that have grown rusty, the only thing not stolen is his helmet, it is the skull of a Domniq Bull, one he had hunted and killed himself, a symbol of his pride & strength.
They stand within a circle of observers, anticipating the upcoming battle between 2 feared monsters of their clans, Fang takes his stance, planting his feet firmly and two-handing his weapon, choosing power over speed, he twists his body to align his sword with his body. Duhorn follows his example, tensing up his body and raising the great axe above him, he smirks and says,
"I hope yer as good as the rumours I've heard!" The Fang does not answer.
A swing from Duhorn makes Fang duck just in time for a quick stab for his neck, but that mess of armour deflects the would-be killing blow, giving Duhorn time to grab him and effortlessly throw him aside to the ground. The Fang rolls to his feet, returns to stance and charges again, this time jumping up to land a strike to his exposed jaw but Duhorn blocks it with the axe handle, Fang swiftly grabs Duhorn's shoulder and swings his sword behind him, using the momentum to flip over the chieftain's head and landing behind him. The Fang quickly swings round and slashes at an opening in his armour. Nothing fatal but there is blood.
Duhorn lashes out in pain and punches Fang's face before he can react. The bleeding chieftain gains distance from the ruthless warrior but the Fang charges and catches up to him in a second and swings for his jaw again but Duhorn parries the attack and swings for his head.
Fang effortlessly dodges and charges again at the recovering bull. The Fang's next flurry of constant attacks push Duhorn back, he struggles to keep up with the pace, unable to adjust to the sudden change in speed. Slowly the metal mess he wears starts to lose bits with each strike he cannot block, like wildly chopping a tree's bark to bits with a machete.
Duhorn trips over a corpse as he is pushed and pushed into the crowd that continues to expand their arena, the chieftain trips backwards. Now on his back, The Fang goes for the killing blow. He jumps over with his sword overhead, but Duhorn falls to desperation and throws sand up at Fang, temporarily blinding him and making him miss his attack, this gives the crafty Duhorn just enough time to roll away and sweep him. Duhorn stands and stomps on the Fang's chest before he can get away, the stomp knocks the air out of the Fang.
The Fang stares up at this cheap fighter, unwilling to die by his hand. He stretches his arm toward his sword, but it is just too far as it is now impaled into the ground where Duhorn was moments ago.
He resorts to using his nails to try hurt any of his exposed flesh he can reach, his fingers slowly scraping off Duhorn's flesh, but the Proud Chieftain pays no attention to this temporary pain.
Duhorn slowly lines up his axe to Fang's head, desiring to split his skull in half. With his axe overhead and his opponent still immobilized; Duhorn smirks at the Fang before delivering the final blow.
A shield collides right into Duhorn's face. The force knocks him off the Fang and puts him on his knees.
The Fang looks up to see a hand extended to him, once the dirt clears from his eyes, he realises who it is. The man is taller than Fang, his look smoother and friendlier than his own. His tidy blonde hair and soft blue eyes reassure his safety, his armour is like the Fang's but much cleaner and a face plate fixed on his chest armour. His armour completely shrouds his body except his arms, he is almost a fortress on legs!
There is no doubt this warrior is well suited for long and defensive fights. His shield is a tall wall of steel that has a gauntlet attached to the inside of the shield. His sword is smaller and much slimmer than Fang's one, and completely straight with a double-edged blade.
"Just so you don't get mad at me, I'm only interfering cause he started fighting dirty, NOT because you were in trouble.", he smiles at the Fang as he helps him up, the Fang nods his head in thanks and walks away from him, wanting to quickly continue the fight. The Fang pays no attention to the skirmish that now surrounds them, the interference seemingly sparked the battle all over again.
"OH! Ye wanna make it a threesome HUH? Fine, I will fuck you BOTH up!", Duhorn stands and swings his axe around him in a bid at intimidation, his smirk like that of a jester's grin. Fang turns to his rescuer with frustration in his eyes. The walking fortress can only grin and comment,
"OK now he's invited me so now I HAVE to interfere haha", Fang chuckles and replies,
"Fine but I'm the one who will kill him, I'll start by cutting off his fucking jaw!", they both ready up, Fang returns to his 2-handed stance, where as his comrade positions his shield in front, balancing the blade on the top ready to support.
"Hey Quillen? If Haygon asks, say I tripped over a corpse or something dumb like that.",
Quillen smiles and says, "Our dad isn't falling for that, he knows you are not that clumsy in fights like this.", Fang sighs knowing that his Brother is right, the Fang resented any moment of himself being vulnerable.
And with that, they both charge at Duhorn.
Quillen pounces low at Duhorn and uppercuts him right on the chin, pushing him back and allowing an opportunity to kill. He stays low as The Fang uses Quillen's shield as a platform and jumps high above Duhorn's head, aiming for the vulnerable jaw once more, but he is kept back as Duhorn swings his axe wildly in retaliation. The Fang blocks and ends up landing rough onto the dust. Quillen uses the dust to hide his movement and he circles around Duhorn and pries his sword into his back and splits open Duhorn's armour on his back, Duhorn swings round with his axe which Quillen rolls under and can quickly jab him right in the chin again. Quillen's reactions outmatches Duhorn's speed but he does not have the power to put him down.
But the Fang does.
He sees the opening made by Quillen and as Duhorn swings for Quillen again, he strikes down at around his spine where the armour is split.
The Fang smiles but before he can pull his sword out Duhorn swings round and hits him with the blunt rusted side of his axe. His breath is taken again, and he is thrown back. The impact blurs his vision and his body refuses to let him get up, his muscles begging him to stop. Quillen quickly gains Duhorn's attention once more to keep him off The Fang, but his sword keeps bouncing off his armour having no effect.
Duhorn has now adjusted to the clever warriors' speed, swinging, sweeping and any attempt to harm him. Quillen is put into the defensive and puts his shield to great use trying his hardest to block each strike but for every hit he blocks, he is pushed back from each axe blow blasting him, his will the only thing keeping him from giving in.
Those wretched screams and laughs. The black sky and the crimson floor haunt him again. His back stings, his face numb, his toes feel as though they are on fire. The Fang looks up to that dark figure with a grim smile and mad eyes standing over him, taunting him. The Fang tries to grab his sword, but it turns to blood and seeps into the ground, his only defence gone. He tries to punch, bite or kick but rusted chains cling to his limbs and drag him across the ground, the dark figure follows him and begins to laugh, he starts to sink into the ground, drowning in the blood and corpses floating within.
He is overwhelmed by it all, the pain, the horror, but also that need to fight that he never seems to understand deep inside of him. The dark figure whispers in his ear,
"You are not strong enough, you will always, be, weak…"
The Fang arises, eyes wide open, teeth bare and growling like a wild animal, his deranged stare goes straight to the attacking Duhorn.
Fang sprints to the chieftain with sword in hand and somehow leaps right behind the clueless chieftain. He destroys his axe in mid-swing, surprising Duhorn.
Duhorn's eyes just catch the glimpse of the ruthless killer behind the warrior. Fang swings his sword upward, cleanly slicing Duhorn's whole left arm through its armour and the power behind the attack even knocks him back.
Fang stands with a sadistic smile. He picks up the severed, lifeless arm and rips a chunk out of it with his teeth and chews the raw meat slowly, forcing Duhorn to witness the vulgar display of what Wrah is at heart. The Fang looks Duhorn in the eyes and offers the arm to him like a chicken drumstick.
"Want it back or should I keep the rest for a snack?"
With that one sentence the battle is over. The opposing warriors who witness this horrific show of power are filled with fear, they retreat without order, desperately trying to avoid this monster's thirst for blood, those that stay are trying to escort their amputated leader, seeing 'live to fight another day' was their only option now.
With blood now slowly oozing out his stump, Duhorn shouts and curses at the Fang, his men all surround him, stopping his outbursts and hold him back as he screams out,
"YOU FUCKING MONSTER, this isn't over FUCK FACE! I'll rip Both yer arms off, I – I'll fucking beat the shit out of you with 'em!!! You hear me?! DON'T YOU DARE FORGET ME, FANG!" his cries gradually die as the distance grows between the armies, Fang spits out the disgusting flesh and wipes the blood from his face with the back of his hand while looking on at his victim escaping. For now.
Quillen sighs and relaxes his shoulders,
"Thanks for the hand…" he glances at the severed limb, "Hahaha oh sorry, that wasn't intentional, but that was pretty grim, cutting his arm off not enough?".
"I'm sorry, this 'Bloodlust' of mine got the better of me again, I couldn't help myself when he wouldn't just fucking die!", the Fang cannot look at Quillen's eyes, partly because he lies. He was actually enjoying the fight, he just cannot explain why he resorts to that bloodlust state he has no control of.
"Hey, don't apologise, I know you can't really control that shit, to be honest it does happen randomly at either the best or worst of times. Thankfully today it helped end this battle and you saved me, Thank you." He tries to support his brother with his conflict but not really improving his mood, they turn and walk back to the fortress,
"You gonna drop that?"
Quillen nods to the severed arm that he is still holding on too.
"Oh. Forgot about that." The Fang drops the Bull chieftain's arm into the sand, leaving the scraps for the vultures of the land to feed on instead.
That night the whole fort celebrated the defeat of the Bull clan, after the battle ended the retreating forces had mostly disbanded, and taking most of the attacking force of the clan with them. This meant a celebration was in order, a large party before preparing to return to the Wolf clans' home, alcohol is everywhere, a whole layer of the floor is just booze and passed out warriors. Laughter and cheers bombard the halls of the fort, ringing over the land that just hours ago was a corpse ridden hell, but now had been 'cleared' by Wrah's wildlife.
For The Fang however, it is just another night of solitude, he tries to remember and focus on the moment he gives in to the bloodlust. And then there was this dark figure that forever haunts his mind, nearly every battle or before one it would appear next to him or in the distance, inciting his unnatural bloodlust
Who is this dark figure? Just thinking about it makes his blood boil. The line,
"You are not strong enough, you will always, be, weak…" torments him, always in his mind when he trains, fights, eats and sleeps.
He stands up and leaves his tent. Outside is the dead courtyard, as he treads on, the constant sounds of joy and happiness aggravate Jaco, he cannot join them.
It is common to find the Fang alone, training, feeding and training again by himself. What is it that pushes him to fight? To kill? To reject the Dark figures words.
The mix of the wolf clans constant celebrating and the dark figure calling out to him drives him to a great fury he cannot control, he grabs his sword and starts to slice and cut his way through training dummies.
"You are not strong enough, you will always, be, weak…", he just swings, over and over, each hit just making the voice ever so slightly louder in his head.
"You are not strong enough, you will always, be, weak…" the Fang crumbles to the ground, breathing heavy and his veins popping out of his sweat soaked skin, he gets up, looking at the lifeless dummies he has left behind in his rampage.
"You are not strong enough…" his breathing goes heavy.
"you will always, be, weak…" he starts hitting the fortress walls, his eyes go bloodshot as he keeps hitting.
"You are not strong enough…" he bares his teeth to the point where his gums start to bleed, his fingers numb from the constant vibrations and his animal sounds and growls become louder, more primal and vicious with every strike. He can hear feint chain links in the distance.
"You will ALWAYS!" his sweat starts to batter the crimson ground he stomps on.
"BE!" it tries to take over again…
"WEAAAAAAK."
"CHEERS, to all who fight under the banner of the Wolf!"
The vanguard throw their drinks up high in unison, united in victory. Among them all, their Commander Quillen joins them in their glory as he is the leader of this brave team.
Surrounding them is the main army that fought alongside them all, those on their feet still drinking, others defeated by their tolerance for drink and laying in a sleeping pile on the moist floor.
"Great job everyone," Quillen says to his peers around him, "We fought back our enemies and sent them running home!" they collectively cheer and down their drinks in seconds.
"And we all know who worked hard for today's victory!" calls out one of Quillen's friends.
Quillen nods and grabs another drink brought to him by a peer.
"Yes, I know who you mean, he was the one to take on their rotten chieftain alone."
"Pff, I know. You had to take on Duhorn the divider by yourself for ages before the Fang jumped back, bloody bastard."
"Umm wait…" before Quillen can contest that, another wolf jumps on the conversation;
"He has NEVER been reliable. Always charging into battle without a plan, that fool."
"Yeah, what is his deal?" Questions one of the younger soldiers, "Has he always been like this?"
"Oh aye. Hasn't changed since he was a boy."
Before he can stop it, Quillen is surrounded by the spiteful and fearful words of his peers.
"Do ye' guys remember when he chose to fight the enemy instead of saving our people? That bastard decided to slaughter the enemy and abandon our innocent people. If it wasn't for Quillen himself, they would surely have been killed!"
"Yeah, and then there was the time he killed our own men…" this warrior downs her next drink before she can continue, this is personal for her,
"My boy and his team was tasked with defending the enemy that surrendered while our Commander Quillen here kept the enemy back. We came back to find our boys and the enemy we had tied up dead and bloody, they tried to defend themselves but he still killed them all…"
"We should make him pay." The oldest mutters behind Quillen, "We can jump him tonight, end it." The grieving women looks over to him and his empty cups and says,
"I hate him, but I am not suicidal."
They grow quiet after that. Quillen has to seat himself away from the down and grim vanguard. He knows the history of the vanguard itself is glorious and special to the clan; there are several generations who have served, from a father, to his siblings and children who follow in his steps. But the Fang is not part of that tradition, nor is his actions or choices.
Quillen finds the bar with a spacious, vacant space all for him, he takes the wobbly stool for himself and grabs a strong drink. But that discussion has followed him.
"Did you see the Fang out there? He was a monster."
"As usual."
Quillen spots a group of 3 people behind him talking, one of them wears the wolves armour,
"I know that dude, he is quite a force of nature. Nothing stands in his way."
"Even his own allies?" his friend questions.
"Even his own family."
"Wait, what the fuck are you talking about? He's never touched his dad or brother."
"Nah nah, I mean his MOM." His friend rolls his head back and forward again, like a memory needed shaking about in his head.
"Wait, what happened?" the third, sheepish man asks.
"Well… to put it simply, the Fang killed his own family." He retreats back into his drink without another word. But the wolf beside him smiles and goes on, like it was a happy memory from his child hood.
"Oh my friend, I remember the day we say it all. He was found in a back alley with blood all over himself. But it wasn't HIS! The wolves on duty went to his momma to return him, that was when they found her body."
"Bullshit." The sheepish man exclaims, "A boy killing his own mum?"
"He admitted it." Over an empty glass, he returns to the conversation,
"He said he did it to defend himself, but she never hurt a fly, such a loving mother."
"Not even ANY remorse was in his eyes man! And he has been like that ever since…"
Enough of this.
Quillen stands up right quickly, and makes his way around the bar away from their conversation. Damnit. I hate hearing all this shit. He would be dead right now if it wasn't for dad… or maybe he doesn't need dad's protection.
"Hey, sir!" Quillen is caught by another wolf, but from his own vanguard,
"I bought you a drink, here."
"Aw thanks, much appreciated friend." Quillen's takes the drink without question, he looks down and eyes up the delectable colour of earthy yellow lager. He goes for a drink.
"Can I ask about the Fang?" the cup stops at his mouth. He drops it on the bar and gives the man his attention.
"How did he get so good at killing? I want to be like him so bad." Quillen had to force his eyes not to roll, I have heard this so much for the last year. But thankfully I have the only response to this shit.
Quillen places his hands on his shoulders gently, making sure he was comfortable for these words.
"No you don't. If there is only one thing you have to understand about that man, it is that -"
"AAAAAAAAAGHH..!"
Something bellows out an animalistic scream that rises above the festivities behind him, silencing the crowds in awe of this painful, animalistic roar. Everybody freezes for a moment. Looking around for him. For the predator. But he does not show, tonight he does not dine here.
"- It is that he is an animal." Quillen finds the nerve to finish. "A wild, merciless and untrustworthy animal. Do you know anyone foolish enough to trust an animal like that?" Quillen grabs his free drink and makes his escape before anyone can ask him anymore questions about the infamous warrior. He just wants to drink and forget.
The Fang wakes up the next morning with ease and leaves straight to where the food is. Everyone's eyes avoid his, they fear whatever bothered him last night, although every person can feel his presence as he stalks around them within the fortress, no one dares to acknowledge him.
He walks onward, unwilling to let their fear get to him now, as he walks on, he sees a dozen men cleaning the guts and blood of the straw dummies, the youngest who sought the answer about the Fang and his killing habits glances over to him as he approaches. He is put in shock and unendingly stares at the Fang, the infamous warrior who has spilt so much blood…
His fearful gaze is broken as his superior smacks the back of his head, his baggy eyes begging him to ignore the Fang.
The Fang looks down toward the superior in the group, he is older, wrinkled and greyed, someone with a whole life time worth of experience, a man who also has blood on his hands, but even this man stands in fear of him. Even though he was trying to plot his death just last night.
The man's hand is ready to strike the fang with the shovel he holds, his brow holding a heavy bead of sweat, trying to hold his composure. Jaco looks past him to the rest of the group, almost just hiding behind their leader, terrified. He storms off before they can start anything, he just wants some food.
The fortress inside holds a large hall that is basically a feeding ground for the army, although the heavy partying from the night before has left tables flipped, Wolf banners thrown around and a lot of sleeping warriors of the army. The Fang sits in the far corner away from the crowd of misfits recovering from the heavy drinking, some of them thinking death would not be so bad right now.
Quillen stumbles into his brothers feeding spree of boiled rice & meat. Quillen inspects his mood and treads carefully, not really knowing what to do about his brother's mood especially after last night's disturbance, he sits in front of him as the Fang continues to devour his meal.
"We found the bodies…"
The Fang does not acknowledge the statement, he keeps chewing the fresh bite of food in his teeth.
"I know I am not the only one who is fortunate that your bloodlust was directed at a bunch of deserters from the bull clan trying to take our stuff. You're lucky." 3 dead bodies were found near the forts wall near the tents, thankfully for the wolves they were not their own, for the Fang found them during his isolation and dealt with them.
"We had to keep a squad back for a few hours to dispose of the bodies, we thought someone skin and stripped an animal for eating, what the fuck did you do to them?"
Fang lets his head shake before he tears another bit of meat off his meal, as if Quillen is missing something.
Quillen struggles to talk to him outside of a battlefield. He cannot seem to get him as he knows the Fang is not good with talking to people inside OR outside of the battlefield, any issue he had that could not be solved with a fight often led to an awkward conversation followed by a long silence, Quillen knows what the clan see him as but what made things worse is that Quillen is his opposite. Everyone loves him and the younger soldiers and kids admire him and he is very supportive of his lifelong allies.
Quillen sighs,
"We're going home in a few moments, got your stuff packed while you were here.", he finally looks up at his brother;
"Thank you,", he says after struggling to find the words.
"Your welcome. Last night you gave us all a fright, oh man we thought you were going see you pounce on us you know!" the Fang sighs and looks back down at his meal and whispers gravely "I'm sorry I disturbed your party..."
"Hey, it's ok. I want to help you. I really do but me or even our father can't figure out where this hatred or need for violence comes from. I'll protect you no matter what but at some point…"
He stops eating, he throws his plate aside to give his full attention,
"They are going to try to kill me. I know."
The Fang looks back up at him, eyes now glowing a feint brown colour that shows what little humanity he has left, he never cries, no one has ever seen him shed a tear for any warrior or young soldier, not even for the body count he is accountable for. This is the most human he ever gets.
Quillen rises from his chair and moves around to his brother's side, placing a hand in his shoulder, showing his support.
"Let's go home" they start to walk out when Quillen says "it won't come to that". The Fang nods, but he knows different. I am one man, you are a man of the people, we know who you will choose… brother.
As the Fang grabs his sword and walks back outside to the army, the brown eyes fade back to their cold pebbles and he returns to being 'The Fang'.
In battle, The Fang. In training, The Fang. In life, The Fang. There is no room for him to be anyone else anymore.
They ready up and mount up on large creatures called a Camull, a large muscly beast that pushes through all environments with its large claw like hooves and wide horns. Once they make the last checks to ensure the fort is in a stable defensive position in case of a raid, they leave.
Days are spent in the rain, sun and mist continually testing their will to finally bear witness to their home. Mount Kura, the home of the Wolf Clan.