Post by Grayell on Feb 16, 2012 21:33:51 GMT -5
The carriage rolled into the centre of the town square without raising alarm. It was simple enough, dirty after what might have been a long journey. It came to a halt by the podium that was frequently used for criers, meetings and other more fanciful celebrations; and the door swung wide open.
The driver was dressed in dull adornments, furs and a large cloak, his face concealed behind a scarf. That too, was not unusual; what with the snow laying upon the cobblestones this morning and the chill in the air causing all windows to frost. It was, in fact; the start of a harsh winter for Wistvale but it's inhabitants were sturdy if nothing else.
But from that black maw that was the now open cabin door, spilled a man. Cast out recklessly by two other men, he hit the stones scrambling, falling to his hands and knees. Smeared with grime and blood, some wet and some dry and blackened, his long mane of hair might have blended with the snow were it not clogged with yet more blood and gore. He was a large man, wearing nothing but shredded rags that hardly seemed fit for a mistreated prisoner; his frame scarred, battered and bruised; built with hardy muscle.
But his mouth spat, moaned and only uttered nonsense at that moment, a hiss like a wild cat as he crashed to the ground, the two men still standing in the door of the carriage laughing cruelly.
"Get up mongrel."
The man struggled to his feet, groaning and growling, hair a mangle down his face. His mouth nearly foamed, his body shook in either fright or ferocity - but he found his feet and stood, shaking and trembling. Perhaps the cold.
"Turn about failure, let's see if we can get some use from you yet."
The man did as he was told, his movement rather sickening in how he twisted, his head leading his shoulders about in some strange arc. He faced the rather puzzled peoples of Wistvale then and they knew him well. He said nothing, showed no emotion, didn't seem to register their presence - or even his own.
But as the one man holding the cord yanked and barked for the carriage to roll out of town - that simple cord pulled the pin. That pin was simple enough, embedded prior in the small plate at the base of Grayell's skull. But freed now, the change was instantaneous.
GRAAARRRR!
How a human could utter such a primal scream, how a human mouth could contain such cruel teeth, how a person could move so savagely fast - none of that mattered at this very moment. The produce wagon was lifted with little care, the owner luckily toppling out of it as Grayell threw it like a doll, sending it crashing and splintering into a thousand pieces against the wall across the square.
The cart owner had tried to run. It was likely futile, and the fear in his face was clear as that same face was now slammed into the ground, Grayell having leaped upon his back like a wild cat. Hands latched onto the man's neck - but with little reason he lifted him and swung, tossing him with even more ease than the cart over the square wall.
He screamed again, his eyes filled with frenzy, hands near snapping in their need to tear and rend, mouth slavering, teeth wanting to kill as the carriage left the outskirts of town in a hurry, the occupants laughing.
There were more people here. They were right to be very, very fearful for their lives.
The driver was dressed in dull adornments, furs and a large cloak, his face concealed behind a scarf. That too, was not unusual; what with the snow laying upon the cobblestones this morning and the chill in the air causing all windows to frost. It was, in fact; the start of a harsh winter for Wistvale but it's inhabitants were sturdy if nothing else.
But from that black maw that was the now open cabin door, spilled a man. Cast out recklessly by two other men, he hit the stones scrambling, falling to his hands and knees. Smeared with grime and blood, some wet and some dry and blackened, his long mane of hair might have blended with the snow were it not clogged with yet more blood and gore. He was a large man, wearing nothing but shredded rags that hardly seemed fit for a mistreated prisoner; his frame scarred, battered and bruised; built with hardy muscle.
But his mouth spat, moaned and only uttered nonsense at that moment, a hiss like a wild cat as he crashed to the ground, the two men still standing in the door of the carriage laughing cruelly.
"Get up mongrel."
The man struggled to his feet, groaning and growling, hair a mangle down his face. His mouth nearly foamed, his body shook in either fright or ferocity - but he found his feet and stood, shaking and trembling. Perhaps the cold.
"Turn about failure, let's see if we can get some use from you yet."
The man did as he was told, his movement rather sickening in how he twisted, his head leading his shoulders about in some strange arc. He faced the rather puzzled peoples of Wistvale then and they knew him well. He said nothing, showed no emotion, didn't seem to register their presence - or even his own.
But as the one man holding the cord yanked and barked for the carriage to roll out of town - that simple cord pulled the pin. That pin was simple enough, embedded prior in the small plate at the base of Grayell's skull. But freed now, the change was instantaneous.
GRAAARRRR!
How a human could utter such a primal scream, how a human mouth could contain such cruel teeth, how a person could move so savagely fast - none of that mattered at this very moment. The produce wagon was lifted with little care, the owner luckily toppling out of it as Grayell threw it like a doll, sending it crashing and splintering into a thousand pieces against the wall across the square.
The cart owner had tried to run. It was likely futile, and the fear in his face was clear as that same face was now slammed into the ground, Grayell having leaped upon his back like a wild cat. Hands latched onto the man's neck - but with little reason he lifted him and swung, tossing him with even more ease than the cart over the square wall.
He screamed again, his eyes filled with frenzy, hands near snapping in their need to tear and rend, mouth slavering, teeth wanting to kill as the carriage left the outskirts of town in a hurry, the occupants laughing.
There were more people here. They were right to be very, very fearful for their lives.