Hello Wolf-Man  
Here are the passive verbs for this chapter. I hope pointing out these small things will help improve your writing, and increase your ratings. Hope to see you around The Realm soon.
Your friend in writing,
Krissy
Most people will experience a fair amount of sadness in their lives. This is also true of the werewolf. Unfortunately for the werewolf their emotions are always much more pronounced than that of humans. For example; say a favorite pet of yours dies, something you cared very much for. In a human this will bring about an intense sadness for a few days and it will then extend into weeks of heartache and gradually dull over time. The same circumstances for a werewolf will bring about extreme depression, but for a much shorter amount of time. The capabilities for extended periods of mourning just aren’t there. The intensity of emotions is amplified in the extreme but the period of time over which they extend is much shorter. It’s almost as if their emotions are compressed into much smaller albeit more powerful packages. The one exception to this is extreme anger or feelings of betrayal. These will smolder for centuries, and when they erupt through to the surface can be even more potent because of it.
And so as Dagur walked into the sacred caves he was distraught with the realization that they were gone and that there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. The aching of the chest during extreme sadness is not confined to humans. Dagur was now experiencing something more akin to a multitude of razorblades spinning through his heart. The rest of the clan had taken care of the bodies of his family. Their bones had been scraped clean and etched with glyphs, representing their deeds or characteristics. They were now ready to be placed in the Myrkri cavern along with the bones of their ancestors.
He passed many of the other clan members, people he had known nearly all of his life. None offered a touch or word to console him. It was not their way. They all knew that they could do nothing to help relieve his suffering and pain. The best they could do was give his family a proper rite and sing the dirges with him into the night, each taking their turn singing the songs to guide his family to Forfeðra Friður, the land of their ancestors.
As Dagur finally reached the Myrkri cavern he glanced at the walls, at the neat niches, each containing an ordered pattern of bones with the skull and jaw placed in the front. Most were the shape of hybrid werewolves but there were human and wolf skulls among them. All of the bones were etched with black glyphs that stood out against the bleached white of the bones. And there to the front, not in niches on the wall but lain out upon an altar were the bones of his family. The torches at the sides of the altar flickered over the bones and the dark green stone of the cave itself. Radiating out from in front of the altar, like spokes on a wheel, were several pairs of grooves worn smoothly into the floor of the cave. It was to the centermost of these that Dagur came to and knelt in, his legs fitting easily into the polished lines. As he knelt there, his head downcast with tears making silvery trails through his fur, for what must have been a few hours but felt like an eternity within itself, he felt the rest of the clan members filter into the cavern. He didn’t know how, nor did the rest of the clan, but when the last drop of sun had sank below the horizon he felt its absence and began to sing. As he emitted the first long, wavering, wail-like howl the clan followed him in song. They drifted back and forth sometimes singing the dirges in the old tongue, sometimes simply howling their sadness to the world. After an hour of this the torches guttered and went dark. Then the cave truly became a wonder to behold. Every one of the bones in the cave shone, their glyphs giving forth a brilliant green shine. This light reflected off the surface of the stone and created a scene altogether beautiful and mysterious at the same time. Outside of the cave it was an even more beautiful, if eerie sight. The lovely green glow leaked out of the cave’s entrance while the clan’s music resonated and intensified inside eventually flowing forth from the faintly glowing chasm, and out into the night like a river of sound that, in those who knew what it meant, inspired a deep sense of sadness, but at the same time one of wonder and beauty. To the ears of the humans in neighboring villages and towns the sound caused only anxiety and fear, the fear not of the unknown but of something so terrible that even though all knew its source not one would dare whisper its name.
As the howling went on into the night its power waned. Those that had known the Myrkri family the least gradually left to return to other activities, while closer friends of the family stayed on into the night. By dawn few were left. About an hour after sunrise the only one left in the cavern was Dagur himself. He left the cavern three days later, dehydrated and voiceless.
******
He awoke to darkness. After a few moments he had ascertained that he was back in the sleeping quarters of his den. This was strange because he had no memory of making the trip up the hillside from the stream where he had slaked his thirst. He rolled off of his bedding and onto all fours, testing his limbs before standing. He spread out his awareness, a blanket of senses scanning the cave, and what he found was alarming. The soft swish of fur through the air. The scent of another. He was not alone.
What happened next surprised Dagur, as he was expecting hostility. A gruff voice called out from the next room “You awake yet?” After a momentary surprise Dagur decided to proceed down the tunnel and meet the owner of the voice. He was still cautious but not timid. As Dagur looked around the bend in the tunnel he saw a large, brown-furred back facing him. The creature turned and sighted Dagur “There you are, wondered when you’d wake up”. As Dagur studied the creatures face he found one similar to his own kind in basic shape but different in its proportions. The snout was shorter and thicker, the head wider. The ears were broader and more rounded, but still held a triangular shape. The body itself was more thickset than his own, the muscles larger. This creature was built more for brute strength than the agility and speed that Dagur was used to. The brown fur Dagur had noticed earlier was much coarser than his own and somewhat shaggier in its appearance. The creature’s hands did not possess the long dexterous digits that Dagur’s did. The fingers were shorter and stubbier but he could tell they were very powerful.
Dagur decided that the creature meant him no harm and spoke “what happened?” “Ahh,” the creature remembered “well I found you down at the bottom the hill there, and I thought ‘self he looks like he was trying to make it up that hill there. Now why would he be headed that way if there wasn’t something at the top?’ so I picked ya up and got you up there, saw the mouth of this cave and figured it might do for some shelter, and lo and behold I find a whole dwelling inside. Bed, kitchen, even a furnished pantry. So I laid you in bed till you’d finished your li’l nap and now here ya are.”
Dagur, still trying to shake off a sense of bewilderment, addressed the creature “What are you doing here? I mean we’re in the middle of nowhere.” To this the creature curtly answered “Now I thought that’d be fairly obvious, considering where we are. I’m looking for a Death Dealer of course.” Dagur vaguely wonders why but as he has come to fully awake he realizes that he has still not properly greeted the strange new visitor. “Pardon me sir, you must think me intolerably rude, let me introduce myself. My name is Dagur, and humble as it is, welcome to my home.” “Well thankee for that, it’s nice to see a bit of civility’s still left in the world. M’name’s Gormanjur, but you can call me Gore, ‘sa a bit easier to say for most people.” “And, if I may inquire, why, and more importantly who, are you looking for an Assassin?” “Well now that’s a fair load of questions all wrapped inter one ain’t it? As to the question of why, I thought that should be fairly obvious now, somebody needs to die. For the who now that’s a bit more complicated. Technically A’m here on a sanctioned mission for the clan of Sterkt Ignem, but A’m thinking your meaning something else. The ‘target’, I believe that’s what the higher ups called it, is the Grand ole Emperor of the entire human race.”
As Gore said this Dagur was instantly thrown back into the past, the last few days recurring in less than a few seconds, and as he remembered he snatched out at his emotions trying to find something solid and unwavering to cling to in the violent whirl of feelings. Eventually he found it, and as he clung to that one sensation it became a focal point into which all other emotions flowed, intensifying until all was a solid ebony pillar of anger, engraved wholly with one thought. Vengeance.
When Dagur next spoke it was without the friendly tone he had adopted, and Gore noticed as well that it was entirely without any emotion at all. He took this to mean that Dagur was impartial to the statement he made, and it would have if Dagur had been one of Gore’s own race. But Dagur was of the Varúlfur Lykánthropas, and to one of his race it was known that to betray anger to anyone but for who it is meant is rude, and so his voice carried no hint of anger, and so no hint of any emotion, for at that moment Anger was all that lay inside of him.
“I would be willing to accept the contract.” Gore was slightly puzzled at first, but then with a look of understanding replied “Well now that might solve more’n a few problems, see I already know you, at least a good deal better’n I know anyone else in this neck of the woods. Y’say you’re an assassin?” “Of course, I’m an Andlat aren’t I?” Dagur used the term Andlat instead of Varúlfur Lykánthropas as this was the term his clan was called by most other clans whereas Varúlfur Lykánthropas was used only between members of his own clan or very close friends of the clan, of which there were few. “So? What does that have to do with anything?” Dagur thought for a moment before he replied. “Is a robin a bird?” “Yes.” “Then an Andlat is an assassin, it’s just what we are. Birds were born to fly, we were born to kill. The only difference is that no one exiles robins for flying.” This last statement was given with a slight tense note in Dagur’s voice, not overtly threatening, but enough to get across that he was not pleased with the way his clan had been treated by Gore’s.
Fortunately for both of them Gore was one of the few members of the Sterkt Ignem who had been opposed to the exile of those known to them as the Canis Andlat. This was one of the main reasons he had been selected for this particular assignment to begin with. Gore nodded in understanding of the statement and, thinking it best to let the matter lie, returned to the business at hand. “So you say, you’ll accept the contract. I didn’t know any such thing was required ta hire an Andlat.” “It didn’t used to be. Before the exile we trusted people to honor the agreed upon terms, but since then honor seems to have become a forgotten concept. Now a contract is drawn up and agreed upon by both parties, and signed by the representatives. There isn’t really much law to uphold it, but the signature helps to locate the second party in the unfortunate event of a default, and if the sum is still not paid we do have other ways of extracting it.” “Well it seems to have gotten quite official since I been away. Well if you’re ready let’s get down ter business.” Dagur walked into the far room, the one he used as a sleeping chamber, and came back with a large piece of parchment and a quill pen. It was noticed by Gormanjur however, that he was not carrying any ink. Both of these he placed off to the side as he invited Gore to sit at the small table that occupied the center of the room, then sat down himself. “First we’ll work out the details, and then write down all the official terms here. So what is it exactly that this contract entails?” Dagur’s statement was completed with a folding of his hands as he looked at Gore, signifying him to continue. Goremanjur thought for a moment before replying. “Well let’s see, the long term goal would defernetly be the death of the emperor, however that theres not quite what I’ve been erficially tasked to ‘acquire’ as it were.” Extras. Dagur smiled at the thought. Such things were oftentimes included in such contracts. They also brought greater cost, a benefit for him. He motioned with his hand “Continue, Please.” Gormanjur lingered a small while, as if he were thinking of an appropriate manner in which to introduce the next piece of business. Finally he spoke “Well I might s’well come out wit’ the whole thing right now. The up an’ ups don’t think one person’ll cut it fer this job. They wants you ter train a group of Assassins, then, and I don’t know how they think they can pull this here off, they want y’all to work as a team, ter take down da emperor. What’s more they wants one of ya to be a representative of each race, some kinda ‘fairness to all peoples’ or some such, think they might all be a touch o’ crazy myself.” As the words poured from Gore’s mouth Dagur’s mind began to race. His memories flowed through the sixteen years of his life and he saw all the hurt and pain that the empire and its leader had caused his people. He remembered all the old stories he had been told of the time before the exile when he and his had still been allowed contact with the other races. He remembered the few times that he had been there himself, to other lands, as a child with his parents. What he now saw before him was an opportunity for everything he and his race had wished for, the destruction of the empire, their freedom, the chance to rejoin the peoples of the land, to walk freely through the world without the constant fear of destruction. He saw a chance to reclaim the Honor of his clan. He knew there were many, some even residing in his own clan, who would hate his decision and reject him for it, but the world had always been that way, full of doubt and disunity.
Finally, for it was several minutes later before he responded, Dagur’s face stirred. It began with a twitching of the ear, a wrinkle of the nose, and finally a large toothy grin spread across his face. Gore took this as a sign of his goodwill and smiled himself. He of course did not see the hardness in the eyes or the grimace in the smile. Only Dagur knew of these emotions, those of hurt and sorrow and pain that accompanied the decision. He knew his family would have wanted this, and he only wished that they could be there to share it with him. Then he began to speak “Of course you realize that what you ask is a near impossibility? These sorts of requests come with a steep price.” The smile on Gore’s face lessened slightly.
“O’ course, o’course. Wouldn’t ‘ave ‘spected anything else really. Fortunately fer you ‘Am authorized to offer damn near anything ya please, think that’s what they said anyways.” Dagur stopped and thought for a moment more, preparing himself for what he was about to do. He realized that at this moment his decision could rewrite history. He steeled himself for the challenge.
“I would hope for a great many things to come from this, but that which I would most like to see would be the reacceptance of my people, that we could walk freely amongst you or shun you however we may please.” Dagur continued quickly so as not to give Gore the time required to interrupt him. He needn’t have done so however as Gore was already dumbstruck by the request and was yet incapable of speech. “I would also have reparations made to my people, land that was taken restored, as well as an equal share in the spoils of the coming confrontation. After such a ‘war’ or what have you occurs, we shall again be free to practice our trade without the persecution of your governments, we shall be acknowledged as our own sovereign people and have a governmental system of our own, to attend your councils and meetings, and be acknowledged as equals by the other peoples.” Dagur stopped and thought for a second before continuing. “In addition I will require the aid of all the other peoples; they cannot come into this enterprise halfheartedly. I must have their full support and be able to rely on both their recruits as well as their methods of training and equipment.” Gore continued to sit, awestruck, for several moments before replying.
“Damn, boy, ‘ave you got some grit! I think most anybody else would ‘er asked fer personal gain, or taken this ‘ere deal out ‘er greed. S’been a long while since ‘A seen a body wit a sense fer da ‘greater good’ as some calls it. Thing is yer askin’ a pow’ful lot dere. If I were ter authorize that my s’periors ‘d kill me. Aw, hell boy A’m in.”
Dagur’s smile returned and an almost imperceptible sigh of relief escaped him. For the next few minutes he and Gore proceeded to go over the exact wording and details that would be put to paper, since the exile all of Dagur’s kind had been trained in the writing of documents, mainly so that their contracts were clear and couldn’t be called ‘illegal and unbinding’ by the client. Finally when this wording was completed Dagur took a small knife out of his belt. Using this he shaved a small patch of fur off of his wrist and then made an incision. He then placed the knife on the table, although Gore noticed that it was easily within Dagur’s reach it was outside of his. This boy wasn’t nearly as green as he looked. Dagur proceeded to dip the quill into the incision and wrote the contract out in his blood. The contracts written and signed by the Varúlfur Lykánthropas were considered a sacred bond to them, a pledge of their honor and so were written in blood to signify this. When the contract was finished he signed in flowing script Dagur Myrkri. He then handed both quill and paper to Gore who in turn drew his own knife and repeated the process, signing neatly at the bottom Gormanjur Tarras. Dagur took the parchment, now so much more valuable and gave it one final look, making sure everything was in order.
One last grin flashed across his face.
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