<a class="username" data-user-id="583" data-username="@GideonR" data-xf-init="member-tooltip" href="https://blackdahliaroleplaying.com/members/583/">@GideonR</a><br/><br/>They say that all living creatures have a common ancestor, even the cursed ones. If it weren’t true, there would be no spiritual or scientific way to explain the abominations of mankind. The vile beast that rears its ugly head only during the cycle of the full moon. The beast’s deafening howl serving as a warning call to all that humanity holds dear while simultaneously rallying its brethren. Some argued that these beast were harmless lost souls who needed to find their way back to humanity. For everyone who had sympathy there was another that saw through the weakness of mankind’s heart and acknowledged the danger that would come to be known as the werewolf.<br/><br/>It has been recorded in the ancient books kept by huntresses that the very first werewolf was once a pious and devout man who had everything a man could dream of in his life. He was the heir to a wealth that ran generations deep, he owned acres upon acres of land, multiple domestic and foreign business that were bringing in profit twice as much as was predicted, all his affairs were in the perfect order. To sweeten things even more he was engaged to a well-mannered, educated, beautiful petite brunette. It was written that the day before their wedding, he and a band of his friends including his future brother in law went out into one of his many forests do hunt for sport. The crew mysteriously disappeared with just the groom returning with a wild story about a hunt gone wrong. According to him as it was recorded, they were chasing a black tail deer and somehow tracked it straight into the middle of a pack hunt. Panic ensued and while every man was trying to escape with his life and that of his fellow man, chaos took over. He claims the wolves were devils in disguise with the ability to somehow transform themselves into upright bipedal man like beings that could easily return to its beastly form as it wished.<br/><br/>Out of concerned for her husband’s wellbeing, both physical and mentally, the bride suggested that they withhold their wedding. She furthered cited that the fate of her dearest brother was unknown and would rather wait until there was news. However, her husband insisted that they carry on with their plans quite adamantly. She wasn’t particularly fond of the idea seeing that he was littered with bruises, wounds, and scratches. In fact the doctor even suggested bed rest for a few days, but he wouldn’t have it. He wanted to cease the moment since his life had already flashed before him. He faced death and survived. Now he wanted to live each and each and every day to fullest. Eventually through the usage of patriarchal rights and proclamations of undying love, he finally convinced her to proceed with the wedding.<br/><br/>It was a glorious wedding befitting the wealth of the groom.<br/><br/>Despite the fact that the brother hadn’t return the newly wedded couple couldn’t wait to start their honeymoon. Before the sun finished setting that night the guest were thanked and the new bride swept into her bridal chamber where he could bring forth the physical manifestations of the earlier proclamations of love. Between the sheets and deep seated breathes, among the sensuous moans of pleasures and unrestrained release of desire came the screams of utter terror. The groom had, in his explosive moment revealed himself as a creature of night, slave to the wilds of the silvery moon.<br/><br/>That was when the first huntress was born, baptized in the blood of her husband as she slew him.<br/><br/>Some people live their entire lives thinking that werewolves are mere fragments of the imagination, tales told in the dark to frighten women and children into staying indoors at night. For most, it was true. As the years passed into decades and the decades folded into centuries the knowledge of the existence of such creatures and how to kill them faded away from the vast majority of the population. The only ones privy to the secrets were women who lived and trained as huntresses. These huntresses decided to live apart from the rest of society as to guard their secrets well and to ensure that the tradition was carried onward because the werewolves had survived.<br/><br/><br/>Several centuries later…<br/><br/><a class="link link--external" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fi.pinimg.com%2Foriginals%2F24%2Fa2%2F9d%2F24a29d473e8fc247f77f6e72fb7b0f30.jpg&amp;hash=e4d9a9de94773d2bc388235dcce178fa" href="https://i.pinimg.com/originals/24/a2/9d/24a29d473e8fc247f77f6e72fb7b0f30.jpg" rel="nofollow ugc noopener" target="_blank">Aurora</a>took a deep breath and exhaled as she notched her bow with her arrow. This was just another morning hunt excursion that she was out on. It was her job to make sure that they all had venison to eat. In addition to hunting to eat, it kept her sense sharpened and honed. She grew up in with the others living on the scared land that was now a lodging resort in the middle of a dense forest primed for hunters.  The ladies made a good living renting the lodgings year around, tending to the wild life which translated into keeping them from attacking the nearby towns, working as herbalist and tour guides, and most importantly taking down any lone wolf or packs that came through. Though honestly, Aurora couldn’t remember her first encounter with the big baddies though all her mentors have told her over and over.<br/><br/>She was a direct descendant from the very first huntress who slew the very first werewolf and because of that she carried within her, in the form of her blood, a way to seduced and slow the wolves. It was said to have been a gift passed down through the generations. She, however, never seen what it could do. She knew that while her mother carried her in the womb, a pack of the fierce werewolves trampled on the scared lands in an attempt to murder mother and child. It was said that she was the reason why her mother survived the battle and lived long enough to deliver her into the world. She had no reason to question her mentors. She knew that there were no males allowed to live on the land because of the rule set by the huntress council: females were stronger against the werewolves, after all the first was killed by his own wife. The huntresses were allowed to meet men and have relations, but once a huntress always a huntress and the lives of a huntress had no room for men or love. In fact baby boys were always sent off to live with their fathers.<br/><br/>She held her breath slightly as the black tail doe trotted into view with her fawns. Aurora wasn’t fond of shooting the does, but she knew that a buck wouldn’t be far behind. Unlike most hunters, she didn’t want to resort to nor have to use a deer caller to entice the buck. Patience was the key and she had plenty of it.  She waited as still as a tree, breathing in slowly and as minimally as she could and like clockwork the buck come trotting after the doe.<i> That’s it boy, just a few more steps closer.</i>She thought to herself as she readied the shot.  If she was lucky, she would be able to kill it with one good shot to the lungs and let it bleed out. Tracking the animal was easy part of the hunt.  She had about three seconds to get the shot off as she could feel a change of wind threatening to mess the hunt up.<br/><br/>She aimed.<br/>She pulled the string back.<br/>She let it go.<br/><br/>The buck darted almost immediately on impact as the wind blew her scent forward.  The wounded animal bleated out it’s warning call but she only needed one buck and he left her a trial of blood to follow easily. She followed the tracks leading her north, then east, then circling back around again to cross its original track and finally leading her southeast of where she shot it. When she found the buck, it laid lifeless in a pool of fresh blood, its hind legs folded under as if it collapsed on itself. The two front legs crossed one another haphazardly. She hurried up to it and retrieved her arrow.  She petted the buck and leaned in close,<br/><br/>“May your spirit rest in the greenest pastures for your sacrifice dear one.” She whispered solemnly. This was the custom of the huntresses to thank the spirit of the animal that they killed.<br/><br/>She stopped suddenly and sat up on alert listening to the silence around her for several seconds. If she listened closely she could almost hear hushed whispers in the wind like warnings of a bad omen. She pulled her attention form the wind and began to prep the buck for the return trek home. She had a feeling of strangeness about her, but that didn’t guarantee that a wolf would cross her path. The hunting season was starting soon and the next full moon was a fortnight away. She chalked it up to the fact that most hunters these days used guns and guns were loud. They could use guns too but the price of silver had gone up in modern times and making silver bullets were costly. As an alternative the huntresses dipped their arrows in a concoction of wolfsbane, sage, mugwort and elder. The arrow she used on the deer wasn’t one meant for a predator.