Wolves #1 - Ended
It was a dark and stormy night in Calla Bryn Sturgis, Brice was thankful for the warmth of his callum-ka as he hurried along the High Street towards the Traveler's Rest. A few hours later, filled with beer and good humour, say thank ya, he pointed his shor'boots in the direction of home and trudged off.
Stumblin' along the East Road to his digs, Brice paused as the clouds momentarily broke and the moonlight seemed to glint on somethin' metallic up ahead. Brice stopped and fought against his body's beer ridden urge to sway, tryin' to bring the shapes on the road into focus. Suddenly it seemed, as the shapes loomed larger, the sound of thunderin' hooves filled his ears. His mouth shaped the words, "Wolves!" even before his brain had fully made the connection. Brice ran, but in his befuddled state he tripped, "Slaggit!" he cried - do ya take no offense, I beg at his cussin' - but Man Jesus, the poor man was in a terrible fix and well he knew it, do ya kennit?
They have a sayin' in these parts, "Cool eyes see clear". It suddenly seemed to Brice that he had drifted away, up out of his body, do'ee foller? And now, he watched as the Wolves took his body up onto their terrible steeds and away to the Thunderclap. He watched as though it were happenin' to another man, without fear or any emotion at all. He would come to wish by the end of the night, that he truly had drifted away - but in the end the ground cures all...
Now dear Folken, come gather round. Poor Brice is back among us, roont and unable to vote, but free to join in discussion.
Who are the Wolves? Here in the safe light of day you must choose one or more suspects.
Pere and Rosalita, you must pm me now to ask your question and give your protection, if you wish to do so this round.
all matter is energy, all energy is GOD
And to think of all the times I've stuck up for you when you were being falsely accused of withcraft in the 1600s. No more, Brice! 
