Valens bright blue eyes gazed deep into the lake beyond him. He absorbed the scenery trying make sense of were he was. Time was of the essence. He would normally take the chance to explore the beautiful wilderness that surrounded him, but now, if he wished to continue his quest, he would need to finish this mission a lowly banker had assigned him. Gold was all he needed. He needed gold to keep going, to fuel his passion, his dream of killing Mnzetius, his dreams of becoming a master Psychic. But now, his dream was suppressed by a futile material thing. Valens knew all there was about being spiritual and mental, following your inner being to lead yourself to a better future, but such a petty material object was in his way. Gold, gold, gold! He never seemed to have enough, and somehow, this drew a number of people to him, in search of services as a mercenary. His appearance looked like that of a psychic. He wore no shirt, only a light vest, revealing all of his tattoos, which he had placed on himself in hopes of amplifying his psychic abilities.

But now he could only hope these psychic 'amplifications' could help him decide where the monster he was hunting was. The banker had offered him a rather large sum of money to find a werewolf, who had stolen a bag of money when it was being transferred over to a particularly wealthy patron. Now it was his job to find him, kill him, and return the money. His only clue, somewhere around the Lake. If only he were psychic.

With a small laugh, Valens grabbed a pile of rocks nearby, and began to examine them very carefully. He counted eight from the pile and placed the others back into the lake. He pulled from his belt his Winter Wand, and froze all eight of them, and began to whittle away at them with his Black Dagger until they were all even, generally the size of an average man fists put together. Next, he marked them all as so, N, NE, E, SE, S, SW, W, NW, all of the directions. Valens then marked the direction of the sun, so he found which direction was east, and placed the rock labeled E in that spot, and put all other stones according to their directions.

Valens backed away, and closed his eyes and entered a psychic state, and opened his eyes again. The color remained the same, yet they sparkled with a strange, distant brilliance. Holding out his hand, he called all the stones to him through telekinesis. All eight of them hurdled to his outstretched palm at and extremely fast rate. One landed directly in his hand, the other size pelted him in the stomach and caused him to fly a foot, and land directly on his back. He closed his eyes in pain, and opened them again, returning back to normal. He stood up, grunting, and observed the stone in his palm. It was labeled with a NE. He looked towards the north east, and with a new bounce in his step, began to travel in that direction.

To Taiaka, gossip was a very important thing. It came in different forms and in foreign tongues; sometimes the man at the inn would speak absently about the miller’s wife when he thought no one was watching. Other times, the owls would screech back and forth through the kumquat trees to warn the shape shifter that horses were on their way. The thick grass on the plain told him reports about who had passed and when, and the scents in the air were like scantily clad belly dancers, enticing and beckoning with the curl of their lithe fingers. The dark man regarded his omens like he regarded his women: They were sweet at first, full of intrigue and curiosity, but most of the time he found their interest waned the moment he believed their lies.

Of course, there were some rumors that Taiaka would not overlook.

When the innkeeper stopped spouting clipped sonnets about the miller’s wife, the conversation turned dull and pointless; someone from the docks was selling indigo dye for much cheaper than the merchants in town, someone had put too much salt in the beef stock. Taiaka had stopped listening until the topic of gold suddenly came up. Then, he perked, and his growing smile made it quite clear to the grubby little innkeeper that the nugget of gossip was readily received.

Taiaka finished his glass of warm goat’s milk and paid his tab with roughly milled scraps of copper. The poor innkeeper looked pale and sickly when the dark man flashed him a feral sneer. Watch out for the full moon, the man muttered as he rubbed the bar with a grimy rag, a wary glace passing over the rows of hooded candle stubs. Taiaka shrugged petulantly, he was always careful of the moon; he needed no reminder of its fickle faces.

He slipped into the credence of an afternoon sun, eager to let his body molt the skin of a man. Feet changed to paws, the length of his spine shortened and his smooth black skin was replaced with the high gloss of fur. He was Wolf, and his quick shift was met with gasps and coos from the loitering street urchins in their leather bonnets. The youngest reached out a curious hand to pet Taiaka, but the wolf snapped at her chubby fingers and growled savagely.

“Be careful!” The girl’s brother called out, running to grab his sister by her skinny shoulders.

“Be careful, you don’t want to catch the curse!” The brother spat at the wolf and dragged the little girl away by her pigtails. Taiaka growled again, but this time the gesture was empty and self-loathing and he padded down the cobblestone path before the children could run and tell their father. Curse?, he thought bitterly, if only all curses were such blessings. In fact, it had been years since Taiaka had been met with negative stereotyping because of his abilities, yet he found it odd that a sweet simple child would refer to it as an affliction rather than a novel (awe-inspiring) peculiarity. Surely they had been groomed by jealous adults. Perhaps he owed their father money. As such, he wondered if he should speed his departure lest the townsfolk grab pitchforks and torches.

The wolf trotted sourly out of town and made a loop around the yam fields and apple orchid. He cut a trail through the cow pastures and barked at an ox that was too busy chewing its cud to notice that he almost stepped on the wolf. Next, Taiaka came upon the rocky banks of the river where washer-women were beating the filth from the husband’s breeches. With his belly full of milk, the wolf did not pause to lap at the water; he elegantly dashed into the brambles, paws splashing in the shallows, and followed the flow of the river further away from the village.

He could tell from the slant of the sunlight that at least an hour passed before the wolf’s trail widened and he shimmied down the slick slopes of dappled stone. By the gurgling pools that swarmed with hungry mosquitoes he had to swim a short distance across the stagnant water to reach the clear rich brook that emptied into Lake Aelin. Taiaka sprang from to the shore and spent a long time panting and slavering, shaking the wetness from his scruff and flanks, grumbling all the while. The shape shifter sat, and lifted his hind leg to scratch at the back of his stiff ear. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the sight of a strange bald man ambling towards him with a rock in his hand.

Valens walked casually across the bank of the lake, his eyes staring into a space beyond reality, a light merry tune escaping from his lips. He held the stone of ice marked with NE in his palm, the colored berry at which he used to mark the letters melting along with water. The dark blue water trickled like the tears of a young infant crying for his mothers milk, until finally, it dripped off of his knuckle, only to be suspended in midair. This was a strange training technique Valens had started recently, using his telekinesis to hold water in place. The inky droplet halted in place, and took a more regular shape, much like his companions, which had been formed from the ball of ice during the course of his ten minute walk.

He emerged from a small patch of bushes which lead into a small clearing, and inside the clearing sat a wolf, reaching up with his hind leg, to scratch the back of his ear. Valens stopped dead in his tracks, his concentration broken. All thirteen of the droplets fell to the ground, one by one.

Plop! Plop! Plop! Plop! Plop! Plop! Plop! Plop! Plop! Plop! Plop! Plop! Plop!

Each of them made a distinct noise, making them extremely obvious to count. Valens gazed directly at the wolf. Surely this was an omen. Conveniently at that time, there was thirteen droplets of water. Thirteen was an evil number. Valens had no doubt that this creature must have been a cause of at least some dismay. There was no doubt that this was most likely the thief, that the banker had hired him to kill, and return his money to. A thought of discomfort reached his mind, but not his own thought. It must have come from the wolf, or what he believed to be a werewolf. This wolf must be remotely human, or at least human enough to have thoughts detectable by the psychic. The odds were, that he had found the werewolf, or else, encountered another human/wolf creature. Yet something was off, the banker had described the werewolf as more of a brown, yet this one was black.

But Valens would take his chances. The fact was, even if this man wasn't the werewolf he was hunting, Valens would have just ridded the world out of another mistake. He teleported quickly, three feet to the right of were he was originally stood, and hurdled his ice stone at the wolf. Almost instantly he teleported to the right side of the wolf, and aimed to bash it with his staff, in hopes to catch him off guard.

“Ow, hey!” The wolf yelped as a cold stone rattled against the side of his ribcage. He turned his chevron shaped skull to the bald man, but the bald man was gone.

“Ow, what the!?” The blunt butt of the psychic’s staff slammed into the underside of the wolf’s jaw and sent the black beast tumbling head over flank.

“What is your problem?!” Taiaka’s voice was pulled from behind his small white points of teeth, pale blue eyes narrowing against the glare of the hot afternoon sun. But the wolf, though still wet and ornery, did not growl or threaten the lithe stranger. He laid on his side instead, pink tongue lolling out of the side of his mouth, lanky limbs akimbo in the cool green grass. Tiny bangles of slip-shot bells encircled his hind legs and long thongs of dyed leather were wrapped tightly around his forepaws; the scruff of his neck was matted down, yet it was thick and knotted like the mane of a lion. Colorful seeds of glass and stone were woven into the wiry locks and he wore a narrow band of copper around his neck like a collar. If the fact that the wolf could speak wasn’t enough of a deterrent, his adornments and manicured appearance would at least speak of ownership or sentience.

Taiaka, continuing to lie panting in the sweet meadow by the lake, slowly made his way to his feet and licked the saliva from his black gums. He could taste blood and when his tongue touched the corner of his canine, his eyes went wide.

“You fool!” The wolf chirped, “You chipped my toof!” He spat a little sliver of tooth onto the pad of his paw and offered the bald man a savagely incredulous gape. His anklets chimed as he bounced from foot to foot, his deep kohl hackles lifting like the sail of a marlin.

Lilting clouds drifted across the distant face of the sun causing sulking shadows to skitter across the two strangers. The songbirds, present like urban rabble high in the trees, clamped their beaks shut and Taiaka could feel their beady eyes watching from the tree line. They liked to hear the gossip of man, the shape shifter had learned; he remembered the families of cliff swallows that enjoyed swooping at fishing boats not to pluck sardines from the nets, but to listen to the rumors. Taiaka could hear them shushing each other in the walnut trees to better hear the creatures in the meadow.

“We gunna have drama?” The wolf stared at the staff in the bald man’s hand and let his gaze trace the tattoos that graced the man’s chest with their inky presence. The wolf sneered as if trying to read their cryptic script, marking the stranger as neither friend nor foe: perhaps he was just a little confused, addled by the hot lean of the sun.

“Am I going to have to eat you?” Said the wolf calmly, his proud smile wavering when he realized that he was no doubt showing the chipped handiwork of the bald man’s staff. He snorted, and suddenly reared up on his back legs. The shape shifter let his fur slide away from his skin with a shiver; his muzzle shortened, muscles and bones slithered under the surface until they formed shoulders and knees, fingers and toes. It happened in a span of a breath and Taiaka, the man, stood upon the muddy bank of the lake and folded his arms over his bare chest. Tall and dark, he swayed with serpentine poise and weedy resolve, never taking his gawp from the bald man.

“Or is this a case of mistaken identity?” He stuck his finger in his mouth and felt at the jagged hew in the enamel, shaking his dreadlocked head in disbelief.

Valens staff made direct contact with the black wolf creature, a smile of satisfaction forming on the psychics face. Was it this simple to kill this thief? A thief was normally on guard, ready to hide in the shadows, were he took shelter from in the first place, waiting for the right moment to strike with his poisons and underhanded tactics. But this wolf was different. He did not even flinch when he saw such a strange man approaching him. Valens must have made a horrible mistake. This wolf wasn't the thief he was looking for. His foe was still hiding in the shadows some where near this lake.

“Ow, what the!?” , the wolf yelped as his staff bashed at his side. Valen's fears were affirmed as the wolf said these words. This wasn't the werewolf he was looking for. "Curses," he thought to himself, a grimace forming on his face, visibly recognizable in his sky blue eyes. "I must continue, this will only be an impediment." “What is your problem?!” , the wolf added, looking at Valens in disgust. Valens noticed the strange apparel on the wolf, little beads, small sandals around his paws. “You fool!” The wolf chirped, “You chipped my toof!” , he added, spitting out the bright white piece of tooth. “We gunna have drama? Am I going to have to eat you?" The wolf began to change, muscles and bone morphing before the psychics very eyes.

After the transformation was complete, the new, dark, tall, bare chested man said to him “Or is this a case of mistaken identity?” Valens looked curiously at the man, a strange look on his face. "Hmmmmm," He thought a loud, looking around him, the light puffy clouds sending fleeting shadows to dance of the thick grass around them. He looked at the rock near the man, which he had used to smash into the wolfs side. He used his psychic abilities to call the stone towards him, and hurdled it to the lake, where it splashed, and created a large ripple, like a carp would when it jumps in the lake on a lazy summer day.

A few moments passed of the psychic standing still, gazing at the deep ripples, his own eyes seeming to have deep ripples. Finally he spoke, and turned towards the man, " Sorry, I thought you were some one else. Its not common for village people to run into shape changers, and I just so happen to be looking for one." He looked back towards the lake, only to find the ripples to finally have died out, leaving the lake placid.

He looked back towards the man, and began to speak again. "You wouldn't happen to have seen a werewolf around here?" His eyes floated up to the tree above them, and spotted a odd looking bird, fluttering down to the patch of bushes below, to gather twigs, and place them in her nest. He looked back towards the shapechanger, his staff held loosely in his hand and added "I need to find this werewolf." He bent down and plucked a small red flower below him, and turned back towards the man, looking at him expectantly, fingering the flower between two fingers.

((Sorry so late, I had a hard week ^.^))

Taiaka’s surliness was the mark of a sociopath, but this did not come from a lack of trying. Crippling ambitions whispered glory and payment, the ends justifying the means even at the cost of a chipped tooth. The shape shifter, trained by the wilds to be humble, wondered if karma had lifted its ugly humorless head and bared its pearly fangs at him. It could be worse, he mused, petulant frills fading from his dark features. A cracked skull would have been much worse. But the stranger’s beguiled and clipped quips of pained conversation did little to settle his paranoid nerves. Still, he nodded quickly and accepted the apology regardless if the bald man had genuine intentions.

He was about to recite the backend of a counter argument when the psychic mentioned the one word that sent Taiaka’s mind into a whirling tizzy.

“Werewolf!” His pale blue eyes went wide, fear gleaming in their lucid depths leaving little room for the notion of embarrassment. Shifting his weight from foot to foot, he passed his gaze to the tree line as well, completely oblivious to the hunter’s slump of his shoulders or the tightly balled fists at his sides. Backsliding into suspicion (and unreciprocated terror), Taiaka’s entire body tensed and he brought the words from his mouth in a squeaky whisper.

“This explains why the townspeople were so cruel to me. But a werewolf ain’t no shape-changer. They are the ill-begotten children of a wicked moon.” The dark man shook his head sadly, knowing full well his bias was viral and stereotypic. He circled closer to the bald man and his lips formed a tight chalky scar. The innkeeper had mentioned gold and a weeping noble; if Taiaka’s keen ears had heard the word ‘werewolf’ added to the mix, surely he would have ran in the other direction. He’d been called a coward for much less. No flea-ridden mutt of the moon required the shape shifter’s bravery proven and while he knew his kind could not be infected by the impish curse, he knew there would always be bad blood.

The afternoon sun let dappled bars of golden light through the gritty leaves, motes drifting and dancing along the surface of the lake. He could hear the faint throb of horses’ hooves in the distance and knew the path they traveled. Night promised too many unseen variables and Taiaka only then understood the clandestine meaning of the innkeeper’s sly warning. Steeling his nerve, the shear panic of the Cursed Breed’s seemingly wont inhabitance drained from his guise and he licked a smile onto his lips.

“Is it a full moon tonight?” He asked honestly. Taiaka did not trust the ghostly wax and wane of the pitted moon; its gaudy halo always tried to hide the light from his Stars. Somewhere deep down he knew that his hatred for the lupine beasts came from the worship of such a haughty deity. Somehow it was fitting punishment that they would be chained to the calculated cycle, cursed with mortality that they could not control. Taiaka could not find the means to pity such vile constructs of unfortunate mythos.

He sucked his teeth like a spoiled brat and rubbed at his Adam’s apple as if debating the validity of his next statement. Eye-shine touched the bowed ribbon of flora between the bald man’s fingers and he shrugged casually.

“I’ll help you find your werewolf. Even though you throw rocks first and ask questions later.” Taiaka reached up and ran his thumb over the wheal swelling just below his floating rib.

“But only because I hate werewolves more than I like you.” The shape shifter brought two dark spindly fingers to the center of his chest and squared his shoulders.

“I am Taiaka of the Empty Hand, Servant of the Stars. And I will have a share in the accursed gold if we can find our quarry. I will even be the bait.” The chuckled he voiced was laced in furtive levity, an ominous joke that left him with the image of a shape shifter dressed as a rather large chicken.