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[Mairsil]

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Thinking back, it felt as though the Wolf King had existed for a hundred years and more.

This of course was an exaggeration, but it highlighted how long it had been since he traveled with nothing but such purpose of his own.

These thoughts were by no means uncomfortable, but what troubled him was discerning where he needed to go.

Once again Myrddin was searching for Jonathan Strathmore, and Myrddin had hunted this man for a long, long time.

He was good at not being found, to say the least.


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Faded memories of hunts long past instantly flooded into mind.


Trinsic..

A much younger Myrddin, the War Master of his Mother's Umbran Army, stood eager and arrogant before his troops.
His long white hair was pulled into a tight braid hanging down his back, a kryss and a shield at the ready in his firm grip.

He joked, then, as he prepared his fellow soldiers for the mission at hand.
Jonathan Strathmore was a newer problem in his life, and he had struck young Nyxanna with a curse.

An Ab'Arawn would not stand for such actions against family, and Myrddin was confident it would be a matter of hours before he'd tracked back every source Strahtmore had ever made the mistake of using.

The servants of his enemy would lead him to this traitor...and when he found him he would die.


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Britain...


Months and years after the War Master searched for Strathmore in Trinsic, he was closer than he'd ever been.

This time it was not the ab'Arawn that underestimated his enemy, but the Strathmore.

Previous successes against Myrddin's family had made Strathmore arrogant and bold, so much so that he'd invited the Umbrans themselves to a wedding..a wedding that was designed to be of great insult, this time against Myrddin's wife.

Myrddin did not hesitate to close the distance and strike against Jonathan with all of his anger.
Victory burned in his eyes as an upward swing of his sword sliced through flesh and bone, rending hand clean from body...

But Myrddin was too eager, and the very hand he'd severed fell to the ground, bringing to life the fiery concoction grasped within.
The explosion that followed ruined one of Myrddin's eyes and sent him reeling, the one handed Strathmore escaped.


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In place of Umbra's War Master was Stonegate's Wolf King.

Arrogance had been replaced by confidence.

His long hair was no longer bound.

Shield and sword were replaced by axe.


A warrior moved with ease through the woods, slow and steady as he searched these memories for every possible clue they could contain.

So far not one memory had given him direction, but yet he moved forward and his destination seemed assured.

A twisted branding upon the flesh of his arm pulsed to life, heat burning into his mind the image of the oldest memory yet.

Faded by time but the words crystal clear.

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Umbra..the Wedding

The Matriarch and his friend the scribe performed the spell and spoke the words... a silver cord blazed from arm to arm, entwining the thorn and the fang.

They were bound.

In this binding, Myrddin would bleed.

In this binding, Myrddin would suffer.

And in this binding, a tie was created that could not be severed.


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Myrddin would find his way.

Jonathan could hide himself...but the Fang searched for the Thorn...
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"You see I can not be forsaken, because I'm not the only one. We walk amongst you, beating, r#ping, must we hide from everyone?" - Jon Davis