Rusolf
The air was dark, cold and musky. The stars were brightly lit and twinkling, a pleasant sight despite the reaction to their presence below, casting dark shadows amongst the trees. The moon was full; however, this large beast’s appetite was not. It stalked silently through the dusk, looking for it's next supper. A fortnight ago it's urge was fulfilled by the juicy, mead-stained blood of a goblin, and the night before that it's victim was a wandering mine dwarf who had gotten itself lost in the Mooncrest Woods.
The beast's large paws sent tremors through the ground as it lurched forwards, sprinting towards a dimly lit manor. The large, hair-covered beast leaped high into the night sky, landing on a crudely built balcony on the second floor of the mansion. A humungous wooden door loomed in front of the beast. It's handle was in the shape of a ferocious looking canine. He reached his long, beefy fingers towards the handle, grasping it tightly and pulling on it, the door creaking to life as it swung effortlessly away from the beast.
The room that was revealed behind the door was proportionally miniscule compared to the huge mass of the mansion. It was dull and empty, besides the harmless bats hanging carelessly from the rafters, and an almost antique looking dusty carpet laid out on the floor. His nostrils flared, and he took in the scent of goblin blood from up ahead. The beast's lumbering posture crept towards the far wall, and his sharp eyes caught sight of a single, flickering candle flame that could be seen through a rugged hole in the wall. Taking another brave step forwards, he moved closer towards the scent of his next kill, when suddenly the rug fell into the room below, from under his massive weight the beast collapsed with the rug. The lycanthrope was quickly ensnared in a silver-lined net that hung from the ceiling below the hole, and the werewolf began to squirm and struggle violently, trying to escape from the strong hold of the trap.
Below the net, there was a tranquil scene of a fireplace and end table. A tall, slender man was calmly sitting in an old, velvet armchair; completely unphased by the commotion from above. Showcases of the mysterious man's past kills hung from the walls; a thick pelt of a shockgrove bear, the yellowed teeth of a dwarven cat, the ferocious-looking head of an arctic lion, and the polished horns of a Bronzetail.
The chirping and whistling of birds could be heard from the rafters above, as the morning sun broke over the horizon. Where the beast had been captured the previous night lay a man in tattered robes, a seemingly lifeless hand clinging onto the strong ropes of the net. The man's skin tone was tanned, and mixed with dirt. He had a very scruffy look to him; he obviously hadn't shaved for several days. However, the most distinguishing feature this man possessed, was his eyes. The figure moved, stirring slightly as his eyes flashed open. The black pearls that gazed into the room below through the cracks in the floorboard had no pupils; only darkness. The thin, slender man from the armchair walked into the room with a steaming cocoa brew in hand, looking up nonchalantly at thetrapped man.
The pale man spoke softly, yet he had a strangely sharp undertone to his voice.
"Happy hunting?"
"Not at all, Xavier. The forest creatures seemed to have discovered my cycle, and choose to remain inside when the moon is full.”
"We will find our food, Rusolf. Do not fret.”
Taking another sip of his cocoa, the man looked over as a small Goblin rushed in, wearing nothing but a blood-stained bandana. The nimble creature climbed up to the rafters and cut Rusolf down, and he landed hard on the floor.
"Thanks, Skrum.” Rusolf grunted, as he rubbed the arm that had broken his fall.
Xavier, Skrum and Rusolf sat in the living quarters; Xavier with his cocoa, Skrum and Rusolf happily drank their mead.
"So who’s gonna reset my trap this time?” Rusolf chuckled.
Blood crazed when in Lycan form
Killed by Gabriella while he saved Belle.
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