2019-01-01 The Troll Hunt
It is not all fun and relaxation when Sigryd visits family, nor as Theron recovers. The snow has been heavier than usual, the cold brisk and harsh even for here. Worse, there is a kinfolk missing. Sigryd knew the man, Solveig Erikson. A good man, if a bit ugly and lacking in social graces but he doesnt deserve whatever may have happaned to him.
"All hands on deck...sweeping patrols through the bawn. Solveig wont make it in this cold long before he freezes to death." he grunts, "Guest now or not, you know the territory I expect you out as well." he grunts to Sigryd.
Sigryd's already pulling on a coat. "I'm still family Uncle," she tells Erik. "You don't get rid of me that easily, you just used me to grab another kinfolk is all." Such insolence, but she's also picked up one of the go bags that Erik insists all the houses keep. "I'll take the northeast," she volunteers, toward the hills away from the fjord.
A nod given, and then the assignments for the other garou are handed out. "Howls every hour, updates on if you find anything. It could be natural, trapped in the cold...or it could be..." he doesnt say. The Warder shifting to his lupus form to head out on his own patrol through the snow.
Sigryd tugs at Theron's beard and kisses him. "Stay here and heal," she tells him. "I'll be back in a bit." She's out the door, and trotting through the snow the direction she said she'd go. Once away from the house a few hundred meters Sigryd stops and sniffs at the air to see if she can pick up any sort of a scent before going on.
You catch the scent of something, hard to tell if it is of anything related to your search, but its a start. There is afterall, alot of ground to cover.
Sigryd nods to herself, and then starts to move again, a steady jog that she can keep up for a long long time. She slows to a walk every minute or so to test the air again, and listen.
Its hard to hear anything in that wind and with that snow, but she is pretty sure she is on the right track. The further away from the sept however she gets the worse the weather is getting. It almost doesnt even seem natural the dark cold.
And then it happens, she completely loses the scent in the cold winter winds...
Sigryd stops and mutters a profanity under her breath. She starts a slow circle to try and pick the scent up again, walking about a 100 meter diameter ring, going slow, listening and looking but not particularly hopeful.
Well it works, not only does she catch the scent she found before but she also catches the scent of blood. The coppery salt smell is unmistakable even in the snow.
Sigryd takes a minute to make sure she's on the scent after losing it, walking slowly and seeing if she can see any blood on the snow.
No blood, not seen, but now thst you have focused in on it there is no mistaking it ahead of you, through the opening in the trees.
Sigryd drops the backpack and changes, shifting into the enormous white and grey direwolf. Change complete she shakes, and stands. Dapplgrim points her muzzle to the new moon and howls. //Solveig. Scent of blood// She picks up the pack in her teeth, and continues to trot along in the wolfish warform. There's blood. She slows as she approaches the opening in the trees, testing the air again.
There is no howl returned, god damn snow and wind, did it get out? Only time will tell. As she approaches through the forest she sees it, A powerful body, clothes ripped that look vaguely familiar, skin as white as frost. No mistaking the vision of a Snow Troll eating a deer, the blood running down its alabastar skin as clear as can be.
Dapplegrim sets the pack down as quietly as she can and starts to stalk up on the troll. From behind...like a wolf. Slash the hamstrings, take it down and worry it until its bled out or she can get at its jugular. slowly, quietly...
The direwolf closes one step at a time, silent, head down to within a few paces of the snow troll. The last few paces she covers at a rush, jaws latching onto the troll's right leg, ripping at the hamstring. Dapplegrim spins on the other side, ready to rush back in....
The troll howls out in anger and pain, fighting it off it turns, face fillled with rage as it looks to fight off the attacker.
The troll rises, howling in pain as it lashes out at the garou. Powerful ice covered fingers work like claws to rip into flesh.
By now the howls in the distance can be heard getting closer. It would seem her howl went through afterall.
Dapplegrim is hurt by the troll's claws that rake down her side, smashing ribs and gouging deep. She lunges in with a snarl, bite bite bite, trying for a lethal hold on the troll, tearing at throat and belly and drawing blood but not enough.
The troll is strong, hardy and thick skinned. But it has taken massive amounts of damage, blood pouring out of it and staining the white snow. When he slashes with those ice made claws, the Snow Troll howls in pain from the hamstring wound and misses.
Dapplegrim twists a little and then lunges, taking advantage of the troll's crippled leg, she gets hold of its throat in her jaw. As she pushes through the troll, Dapplegrim twists, and there's the loud crack of the troll's spine snapping as the two fall. Not content with that the direwolf closes her jaws and tears, ripping the troll's throat out.
A low growl, rumbling from deep in her chest, Dapplegrim lets go of the troll and steps away. She huffs at the dead thing, and starts to quarter again, slowly as her body heals still from the troll's claws, trying to pick up the trail of Solvieg's scent.
The rest of the patrols arrive just as she takes the killing blow. A growl of rage by some, howls of approval by others. The Snow Troll falls in the snow and the change is already visible, the body as if still animated, shakes and wracks. The mad wylding canibal spirit breaking from its host, a cold howl of winter wind and rage as it rips a tear in the gauntlet, the Troll spirit disappearing into the umbra.
In the snow, the corpse of the Troll? Solvieg's twisted and dead body in its place...
Dapplegrim growls, head lowering as the spirit leaves and Solvieg's twisted body is left behind. She lifts her head and howls, rage at the twisted spirit, grief at the loss of the man.
