* * *
"This is so
wrong!" Purrfect Scrapper caterwauled. "Werewolves don't eat
asparagus."
"And what data are you
basing this on?" Purrfect Archer asked archly. "Wolves, while
technically carnivores, do have a digestive system that can handle certain vegetables."
"It's just
wrong!" The cat-girl scrapper continued. "Okay, we have one werewolf
eating asparagus, he's probably an exception to the rule. An abomination to the rule."
"Abomination? That's a little rough isn't it." Archer noted, trying to hold back a
laugh.
"Have you been paying
attention?" Scrapper asked. "For the last three days it has been the
same. He rolls into the base like he owns it, boils up a huge batch of asparagus, chomps it down with
relish."
"With garlic butter and a
few pickled onions, but your point is taken."
"And then drinks from the
fire-hose until his back teeth are floating and then heads off to the forests of Striga."
"And?"
"You haven't been to
Striga recently. Have you?" Scrapper screwed up her face in a disgusted
look. I think damn near every war wolf in paragon is there right now. All of
them trying to outdo each other in ensuring that every single tree is marked. I used to think that sewer missions,
Proteans and exploding Vahz corpses were the most disgusting thing in paragon. We have a new champion by
knockout."
"I'll take your word
for it." Purrfect Archer said. "But that doesn't mean he doesn't have a plan. Aren't you even a bit curious?"
"Drowning Striga in
asparagus tainted wolf widdle is not a plan! It's a fetish." Scrapper said.
"And I don't need to know; if it is really interesting, I'll read it about in the papers after the fact, and with a clothespin
handy."
* * *
Thibor grunted deliberately as
he heaved the last shovel full of earth out of the grave. It was a good place for a grave. Just at the edge of the woods, at the bottom of a slight depression. Almost like being on
the floor of a natural amphitheatre; three of the four quarters covered in thick woods. He jumped out of the grave and
scented the air. They had been assembling for the better part of an hour; the treeline was crawling with war wolves;
with more than a few Council Vampires thrown in four good measure. The air was heavy with the doggy scent, and the
unmistakable tang of urine, fresh and stale. He had been spending a great deal of time in this area, and the others had
added considerably to his own efforts. The splatter of drops of liquids still continued, almost like rain. Well that is if clouds had a mostly carnivorous diet and access to a lot of salt.
"Let me guess. You are digging my grave." The voice was deep, and had the slightest flavor of Italy
to it. It was clear, with the vowels shaped properly. Not the easiest thing to
do with a wolf's muzzle.
"No is for
me." Thibor smiled. The area was rapidly filling with war wolves, but you
couldn't miss the speaker. Thibor was used to having the advantage of height, but that was not the case
here. The War Wolf stood over nine feet tall and was clad in a perfectly tailored Council uniform, rows of decorations
hanging on the broad chest. "Has finally come out to meet territorial challenge?"
"You must think I am an
idiot." The wolf boomed.
"Well is prerequisite for
Council membership." Thibor noted. "Along with fondness for leather,
and feelings of inadequacy."
"My soldiers do not follow
me out of some sick, primitive, pack loyalty." The war wolf continued as if Thibor had not spoken. "We are not simple animals. We are an army.
An army that will tear you to pieces. You are strong, but even you are no match for all of us!"
"Am supposed to be feeling
threatened?" Thibor asked. "Is not surprising to find is just
Chihuahua pretending to be wolf. Is not brave enough to fight own battles."
The war wolves around him clustered even closer.
"Hah!" The bark of laughter was cutting; scorn dripped from every syllable. "You are not
worthy of my claws. Your plan to lure me into single combat was to pee on trees?
Truly IST must be the bailiwick of brilliant tacticians to have produced you. Even if I thought you an equal, I
would not face you in single combat. We do not play games of individuals, it is the mighty force of us combined that
shall crush you."
"Is not thinking pissing
contest was good plan?" Thibor's brow fell. "Am sorry to hear
that. Has taken me hours. Is not easy.
Is hard work getting minions to be obsessed with own personal vintage, so is them keeping pissing on same spot, further hiding scent of buried
explosives."
"What?" The giant war wolf goggled, as Thibor fell forward into the open grave. He could see the
flash of the detonator in the IST werewolf's hand and the wolfish grin that threatened to split his face.
The explosion was magnificent.
He had placed the C4 charges all through the area. Thibor closed his eyes, covered his ears and opened his mouth. Even protected against the
worst of the blast he felt like he had been slapped by Jack in Irons. It was one of the nice things about planning
strategy against Council Warwolves and Vampires; they regenerated, and it did take quite a bit to actually kill them.
It meant that he could take any idea of restraint, ball it up, and casually toss it over his shoulder. He stood up,
taking a moment to shake off the earth and debris that covered his fur. The area was an abattoir of wolves, torn and
ripped by explosions, most were whining helplessly, but some still managed to keep their feet.
"You
bastardo!" The War Wolf commander's uniform was shredded, but he remained upright and
mobile.
"No. That was just mean." Thibor brandished another detonator as he dropped back down out
of the line of fire. "This is work of utter bastard."
Explosives are an art form, and
while many people claim to be masters of that art, most could not easily count to ten without removing their shoes or their pants. Thibor was not a master, but he could count to ten without toes or tadger, and was quite capable of a good show that would, while
not getting genius reviews from critics, be well recommended. The second set of explosives were modified Bouncing Betty
mines, that leapt some sixteen feet into the air before detonation. The first blast had encouraged his foes to hit the
ground. The second blast rained down into the concave area, a combination of steel ball bearings and splinters from the
shattered upper branches of trees. Thibor was up and moving before the last thunderous peal of the blast was
finished. The only one still standing was the War Wolf commander, and he was not making a particularly good show up
it. Thibor slammed into him with a waist level tackle, driving him back into the ground. Straddling him, Thibor rained a series of punches down onto the war wolf's head, driving it into the torn up turf until the
neck was in danger of snapping. He flipped to his feet grabbed an ankle and yanked hard, ripping the commander from the
ground and then slamming him face down again and again. Right to left then left to right.
"Say it!" Thibor roared. He contemptuously tossed the commander at his feet. The huge wolf cowed, whimpering deep in his chest. He rolled onto his back and displayed
his throat.
"Striga
yours." The commander managed.
"No shit. Is having the
right to remain silent. If is giving any more trouble, is going to throw you to Bob Barker." Thibor flipped the Commander over, cuffed him efficiently and heaved him onto his shoulder.
Is Longbow coming for rest of them."
"This is so
wrong!" Purrfect Scrapper caterwauled. "Werewolves don't eat
asparagus."
"And what data are you
basing this on?" Purrfect Archer asked archly. "Wolves, while
technically carnivores, do have a digestive system that can handle certain vegetables."
"It's just
wrong!" The cat-girl scrapper continued. "Okay, we have one werewolf
eating asparagus, he's probably an exception to the rule. An abomination to the rule."
"Abomination? That's a little rough isn't it." Archer noted, trying to hold back a
laugh.
"Have you been paying
attention?" Scrapper asked. "For the last three days it has been the
same. He rolls into the base like he owns it, boils up a huge batch of asparagus, chomps it down with
relish."
"With garlic butter and a
few pickled onions, but your point is taken."
"And then drinks from the
fire-hose until his back teeth are floating and then heads off to the forests of Striga."
"And?"
"You haven't been to
Striga recently. Have you?" Scrapper screwed up her face in a disgusted
look. I think damn near every war wolf in paragon is there right now. All of
them trying to outdo each other in ensuring that every single tree is marked. I used to think that sewer missions,
Proteans and exploding Vahz corpses were the most disgusting thing in paragon. We have a new champion by
knockout."
"I'll take your word
for it." Purrfect Archer said. "But that doesn't mean he doesn't have a plan. Aren't you even a bit curious?"
"Drowning Striga in
asparagus tainted wolf widdle is not a plan! It's a fetish." Scrapper said.
"And I don't need to know; if it is really interesting, I'll read it about in the papers after the fact, and with a clothespin
handy."
* * *
Thibor grunted deliberately as
he heaved the last shovel full of earth out of the grave. It was a good place for a grave. Just at the edge of the woods, at the bottom of a slight depression. Almost like being on
the floor of a natural amphitheatre; three of the four quarters covered in thick woods. He jumped out of the grave and
scented the air. They had been assembling for the better part of an hour; the treeline was crawling with war wolves;
with more than a few Council Vampires thrown in four good measure. The air was heavy with the doggy scent, and the
unmistakable tang of urine, fresh and stale. He had been spending a great deal of time in this area, and the others had
added considerably to his own efforts. The splatter of drops of liquids still continued, almost like rain. Well that is if clouds had a mostly carnivorous diet and access to a lot of salt.
"Let me guess. You are digging my grave." The voice was deep, and had the slightest flavor of Italy
to it. It was clear, with the vowels shaped properly. Not the easiest thing to
do with a wolf's muzzle.
"No is for
me." Thibor smiled. The area was rapidly filling with war wolves, but you
couldn't miss the speaker. Thibor was used to having the advantage of height, but that was not the case
here. The War Wolf stood over nine feet tall and was clad in a perfectly tailored Council uniform, rows of decorations
hanging on the broad chest. "Has finally come out to meet territorial challenge?"
"You must think I am an
idiot." The wolf boomed.
"Well is prerequisite for
Council membership." Thibor noted. "Along with fondness for leather,
and feelings of inadequacy."
"My soldiers do not follow
me out of some sick, primitive, pack loyalty." The war wolf continued as if Thibor had not spoken. "We are not simple animals. We are an army.
An army that will tear you to pieces. You are strong, but even you are no match for all of us!"
"Am supposed to be feeling
threatened?" Thibor asked. "Is not surprising to find is just
Chihuahua pretending to be wolf. Is not brave enough to fight own battles."
The war wolves around him clustered even closer.
"Hah!" The bark of laughter was cutting; scorn dripped from every syllable. "You are not
worthy of my claws. Your plan to lure me into single combat was to pee on trees?
Truly IST must be the bailiwick of brilliant tacticians to have produced you. Even if I thought you an equal, I
would not face you in single combat. We do not play games of individuals, it is the mighty force of us combined that
shall crush you."
"Is not thinking pissing
contest was good plan?" Thibor's brow fell. "Am sorry to hear
that. Has taken me hours. Is not easy.
Is hard work getting minions to be obsessed with own personal vintage, so is them keeping pissing on same spot, further hiding scent of buried
explosives."
"What?" The giant war wolf goggled, as Thibor fell forward into the open grave. He could see the
flash of the detonator in the IST werewolf's hand and the wolfish grin that threatened to split his face.
The explosion was magnificent.
He had placed the C4 charges all through the area. Thibor closed his eyes, covered his ears and opened his mouth. Even protected against the
worst of the blast he felt like he had been slapped by Jack in Irons. It was one of the nice things about planning
strategy against Council Warwolves and Vampires; they regenerated, and it did take quite a bit to actually kill them.
It meant that he could take any idea of restraint, ball it up, and casually toss it over his shoulder. He stood up,
taking a moment to shake off the earth and debris that covered his fur. The area was an abattoir of wolves, torn and
ripped by explosions, most were whining helplessly, but some still managed to keep their feet.
"You
bastardo!" The War Wolf commander's uniform was shredded, but he remained upright and
mobile.
"No. That was just mean." Thibor brandished another detonator as he dropped back down out
of the line of fire. "This is work of utter bastard."
Explosives are an art form, and
while many people claim to be masters of that art, most could not easily count to ten without removing their shoes or their pants. Thibor was not a master, but he could count to ten without toes or tadger, and was quite capable of a good show that would, while
not getting genius reviews from critics, be well recommended. The second set of explosives were modified Bouncing Betty
mines, that leapt some sixteen feet into the air before detonation. The first blast had encouraged his foes to hit the
ground. The second blast rained down into the concave area, a combination of steel ball bearings and splinters from the
shattered upper branches of trees. Thibor was up and moving before the last thunderous peal of the blast was
finished. The only one still standing was the War Wolf commander, and he was not making a particularly good show up
it. Thibor slammed into him with a waist level tackle, driving him back into the ground. Straddling him, Thibor rained a series of punches down onto the war wolf's head, driving it into the torn up turf until the
neck was in danger of snapping. He flipped to his feet grabbed an ankle and yanked hard, ripping the commander from the
ground and then slamming him face down again and again. Right to left then left to right.
"Say it!" Thibor roared. He contemptuously tossed the commander at his feet. The huge wolf cowed, whimpering deep in his chest. He rolled onto his back and displayed
his throat.
"Striga
yours." The commander managed.
"No shit. Is having the
right to remain silent. If is giving any more trouble, is going to throw you to Bob Barker." Thibor flipped the Commander over, cuffed him efficiently and heaved him onto his shoulder.
Is Longbow coming for rest of them."