In Progress Lunalunem Bellum

[Chaon]

Prologue: Awaiting Death

A dark form sat in his cold cell, his breath puffing out from his muzzle and appearing before his eyes, then fading into the night lit only by the light of the full moon. The interrogation room had not been much warmer, but the presence of the enemy made him sweat profusely, stiffening his silvery-grey fur as it froze. The strengthened steel bars cast dark shadows that contrasted the gravel that tore at his feet. A simple method of torture that did not seem terrible at first, but after half a year of pacing with nothing to cover your feet but a thin layer of fur, the pain was nearly unbearable. His feet had been cut deeply hundreds, possibly thousands of times, causing scars to cover the soles of his feet, and staining his fur a crimson that would never wask away. Had the shadow's Father seen him like this, he would say something like, "That's what you get for getting caught." Nothing was ever good enough for his Father. He looked down at the scars on his hands, remembering all the times the vampires would torture him by whipping his back, causing his hands to clench in pain. He would snarl viciously, but make no move to counter the attack. Five vampire Elites lined the edge of the torture chamber, and very few could take them down alone. He knew their names as well as he knew his own. Isam, Solan, Delsium, Oenetta, Kaelum. Each one as deadly as the next; together, an unstoppable force. If he had attacked, he would be dead within seconds. He had nearly tried a few times before, before reminding himself that he was not the only one being tortured for information. He was worth more alive, but no one would would miss him if he died. Especially not Oenetta. He had irritated and angered her during many interrogations, and the last had been no exception.

"Last chance, lycan. Refuse us once more, and you will be executed tomorrow." The shadow stared intently into her eyes, and growled softly. She sighed, and then chuckled, secretly loathing his strength. "I would say 'See you next time', but unfortunately for you, lycan, there won't be a next time." Then she got up, turned, and left the room, laughing hysterically as she left.

As she reached the door, she heard the shadow mutter, "Perhaps not in this life Oenetta." She stopped laughing, and scowled. The comment unnerved her, as the shadow knew it would. He smiled, nearly laughing himslef, as he was led back to his cell.

It had been a few hours since then, and the smile had died on his lips as the joke grew stale. He would die the next day, but he had not given in despite half a year of torture, malnurishment, and starvation. He could not help but feel proud of himself. But along with that sense of pride came also a sense that was mixture of curiosity and regret. Would they still have killed him if they had given them information, would they have let him go, or would they have kept him as a pet and a traitor for the rest of his life? He could do nothing now, but wonder.

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I would like to make one thing clear in this story. The word lycan will only be spoken by the vampires, and that is because it is an insult.

Were - wolf ~~~ Ly - can
~|~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~|~
~v~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~v~
Vir~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ canis
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ | ~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ v ~
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ dog

The above diagram shows that the prefix "were" comes from the latin word vir (weer) which means man. The term werewolf literally means man-wolf. The word lycan, however is an insult because the suffix "can" comes from the latin word canis, meaning dog. No wolf EVER wants to be called a dog. The proper latin term for wolf would be "lykos".

Also, C+CC please!

 

[Sandstone-Shadow]

Since it's short, I'm going to quote it and put my comments in bold. =)

A dark form sat in his cold cell, his breath puffing out from his muzzle and appearing before his eyes, then fading into the night lit only by the light of the full moon. The interrogation room had not been much warmer, but the presence of the enemy made him sweat profusely, stiffening his silvery-grey fur as it froze. The strengthened steel bars cast dark shadows that contrasted the gravel that tore at his feet. A simple method of torture that did not seem terrible at first, but after half a year of pacing with nothing to cover your feet but a thin layer of fur, the pain was nearly unbearable. His feet had been cut deeply hundreds, possibly thousands, of times, causing scars to cover the soles of his feet, and staining his fur a crimson that would never wash away. Had the shadow's Father seen him like this, he would say something like, "That's what you get for getting caught." Nothing was ever good enough for his Father. His fists clasped at his waist, his claws stinging his palms by re-opening old wounds made by the same motion many times over as he was lashed on the back. This sentence is a little confusing; now that I read it over, I'm guessing that it means that as he's lashed, he digs his nails into his palms, and the cuts on his palms are what he's reopening. But this isn't clear; at first, I thought you meant he was somehow using his claws to open wounds on his back from lashing. Might want to try rewording that sentence. He would snarl viciously, but make no move to counter the attack. Five elites lined the edge of the torture chamber, and very few could take them down alone. Very few who? Who's "them"? This is a little too ambiguous. He knew their names as well as he knew his own. Isam, Solan, Delsium, Oenetta, Kaelum. Each one as deadly as the next; together, an unstoppable force. If he had attacked, he would be dead within seconds. There should probably be some kind of transition here. It jumps very quickly from these five to him being interrogated. He still remembered the words of his last interrogator, Oenetta.

"Last chance, lycan. Refuse us once more, and you will be executed tomorrow." The shadow stared intently into her eyes, and growled softly. She sighed, and then chuckled, secretly loathing his strength. "I would say 'See you next time', but unfortunately for you, lycan, there won't be a next time." Then she got up, turned, and left the room, laughing hysterically as she left.

As she reached the door, she heard the shadow mutter, "Perhaps not in this life Oenetta." She stopped laughing, and scowled. The comment unnerved her, as the shadow knew it would. He smiled, nearly laughing himself, as he was led back to his cell.

It had been a few hours since then, and the smile had died on his lips as the joke grew stale. He would die the next day, but he had not given in despite half a year of torture, malnourishment, and starvation. He could not help but feel proud of himself. But along with that sense of pride came also a sense that was mixture of curiosity and regret. Would they still have killed him if they had given them information, would they have let him go, or would they have kept him as a pet and a traitor for the rest of his life? He could do nothing now, but wonder.

So far this is interesting. There are a few awkward sentences here and there; you might want to read through it and see if you can fix some of them up, and perhaps take out a little bit of the ambiguity; ambiguity works well for making readers wonder, but too much of it and you'll lose them. Also, what you wrote about the word "lycan" would work better incorporated into the story. Have him flinch, perhaps, when he's called "lycan". This could be followed up with him saying or thinking that the proper term is "lykos". I'm interested to see what this guy did and how he ended up here. =)

 

[Chaon]

Thanks! I've cleaned things up a bit, though the one sentence was too hard to change, so I just made him look at the scars instead of re-opening the wounds. Also, in the future I will make it clear that lycan is an insult in the story, but this particular werewolf has been called it so many times in the past six months that he's grown used to it.

 

[Chaon]

Chapter 1: The Pit

The shadow must have dozed off, because the next thing he felt was a vampire kicking him hard in the side. He toppled to the floor, clutching his side and groaning. He looked up, and said, "Hello Oenetta." The vampire smiled viciously.

"Do you know what today is, lycan?" Oenetta asked giddily. "Today you die!" she shouted, then began hopping up and down and clapping joyously, as if she had just received a gift. She laughed as she did so, and the chilling sounds echoed around the empty cell. The shadow got to his knees, and begged sarcastically.

"Oh, please don't kill me. I've only known this day would come for six months. Give me some more time!" Then he bowed and pretended to sob, before looking up quickly and snarling. Oenetta frowned as he begged, sneered as he sobbed, and gave him a good knock on the head when he snarled. He flew across the cell, slamming into the other wall. He looked up and smiled, before weakly saying, "Oh, I'm sorry. Did I spoil your fun?"
He chuckled, and got to his feet. "Did you merely come to gloat, or are you taking me to the Pit?" he asked.

The Pit was where all werewolf spies were executed, and it was exactly what it's name suggested. It was a giant hole in the ground lined with stone. There were cracks and crevices made purposely in the walls for spectators to watch from. A werewolf was tied to a steel pole in the middle of the Pit with steel chains, then wild, hungry animals were set loose to eat the werewolf in question alive. He had never seen it happen, but apparently it was never pleasant. If the executioner was in the mood for some irony, they would let ravenous wolves loose to devour their half-cousins.

Oenetta smiled. "Well if you're so eager to go, then I guess you've made my choice for me." She twisted his arm behind his back, and lead him out of the cell. They walked down a narrow hallway containing cells just like his full of other werewolves. He looked down on them, seeing scars similar to his own. His pain would be over soon, but their's was only just beginning. He felt sad for them, and wished he could speak with one of them, if only for a minute, and tell them that no matter what happens, not to give in, or lose hope. One of them looked to the side, as if hearing his thoughts, and stared into his eyes with its own. He could see the physical and emotional pain, but could do nothing for it. He looked ahead and continued walking.

As the hallway ended they came to a small room with two doors, one on each side. Oenetta lead him to the left, and opened the door with a rusty iron key. Then he walked down a seemingly endless set of stairs, and before him, the door to the pit stood, and he took a deep breath.

This was it. He was going to die now. He wasn't quite sure why this hadn't affected him much until now, but he was constantly blinking tears from his eyes. Oenetta smelled the salt and chuckled. "Don't cry lycan, it will all be over soon." She said, and pushed open the door. She knew how right she was.

 

[Chaon]

Chapter 2: Reinforcements

The Pit was quiet, but the shadow could feel the eyes watching him. Hundreds of them staring intently at his as he was lead to the pole at the center of the hole. He looked around, seeing the eyes for the first time since he had entered the hole. All glowed red in the darkness of the rooms they sat in. Oenetta was chuckling softly in his ear, reminding him that he was alone. She tied his hands with standard steel chains around the pole behind his back. Then she did something he did not expect. She kissed him on the forehead, and said, "Live well werewolf. We will meet again." She winked at him, then turned and left the pit. He was stunned, and did not reply, and for a second thought that she had been kind to him for once. Then he realized that she was playing with him, giving him false hope. His head lowered, and he waited for her to release the animals, but something caught his eye. He turned it to the left, and saw among the hundreds of pairs of red eyes, a single pair of yellow, werewolven eyes. The shadow's eyes widened, and the pair of yellow eyes winked at him, just as Oenetta had.

He was about to say something, but he held his tongue. No other vampire knew there was a werewolf watching, and he'd rather not spoil the surprise. No other vampire except, he suspected, Oenetta. She was a traitor and a spy. The shadow continued to cry, but now out of joy. A horn sounded, and the sound of howling came from a large square cut in the stone that was opening slowly. Wolves, he thought. He laughed softly at the irony of it.

Just then, the crevice he had seen the yellow eyes in began to widen as well, and then shattered. Out stepped a were wolf dressed in a ragged black cloak, and torn black jeans. He wore no shirt, but wore a grin on his face. His fur was neat and dark brown, unlike the shadow's own silvery grey fur, which fell in tangled locks. The cloaked werewolf chuckled. "Been getting yourself into trouble again, Brother? Why is it always me who saves you?"