Stockpiling Souls [Atticus]

[Rigby "Echo" O'Gready]

April 24, 1996
Plymouth, England

Echo had an audience today for the first time in quite a while, maybe more than a month. It was hardly a surprise when it did happen, though. The pack loved to show her off - their little secret weapon. Sure, it irked her a little to think that she was nothing more than a tool to the majority of those around her, but what could she do? This was her life, where she lived, how she lived. She was a prisoner and she did what was necessary to keep her captors happy with her.

The crowd itself was another pack that was passing through, an important one from what Echo could tell. She was getting rather good at figuring out packs just by looking. It came with living among them for well over a century. They stood at the back of the room, headphones over their ears to keep from being compelled themselves. Echo could feel their eyes on her back as she approached her subject.

Today's job was a tough old sorcerer, thick in the jaw and thin in the body. He sat quietly in his chair, arms and legs lashed in place, jaw clenched shut as if his resolution might keep him from spilling secrets like tears from a babe. Echo almost pitied him, but kept her distance mentally. To her, this was another job, another chance to prove herself worthy and useful to her masters and their guests - to prove she was the best. And she was.

She set the knife across his lap gingerly, just out of his reach, then crouched before him, a hand on each knee. "You're going to tell me everything," she murmured softly. He only clamped his teeth tighter together. Echo's fingers stroked lightly over the bloodstained cotton of his pants. She sighed. She sang.

Tell me where they are, my dear.
Are they near or far from here?
Your friends, you'll tell us their location
Following my invocation.

The rhyming and verse wasn't necessary, but she'd been trained in classical siren song as a child, and her mother had embraced the old traditions.

The secrets began to tumble out, precise places spoken in a dreamy tone. His eyes were glazed, staring into hers.

How many will we find, my friend?
How many lives shall we end?
Are their ranks weak or strong?
Speak of what could go wrong.

As he spoke, Echo stood and retrieved a ledger from the table beside him, jotting down the relevant information. They could use a voice recorder now, but after so many years of this, she was rather in the habit of just writing it all.

After she had all of the information she needed, the young siren turned to her subject once more. With the knife she'd set in his lap, she cut the ropes on one of his arms. Holding the knife forward, she murmured a last song, Take the knife, slit your throat.

She stepped back just in time to avoid the blood splatter.

[/size][/color][/font]

Outfit

[/b] – Clicky~
Notes[/b] – ---[/i]
Tagged[/b] – atti[/i]
Song[/b] – O Death - old slave song[/i]
Credit[/b] – Desty~![/size][/center]

[atticus killian innominata]

The Castillo pack had been split into four sectors. The Alpha led one up in the North of England whereas each of his three pups led the others. His eldest son- Lucius- to Maine, America, his second eldest and only daughter- Severina- to Minnesota, America, his second eldest son- Roman- had been sent to Northern Ireland and his youngest- Atticus-had been sent here, down south of England to Plymouth.
Although only nineteen, Atticus was already proving himself to be an excellent soldier in the current race war. Of course, at first, those he was given command of found it difficult to obey someone of such a young age- especially the much older wolves- but it seemed that after a few successful battles led by the youngest son of the Alpha, they soon came to show another level of respect towards Atticus.

Atticus and five of his soldiers had recently fought with another pack- the commanding pack of this region- against a group of sorcerers. It was a small, short battle that ended not long after it started but that did not mean that they escaped without any losses or heavy wounds. Out of the ten wolves that fought, two died. One was killed instantly when hit by the killing curse. A wolf Atticus wasn’t entirely familiar with because it wasn’t a member of his own pack but he it still angered him…and the second wolf. The second wolf was called Freya. She was forty two, her two sisters and brothers were among his sect too, a brilliant fighter…and a mother of two. She was due to be sent home in two days so she could be there to celebrate her daughter’s fourth birthday.
The young wolf remembered the scene…he was fighting against a few of them himself when he caught glimpse of what happened. As she attacked one sorcerer, another managed to hit her with some kind of freezing charm before it caused silver spikes to rain down from above and wooden spikes to emerge from the ground. His eyes were drawn away from it then by a sorcerer that only just missed him with the killing curse but Atticus will always remember the sound he heard. A loud gut wrenching whine.
It wasn’t until after they finished with the battle did he once again lay his eyes on the she-wolf who was now a bloody mass of fur impaled and pinned to the ground by countless spikes. Dead.
Yes, he was angry. He was furious. So much so that he wanted to tear apart the prisoner the members of the other pack had captured...but he didn’t. No. He knew why they took the sorcerer prisoner. It was so they could get information on where more of his kind hid. The idea of making more pay for this death was enough to satisfy the wolf that hungered for more blood. To make them pay for this loss.
Instead, as tradition of his pack when they lost the lives of their own, the large wolf- whose dark fur was matted with blood and suffered from a few minor wounds himself, including a large open wound across his shoulder- threw back his head and let out a long, loud howl. A howl that would let the rest of his soldiers know of their loss.

Atticus had shifted back into his human form despite it worsening the wound across his shoulder and making it become significantly more painful. That was at the back of his mind though because as they arrived back at the ally's camp, Atticus carried the Freya’s body (that was wrapped up within black cloth) within his arms.
The pained whines, whimpers and howls of her two sisters, brother and other wolves that were close to her as he laid Freya down in front of them were another sound that he was sure would be forever seared into his memory. They were soldiers. For some, all they knew was war but, Freya was close to many, she was loved and her death made even some of his strongest soldiers crack.
But this was war. Most gathered themselves quickly. Atticus knew how they managed to- the same way as he did. They knew that the prisoner their allies had captured was going to give them information. Information that would lead them to the much larger group that small group had belonged to and they will have the blood of their enemy as payment for the life taken today.

The young Castillo wolf was sure of the fact that they would get the information needed. This other pack was well-known for their ability to gather information about the other races; locations, numbers, strengths and weaknesses.
It was all due to the special weapon he had heard a lot about during his stay at this camp. A Siren. Now, the Alpha of the pack understood the effect the loss within Castillo pack had because their own loss affected them similarly. So, he offered Atticus and some of his soldiers to be present at the ‘interrogation’. Although some of the Castillo pack thought the Alpha just wanted to finally show off his little secret weapon after bragging about the siren for the past couple of days.
Atticus, of course, once he visited the infirmary to get patched up, accepted the offer- more out of his own curiosity than anything else. He had crossed paths with Faeries, Sorcerers, Vampires and even one or two Boreai but never before had he met or seen a Siren, though he did know that they were a very dangerous race if need be.

The Castillo chose only eleven of his pack to join him including Freya’s older sister, Sairah who seemed on edge- her eyes were fixed on the sorcerer that was about to be questioned. As if one wrong move would cause her to step out of line and rip him to shreds.
The twelve Castillo pack werewolves stood at the back of the room with their ears covered by headphones that completely blocked out all sound- something of which Atticus could feel that a couple of the soldiers were uncomfortable with even though they remained quiet.
The twelve of them watched as the siren (with her back to them) approached the sorcerer and placed a knife on his lap and crouched down in front of the man, placing a hand on each of his knees and said something to the sorcerer that made his jaw lock and defiance flicker in his eyes.
Then it seemed to begin.
The Siren’s mouth opened and although Atticus couldn’t hear the song that he knew fell from her lips, he could see the change within the sorcerer. His eyes glazed over, like he was in some sort of trance-like daze as he listened to her. Then, when she finished he spoke, soundless words came from his mouth. Secrets. Knowledge.
Atticus had to admit, it was intriguing. Impressive. The young wolf watched the siren again as she began to sing again and he finally understood what people meant when they spoke about sirens being compelling even to just watch. But to Atticus that made them just that bit more dangerous.

When she finished, she used the knife she had set on his lap to cut the ropes that bound one of the sorcerer's arms to the chair. An act that caused Sairah to twitch and Atticus suspected that if he were not wearing the sound proof headphones he’d be able to hear a low growl coming from the she-wolf’s chest.
However, then the siren’s mouth opened once again and upon taking the knife she offered- barely a second after the siren took a step backwards- the sorcerer ran the sharp blade across his own throat with ease. Like knife through butter.
From the corner of his eye, Atticus saw a few of his pack members look at each other. He glanced over to Sairah who’s eyes were still fixed on the sorcerer as she watched the blood pour from his neck. A look of chance being robbed from her in her eyes. Accompanied by deep rooted anger and pain that Atticus made a mental note to keep an eye on in case she became emotionally compromised.

The youngest Castillo was the first to remove his headphones- the other’s waiting until he gave them a small nod that let them know they too could remove their headphones and once they had, he dismissed them if they wanted to leave. Although among the few that stayed, Sairah still stood there. Staring at the limp body in the chair.

Atticus let the she-wolf be and instead, looked at the siren. Not entirely sure of what to say. He was never the most sociable of werewolves. He wasn’t a wolf of many words. He just fought, obeyed, commanded. He was a soldier- a fighter to the core.
“That was impressive, ma’am.” He spoke, his voice clear and confident.
“I’ve never seen a siren…work.” He added, perhaps showing his age a little but if someone was to determine his age meant lack of experience they would be making a grave mistake.

[/size]

✜Tagged: Echo!
✜Words: 1,523
✜Notes: The length...ijustwanttokens.
✜Song Credit: "Survival" by Muse
Coding by Toffoes~

[/center][/blockquote][/blockquote][/blockquote]

[Rigby "Echo" O'Gready]

Watching a subject bleed out was always a moment of fascination for the siren, especially with sorcerers. They were so fragile compared to the rest. Take away that magic wand, and what were they? Human, more our less. Even their skin type more easily. It was almost as if the flesh were eager to rid itself of the life that so precariously clung to it.

Echo could hear the wolves behind her beginning to shuffle out. They'd seen the show, boasted to the guests. There were a few that sometimes hung around to talk to her, but none had been present today. Most were as prejudiced against sirens as any other race. Her power frightened them. Of that much she was sure. One had even gone so far as to forbid Echo from speaking to him. The leaders, however, knew her to be an obedient slave.

As she set the knife back on her work table, the siren retrieved an empty glass vial and carried it to the body. She had pressed it to his dripping throat when a voice behind her made her pause. Echo turned and offered the young wolf a polite but humorless smile that didn't reach her eyes. She had lost track of the wolves that had come and gone over the past century, their faces blurring into a fog of endless superiors. For all Echo had known before he spoke, she might have seen him dozens of times before. “Many around these parts haven't until they've seen me," she agreed coolly, her voice light and lilting and perhaps even a bit teasing.

She gestured to the slowly-filling vial in her hand. "They say blood is good for the skin. Sorcerer isn't as good as faerie, though. Water faerie is best." Still, it had been a while since a faerie had sat in this chair, so she would make do, carefully rubbing sorcerer blood into her face and hands before bed. She was, after all, a siren. Appearances had too be maintained, and hers was lovely enough to warrant even the most most extreme treatments.

Once the container was filled, Echo stopped it with a cork and tucked it into her shirt, between her breasts. She looked over the young wolf in front of her curiously, not quite sure what he wanted. Still, she knew she had to be polite lest her masters start taking away privileges. So she pulled a short of curtsy, holding out the edges of her sweater instead of a skirt. "My name's Echo. Echo O'Gready. And who might you be?" His English was native, so if this was his first time seeing her, he was likely rather young. His demeanor spoke of dominance, though, which puzzled her slightly. Most of the wolves in her pack followed am age-before-beauty sort of mentality, with the younger ones in more submissive roles until their time had come. Either the wolf in front of her knew someone rather important or he was merely insolent.

[/size][/color][/font]

Outfit

[/b] – Clicky~
Notes[/b] – ---[/i]
Tagged[/b] – ---[/i]
Song[/b] – O Death - old slave song[/i]
Credit[/b] – Desty~![/size][/center]

[atticus killian innominata]

When the siren spoke of how ‘most around these parts haven’t’ until they’ve seen her in reply to Atticus’ confession of never having seen one of her kind in action before, Atticus nodded. Siren’s weren’t heavily involved in the race war and tended to stay out of it and with everyone so caught up in the fighting, who had time to sit around watching siren’s singing their hypnotic song? Hell, the only reason Atticus had taken the time he could be spending training, building up his strength again and getting over the wound in his right shoulder to watch the siren was yes, partially curiosity but mostly because of the information he was sure she’d withdraw.

Blood was good for the skin? He looked at the vial in her hand as it quickly filled with the dark scarlet substance…did she use blood as some form of moisturizer or something? “Right.” He nodded slowly. Trying not to judge but finding it hard to because…that was just fucking weird to Atticus. Call it ignorance or misunderstanding about the other races and their kind, their traditions and how they thought but Christ, bathing in blood or whatever the hell she did with it? Uh...no. That was never something this Castillo wolf was going to understand.

Still, Atticus remained polite, not speaking his thoughts as she pushed a cork in the vial to prevent any from spilling before she drew his eye line to her chest as she tucked the container into her shirt, between her breasts. Atticus couldn’t place his finger exactly on what it was but there was something really…seductive? About the action. Internally, Atticus shook his head. She was a siren and that was what it was. Every move they made was meant to be alluring. To tempt. It was all part of their act, he was sure.
When the siren curtsied, bowing her head slightly and lowering her body for the moment she did, Atticus’ inner wolf accepted that as an act and sign of submission in its own way. He lack of eye contact, lowering herself, showing respect. All something the small amount of pride and arrogance of status that came with a pup of an Alpha fed off.
“Atticus Castillo” The young wolf introduced himself.
It’s been nice to finally meet you, Echo. I’ve been hearing a lot about you from my soldiers and from the Marsh’s” He added, speaking the name of the pack she worked for with a tone of respect in case any should overhear. Despite his success in battles and sense of pride, the Castillo pack didn’t hold the highest of statuses within the hierarchy. Meaning that Atticus always had to show respect to those of a higher ranking. A category of which the Marsh pack only just fell under.

Atticus found himself looking over at the ledger the siren had written all the information she withdrew from the sorcerer in. Although it was walking a fine line because it could be interpreted disrespectfully intrusive and pushing aside the authority of the Marsh pack’s Alpha. Because they would eventually tell Atticus the information themselves and him searching for answers sooner rather than later could be seen as him distrusting his allies and could offend them. But Atticus was impatient.
“How many sorcerers are at the location the sorcerer gave you?” He asked, possibly too bold and forward but he tried to counter-act it with a small, charming smile. Plus, it was a question asked that could be justified by the want to prepare himself and his soldiers of how many of the enemy they’d be up against. Though, Atticus did suppose that didn’t give them as much help until they knew the location and the layout. Where sorcerers were placed within the location, their weakest points and details such as that, but overall numbers was a start.

[/size]

✜Tagged: Echo!
✜Words: 641
✜Notes: Sorry for any mistakes and stufffff...also, gave the pack Echo works with just a random name that popped to my head?
✜Song Credit: "Survival" by Muse
Coding by Toffoes~

[/center][/blockquote][/blockquote][/blockquote]

[Rigby "Echo" O'Gready]

The dynamic of dominance and submission among the wolves was as fascinating to her as it was easily manipulated by an outsider with an ounce of cunning. Sirens didn't work that way. Their powers were their influence, better hidden until the last moment so as to gain the element of surprise. Echo understood her place here - she was their slave. But at the same time, the culture she was raised in meant she felt no shame in cowing and submitting. For wolves, it was a promise. For a siren, it was a charade. Even as she kept her stance respectful and meek toward Atticus, she was secure in the knowledge that, with a few words, she could have him crawling on his knees and kissing her feet.

Echo smiled softly at the wolf, dipped her head again and assured him, "The pleasure is mine, Master Castillo." She assumed him to be too young to warrant a "Mr," in her eyes anyway. The siren likely had half a century on him, at least. Giving a short, bright laugh, she conceded, "Yes, they do like to go on about me, I'm afraid. I hope they haven't made you too weary in the ear."

There had been a time, decades and decades ago, that the head of her pack would dress her up in the latest fashions - outrageously expensive dresses - and have her attend banquets as his consort and trophy. Though she had very little interest in the man himself, the treatment had been a nice preen for her ego.

Following his line of sight to the table, Echo reached over and slid the ledger closed, safe from prying eyes. "Apologies, Master Castillo," she intoned smoothly. "I'm afraid I don't know you well enough to be sharing that information directly. My pack might be cross with me if I did. Once I deliver it to them, I'm sure they'll tell you all that you need to know."

Because the siren had been around for a long, long time and she was no fool. There had been traitors in the ranks before, and pack politics was so complicated that the right information in the wrong hands could upset the balance horribly. Especially after observing this young wolf's arrogance, imagine if he decided to take the information for his own, run off to make himself the hero and gain favors over her masters. No, that wouldn't do.

[/size][/color][/font]

Outfit

[/b] – Clicky~
Notes[/b] – ---[/i]
Tagged[/b] – ---[/i]
Song[/b] – O Death - old slave song[/i]
Credit[/b] – Desty~![/size][/center]