Guardians of Innistrad
Jotham - Chapter II
Jotham had to get back to his home. He hoped it was still there, because the rest of Avabruck was leveled. He didn't know how he would make it since there were still werewolves rampaging around what was left of the city and ripping apart any townsfolk who attempted to stand in their way. Jotham could not stop to help anyone and still expect to make it to his family. He begrudgingly ignored his fellow man and rushed as fast as he could along the way, hoping he would pass by unnoticed. He must have broken a rib or two in his fight with the werewolf, because every breath hurt, which slowed him tremendously. His shirt was soaked in blood. Jotham didn't know if it was his or the werewolves', but if it was his blood, he didn't know how he was still walking. He used a broken tool handle he had found for a walking stick, possibly the same one that belonged to the pitchfork he used as a weapon.
When he finally reached his farm on the outside of the city, Jotham noticed it looked darker than it used to, as if the life had somehow been taken from the very air around his land. He was relieved that it was at least still standing and pressed on, catching werewolves out of the edges of his vision and wondering why he was not among the dead yet. He painfully slammed himself against the door which fell off of the loose hinges, stepped inside and froze in place, his jaw gaping wide. Dark blood covered the floor and walls like buckets of red paint had been flung hastily over the surfaces. The bodies of his wife and children were strewn about the small home. Jotham quickly left, not able to stomach the massacre for more than a few seconds. This was the last time he would see his home.
Jotham fell to his knees and prayed to Avacyn. He prayed that this was not actually happening. He would awaken next to his wife soon; his children fine, his farm flourishing, his city standing. He placed his face in his hands, then turned to the sky and cried out a long scream in an attempt to encompass all of his emotions at once: depression, anger, confusion, helplessness. When his lengthy scream stopped, he heard the sound of wolves howling in the same register, as if to continue his one note song. His cry had been so loud that he did not notice the small howlpack encircling him. He jumped to his feet, ignoring the pain in his body while picking up his makeshift walking stick and holding it ready to swing. Jotham's anger overcame him and he cared little of the danger associated with fighting werewolves. He was surrounded by them, all seated on their haunches and staring at him with their yellow eyes, as if waiting. He swung his stick several times at the air in a display of dominance, hoping the wolves would think twice before charging, but knowing that his sad attempt at deterrence would probably be laughed at if the wolf-men could laugh. The wolves continued to stare with no signs of aggression. He yelled and rushed one of them, brandishing his weapon in the air, but only made it a few steps before he collapsed in pain. But this pain was different; it was new.
His vision became clearer and he was able to see well even through the twilight. Jotham started screaming as his jaw stretched into a long snout, but his smell had immediately improved. He watched, still screaming in pain while his digits on his hands grew longer and became hairy. His entire body grew and changed structure, accompanied with the cracks of bone and the smell of blood. His clothing ripped and stretched until he was merely in rags. His scream slowly transitioned into a howl, which rang in his now pointed ears as the last sound he heard before blacking out.
Jotham sprang awake, his body in a full sweat. He had never dreamed so vividly of that horrible night, but he had also never remembered what had happened while he was changed. He had until now tried to forget and suppress the emotions. He wanted to move on from that life and start his new one, but it seemed he would not be able to get away. The Harvest Moon was coming soon; a time when humans hunted werewolves and other creatures. Jotham knew this also as a time when werewolves were very active. He would have to take precautions, both against other werewolves and himself, especially since he seemed to be changing now for no apparent reason. He lay back down to try and get whatever sleep he could that night; he had a long day ahead of him tomorrow.
When he finally reached his farm on the outside of the city, Jotham noticed it looked darker than it used to, as if the life had somehow been taken from the very air around his land. He was relieved that it was at least still standing and pressed on, catching werewolves out of the edges of his vision and wondering why he was not among the dead yet. He painfully slammed himself against the door which fell off of the loose hinges, stepped inside and froze in place, his jaw gaping wide. Dark blood covered the floor and walls like buckets of red paint had been flung hastily over the surfaces. The bodies of his wife and children were strewn about the small home. Jotham quickly left, not able to stomach the massacre for more than a few seconds. This was the last time he would see his home.
Jotham fell to his knees and prayed to Avacyn. He prayed that this was not actually happening. He would awaken next to his wife soon; his children fine, his farm flourishing, his city standing. He placed his face in his hands, then turned to the sky and cried out a long scream in an attempt to encompass all of his emotions at once: depression, anger, confusion, helplessness. When his lengthy scream stopped, he heard the sound of wolves howling in the same register, as if to continue his one note song. His cry had been so loud that he did not notice the small howlpack encircling him. He jumped to his feet, ignoring the pain in his body while picking up his makeshift walking stick and holding it ready to swing. Jotham's anger overcame him and he cared little of the danger associated with fighting werewolves. He was surrounded by them, all seated on their haunches and staring at him with their yellow eyes, as if waiting. He swung his stick several times at the air in a display of dominance, hoping the wolves would think twice before charging, but knowing that his sad attempt at deterrence would probably be laughed at if the wolf-men could laugh. The wolves continued to stare with no signs of aggression. He yelled and rushed one of them, brandishing his weapon in the air, but only made it a few steps before he collapsed in pain. But this pain was different; it was new.
His vision became clearer and he was able to see well even through the twilight. Jotham started screaming as his jaw stretched into a long snout, but his smell had immediately improved. He watched, still screaming in pain while his digits on his hands grew longer and became hairy. His entire body grew and changed structure, accompanied with the cracks of bone and the smell of blood. His clothing ripped and stretched until he was merely in rags. His scream slowly transitioned into a howl, which rang in his now pointed ears as the last sound he heard before blacking out.
Jotham sprang awake, his body in a full sweat. He had never dreamed so vividly of that horrible night, but he had also never remembered what had happened while he was changed. He had until now tried to forget and suppress the emotions. He wanted to move on from that life and start his new one, but it seemed he would not be able to get away. The Harvest Moon was coming soon; a time when humans hunted werewolves and other creatures. Jotham knew this also as a time when werewolves were very active. He would have to take precautions, both against other werewolves and himself, especially since he seemed to be changing now for no apparent reason. He lay back down to try and get whatever sleep he could that night; he had a long day ahead of him tomorrow.