to Cry Wolf! We are an 18+ AU, intermediate to advanced Mercy Thompson/Alpha and Omega RP set in present day, in the Tri-Cities of Washington. We are a premium board with a 250 wordcount. Please make sure that you register with your characters name in Proper Case. Not in all caps. Example: Mercy Thompson. We welcome you to the site and if you have any questions don't hesitate to reach out to the staff.
No knowledge of the books is required. All the information needed is available on site. We ask that you read over the species information before rolling one of that type, as there are a few key differences between Mercyverse creatures and the ones you might know.
We put emphasis on the slice-of-life RP with the occasional event to throw things off. ;)
Skin made by Tana @ Cosmo, Shine, and ATF. Graphics, custom stats, forum, profile structure, mini profiles and coding tweaks thanks to Ara. Templates thanks to Becky of Candyland. All apps, threads, fae lore, and plots belong to their respective members of Cry Wolf. Most importantly the Mercy Thompson Universe is thanks to Patricia Briggs for creating such an interesting world for us to enjoy.
Ruvon walked into the preparation area between two guards, letting the scent of blood and death and the sounds of curses and groans wash over him. It was the same every time he visited, and by now, he'd been here more times than he'd cared to count. What was it now? A year and a half? More? Less?
He supposed it didn't matter. What mattered was that it never seemed to end. He had made one impulsive attempt to escape early on, and he hadn't managed it. Since then, he'd settled in to bide his time and survive, waiting for a real opportunity to arise. Or for someone to find out that this place existed and put an end to it. One or the other.
A hard palm-shove against his back made him stumble forwards, before looking back with narrowed eyes at the guard who'd pushed him. One day you will push me too many times, human, and on that day I will reap your soul.
The guard just smirked. "You're doing twos again today, Old Hat." They didn't know his name, never asked, and he never cared to give it to them. So, the nickname. Old Hat. Old, because he'd been here since the beginning and had yet to die in the fights. And hat, because no matter how many times it got slashed, lost, or taken from him, the next day he always had the same broad-brimmed black felt hat on his head, as intact as the day he'd come into existence.
Ruvon rolled his eyes, and turned back to face whoever he was going to be working with today. With his luck, it was someone new, someone who might not last so long. It was a fairly common occurrence. He could work around new and inexperienced; he for one refused to die. Reaching up to the crown of his hat, he lifted it and tipped it in an old fashioned gesture of good manners. "It seems we'll be working together today. You may call me Ruvon, if you wish."
Jason had no idea where he was or how he'd gotten there. Last thing he'd remembered was sitting in a bar with the most gorgeous creature he'd ever seen. It didn't occur to him to even question why she'd picked him over all the others, including plenty could have passed off as male models. He just figured it had been his lucky night and the woman was slumming.
It happened from time to time. Someone looking for the bad boy, the one that didn't think he was a gift from the gods, the one that could make her fantasies come true.
Waking up in a cage was not what he had expected when the woman had sat down with him. Maybe waking in her bed, but in a fucking cage? He'd seen his fair share of cages of a sort. But the jail cells after a bar fight were nothing compared to the one he'd woken up in. He had found that out the moment he'd tried to grab the bars to find out what the hell was gong on and where the fuck he was. He'd felt less pain when he'd had a rope pulled across his bare hands by a bull. Silver. Who the fuck lined a cage with silver?
He had been pacing, his agitation clearly written on his face. His shouts had gotten no answer, other than a few yelling at him to shut the hell up. Not until they'd come for him. The shouts of new blood and get 'em killer echoed through the room, as he struggled against the hands that held him tight after he'd turned, growling at the one that was shoving him from behind when he'd asked a simple question. Well, it could have been the fact that he'd shoved him right back that had them grabbing hold and all but dragging him into another area.
Finally able to shake off the tight grip on his arm, he spun on the guard and threw a punch at him. "I asked you not to touch me." Tilting his head from side to side, he listened to his neck cracking with a satisfying pop. Shifting from one foot to the other, he was itching to take out another one of the idiots. Until his attention was drawn away from the guards who looked ready to deck him themselves, not that he wouldn't welcome them trying. "What do you mean, working together? Anyone mind telling me what the hell is going on?" Raising an eyebrow questioningly at the man, Ruvon, he gave him a slight nod. "Jason."
"I'd be careful of who you throw punches at outside of the arena," Ruvon advised dryly, his expression bland. As much as he understood the impulse to beat the ever-living hell out of the lot of them - after all, he had just got through vowing that one day he'd reap the souls of the lot of them - he was practical. He couldn't fight them all, even if iron and silver weren't particularly lethal to him. That left trying to survive until a better opportunity arose. He thumbed towards one of the murderous-looking guards. "They've got guns, werewolf, and their bullets are silver. Not what you want sitting in you before a fight."
Another new one, full of fire and vinegar. He was so, so used to getting a new partner every time he fought as part of a team. Sometimes because his partner died during the fight, sometimes because they died before he could have a second with them - but explaining where they were and what was going to happen started to wear on him just as much as the constant beat of death on his senses.
Ruvon adjusted his hat, then gestured to summon his scythe into his hand, sitting down and fishing out a whetstone so he could go through the motions of sharpening his blade. "I'll try to go with the short version for you, Jason. You, like everyone else here, have been kidnapped and imprisoned for the sole purpose of sending you out there," he pointed towards one of the doors, "to fight. Out there is a set of arenas with a rather large crowd watching, and our opponents will be other people from the cages. Kill or be killed."
He sighed. "It's barbaric, but there it is. You and I will be fighting as teammates, which may or may not be a blessing to you. I haven't been killed yet, and I've been here closing on two years, I think. It gets a bit fuzzy after a while." Drawing the whetstone along his scythe's blade, he quirked his head. "Any questions, aside from 'why are you going along with this?' Because that one's getting old. I believe I've answered it about fifty or sixty times since I first woke up here."
Jason turned to growl at the guards again. He hated being manhandled like he was some fresh off the farm kid that had just gotten in trouble with the cops for something he didn't do. Sure, he'd gotten into his fair share of trouble, but he was used to getting some sort of answer to his simple question, not shoved without even a word. "Dumb stupid ass bastards. Thinking they're king shit around here. It's bullshit. Gotta have silver bullets like they're chicken shit. Pussies." His comments didn't gain any favors with the guards, obviously, as one of them shoved him again.
Tilting his head slightly to the side as he listened to Ruvon, a smirk grew on his face. Jason loved to fight and he was damn good at it, in his opinion. Back before he headed to Washington, no many would try picking fights with him any longer, tired of getting their asses kicked. It never got boring, even when he'd let the other guys that had the balls to face him have a few shots at him before he laid their asses out. "Can't see you losing too many fights with that thing." He nodded to the scythe that the other guy proceeded to sharpen.
Running his fingers through his dirty blonde hair, he had to wonder if he'd get the advantage of being able to shift before they went out, or if he'd have to fight them hand to hand. Not that it really mattered, but if he didn't get to let the wolf out before hand, Ruvon Trevidic would have to be watching his back which he did so out in the arena. And it wasn't something that he'd look forward to, trusting a complete stranger to keep them off him. "Two questions for ya. One, seeing as you get that nifty little blade of yours, I got time to let the wolf out before hand?" His eyes lit up at the thought of his next question. "Second, we get a cut of any bets when we win?"
"Yes, well, they can't all be winners. There are old guards and there are bold guards, but there are no old, bold guards." Ruvon's smile was rather wintery, even though it earned him a point from one of the guards.
"Watch it, Old Hat. You might be a favorite, doesn't mean we can't plug you and send you in bleeding."
Ruvon shrugged mildly and didn't pursue the argument, returning his attention to his teammate.
"None, so far," he acknowledged. "At a few fights per week, that adds up. It's what... May of 2017, now?" June, actually, but he hadn't been kidding about time getting rather fuzzy to him; it was hard to keep track of days when you didn't have a watch or calendar, or any substantial contact with the outside world. He supposed it mattered less when you were immortal anyway.
"First answer." Shrrrrrk went the bone sharpener he used to hone his blade down the length of the scythe's murderous edge. He called it a whetstone, of course, but he knew better what it was made of. "Yes, of course. You're given time to shift, which you should use unless you're somehow better at fighting out of that form than in it. They actually can't keep my scythe from me, but even if they could, they wouldn't. The crowds like good, violent, bloody fights."
Gods high and low, I'm so sick of the fighting.
He shook his head slowly in answer to the second question. "You get to live," he answered. His lips curved in a faint, bitter smile. "I'll let you decide for yourself how much that's worth to you. I'd prefer that you did, myself. I don't want to have to collect your soul." Ruvon frowned slightly. It could be a little confusing in this place, with so many people packed together and volatile conditions that defined whether they lived or died, but he was fairly sure that this one wasn't slated to die anytime in the next year. That was encouraging.
"Any other questions, or shall I leave you to enjoy your shift?" The bitter smile turned into a more cynically humorous one. He knew from experience that there was nothing enjoyable about a werewolf's shifting except for having it over with.
Jason shifted from one foot to another as he listened to Ruvon Trevidic, a smirk beginning to spread across his face. The man seemed to get some kind of perverse enjoyment of causing other people pain. But only if they deserved it. If they disrespected a women, they surely did deserve it. He was good with his fists and sometimes even his head, but, after what he'd learned, the Wolf would be more deadly, fighting with a fury that the man himself could never hope to best. "You any good at reading canine body language? I'd really hate to get on the wrong end of that blade. Even if it is an accident."
He knew that just the thrill of the fight, of the kill would be enough to satisfy the Wolf. And he honestly didn't need the money. But it would have been nice to add a little padding to the money he'd gotten selling the ranch. "Our life is their entertainment? What kind of sick bastards are they?" A snort of laughter from one of the guards had him spinning around and leveling an icy blue stare at him. When the other man took a step toward him, he did the unthinkable and turned his back on him.
"Yes. I know. But you have to wait." He tilted his head as if listening to something only he could hear, which was closer tot he truth than anyone would realize. He preferred to carry on his end of the conversation with the Wolf aloud and didn't give a shit what anyone else thought about him. "No, not one of those assholes. You have to wait and see."
With a shrug of his shoulders, he turned his attention back to Ruvon as if nothing out of the ordinary happened. "Cover my ass for a few clicks? Trust me to have yours when we get out there." Not that he'd really need it, but it never hurt to work as a team. "You got anything you need to know before I let him out? Cause there ain't much talking after that." He snorted out a laugh as if it was one of the funniest things he'd heard. Yeah, he was looking forward to sinking his teeth into something.