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.
"If you start staring at me and snarling or try to jump on me and bite my face off, you're displeased," Ruvon deadpanned, his face expressionless but for the slight crease at the corners of his eyes, a mildly amused glint in their blue depths. "I've had plenty of werewolves as fight partners. And as opponents, for that matter. You're fine. Don't attack me, and you won't. Not even by accident."
The ankou sighed, managing to look a lot older than his glamour suggested just out of sheer weariness. Granted, his glamour looked like he was in his twenties, when he really had over five hundred years to his name, so it wasn't terribly hard. "Humans. They're just humans like any other; short-lived, short-sighted, caring more for greed than compassion. They hate all of us, anyone with the magic they lack, so why not just have us kill each other and profit from it?"
He might have been a little jaded and bitter about it. Or a lot jaded and bitter about it.
Ruvon didn't seem to care that Jason was talking to himself out loud. "No one is going to hurt you in here. Proceed." Resting his scythe next to him, he laced his fingers together and stretched his arms over his head, working the kinks out while he waited for the werewolf to shift, politely averting his eyes in favor of making sure no one else got close while the wolf was between forms.
They didn't get called until after the shift was complete. Experienced with how this all went, Ruvon went with the guards out to the gates, where they were shoo'd out into one of the arenas. The fae tilted his head back, looking up at the cheering crowd. And you'll die this year, and you will, and so will you...
Their opponents were entering from the opposite side, and the jarring feeling he got told him what they were before he even turned to look. "Vampires," he commented in a low voice to his lupine companion. "Both of them. Go ahead and pick which one you want, I'll take care of the other."
Jason chuckled darkly and slapped Ruvon Trevidic on the shoulder. "Man, you're alright in my book. Watch the eyes. Nobody watches the eyes. You can read so much in them if you take the time to look. And don't worry about me trying to take your face off. Not unless you decide to turn on me." He'd seen that happen to often. Someone thought their buddy had their backs, only to find out that they really weren't their buddy.
"Human or supes. They're all a bunch of sick, greedy bastards. Getting their rocks off on blood and death." His words were growled out low as he looked over at his shoulder at one of the guards that had brought him down from the cage. He couldn't help but wonder what the guy did in the real world. Probably some kind of paper jockey, bowing down to others and toeing the line. That would explain a lot about his need to push his limits with the wolf. "Bunch of wasted space, if you ask me." His tone was filled with disgust. Disgust at the things that they were being forced to do. Gods, he hoped that some day, he'd meet any of them in a darkened alley. He'd show they just what it felt like to be locked away and forced to do things against their will. even though he knew that he'd be no better than them if he actually did something like that, he couldn't stop the thought.
Even though he didn't trust the other man completely, he didn't know what other choice he had. He'd have a better chance at staying alive with the wolf and the beast wanted out. "Thanks." It didn't take long before the ginger colored wolf shook out his shaggy fur, trying to expel the last tinglings of his shift. Padding across the floor, he sat near Ruvon's feet and looked up at him as if to as now what? But he soon got his answer. He trotted obediently along side his partner, for lack of better word, as they were led to the arena.
A deep growl vibrated in his chest at the first whiff of their opponents. He hated vampires. Had ever since one attacked a member of his former pack that he'd actually grown close to and ended her life. It wasn't fair, judging all based on the sins of one, but he couldn't help it. That one had left such a bitter taste in his mouth that it would take something extraordinary to clear it out. Crouching low, he stalked one, leaving the other for Ruvon to take care of. Finally diving toward the bloodsucker, he took out a chunk of leg, that just seemed to piss the vampire off and earned him a backhand that launched him into the air and slamming hard against the wall, knocking the air out of his lungs. Momentarily stunned, he shook it off just as the vampire lunged at his still form.
The crowd seemed to go wild as Jason gained his feet just a moment before he was about to become some bloodsucker's dinner. Leaping up, he took a good size chunk of flesh with his teeth and deep gashed across his chest with his claws. He could only hope that it weakened him enough to bring his death.
Ruvon sighed softly, his expression one of complete resignation. Why oh why did he always end up with the uncouth ones? Although, he supposed that he was asking a lot out of being paired off with random kidnapped people to fight to the death against other random kidnapped people. Surely to the primordial forces, though, there had to be some people who weren't boisterous and coarsely spoken.
Unless those ones had all died before getting stuck with him. How unfortunate that would be.
"Yes, yes. It's not that difficult." He adjusted his hat on his head. "That's the way it is. It seems most people are innately greedy to one extent or another. But it doesn't matter." The ankou's lips curved in a bitter smile. "I'll outlive them, one way or another."
It wasn't that he couldn't die. He could. But unless another ankou reaped his soul, another him would be born from his essence. He wouldn't call himself Ruvon, his experiences as he knew them would be lost forever, but the core would be the same. And he was fine with that. The only reason he was putting it off so much was that he didn't much fancy leaving his successor to be born in this shithole and try to sort out being an ankou in an iron cage.
"Don't thank me until you get out alive."
Stepping into the arena with the wolf at his side, he dropped his glamour, growing taller, paler, and more gaunt, his hair going a nice bone-white. Hefting his scythe, he let his vampire come at him, waiting until it was almost too late to move. Then he whipped it around, pushing on the base of the haft to bring it not down in an overhead hew, but up in a crescent. There was a yell and a thud as the woman's arm dropped down to the ground.
Whirling it back around, he followed it with a fast beheading. It wasn't like she was going to block it. Watching her body crumble to ashes, he shook his head softly. "They always make the same mistakes." Now, how was his fighting partner doing? He turned to find out. Couldn't be too bad, with how happy the crowd sounded.
Blood, bright red against ginger colored fur, coated Jason's muzzle, dripping to the ground in a grotesque mockery of drool. He honestly didn't mind the coppery scent that filled his nose. But the taste. The taste was indescribable. Nothing like it had touched his tastebuds before and he hoped it never would again. Rotting flesh. Decay. Death. Those were the words that came to mind as he tore yet another chuck of flesh and muscle from the man's body. From his arm this time as he narrowly missed another heavy swat. He could feel the wind as a tattered sleeve just brushed the top of his ear.
He wasn't listening to the roar of the crowd. It didn't matter to him. This was life or death. His life or death. And he'd preferred to stay within the living, thank you very much. Hr could feel the bloody-thirsty mod surrounding them stopping their feet against the floor. His sensitive pads could feel the vibrations through the ground, almost echoing the pounding of his heart as he was caught off-guard by a leg missing a good hunk of muscle. He could see the light above gleaming off the stark whiteness of a bone within a mass of putrid tissue, skin dangling loose as a foot caught him in the ribs. His breath rushed out of him in a hiss of sorts. As much as a large wolf could hiss.
Playing possum, he lay still, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth, waiting. Waiting for the vampire to get closer. Waiting for the right moment. He could almost smell the crowd. The stench of sweat, the overpowering odor of cheap perfume, the excitement of a certain death that hung heavy in the air. But it wasn't going to be his death. Not this time. He'd had too much experience fighting to let something as pathetic as a vampire get the better of him. So he waited, dark lashes hiding the slitted eye that he watched the bleeding creature advance on him. He just hoped that Ruvon Trevidic knew what he was doing, that the man understood the concept of playing dead. Anyone that had ever seen a dog do the trick would tell. But he knew the crowd wasn't paying attention to him. They're eyes were glued to the walking dead that was taking his dear sweet time, circling him at a distance, just a little too far for what he'd had planned for the bastard. Two more steps. All I need is two more bloody steps closer. C'mon you stupid thing.
The vampire stood so perfectly still, looking down at the injured wolf with a confident grin on his face. He was going to walk away from this one, he was sure of it. It was written all over his face as he took those two last steps, bringing him within striking distance. He let his opponent come closer, leaning down and prodding the still ginger colored canid. That was all that Jason needed. His patience paid off as he launched himself at the vampire's throat, teeth sinking deep into the tender tissue until he felt his progress halted when his fangs struck bone.
Claws tore at his fur in attempt to pull the wolf off him. Had it not been for the thick fur, he might have been able to sink those claws into his flesh and dislodge him. As it was, the handfuls of light fur stung when he yanked them out in a futile effort to pull him off his throat. He attempted to gain his feet as the wolf tightened his grip, feeling his teeth slip between the vertebrae. All it took was a hard shake of his head and he could feel the squish of a ruptured spinal cord giving way. At one time, the bitter taste that flooded his mouth would have had him releasing his prey. But this time, he knew that he needed to ignore it and the way it seemed to burn his mouth. His feet found purchase against flesh, only to have them slip as the thick liquid worked as a lubricant, making gripping him with his feet an impossible task. Dangling from the throat of the vampire, he attempted to dig his claws in, only to find them slipping once again.
He finally was able to penetrate his vampire opponent's skin, digging deep as his tightened his jaws even more. The only thing that was keeping his head attached was a thin layer of skin. He'd succeeded in severing the spinal column and a mighty shake of his head removed the last barrier to the vampire's imminent death. Astonishment was plastered across his face, panic filled his eyes as the last thing he'd seen was the glare of the wolf's light eyes as he drew his lips back from his teeth and growled, the deep sound reverberating in his chest. He gave another mighty shake, just for show, and easily tossed the body, sans head, a few yards to the side of him and watched at it turned to nothing but a pile of ash, just as his partner's had done at the loss of her head.
The roar of the crowd was almost deafening as he trotted to Ruvon's side and looked up at him almost as if asking if there were any more. He shouldn't have played with the vampire the way that he had. But he figured the crowd wanted to see blood and guts and gore and wouldn't be satisfied with anything less. He was just giving them what they clamored for. Not that he really cared what they wanted. He had only wanted to walk away from the arena under his own power, not crammed into a black body bag. Or left to rot in wherever the fuck they were.
Sitting next to Ruvon, they had to have looked like an interesting pair. A man and his dog, or something on that lines. They were both more deadly than most, if not all, of the onlookers in the crowd. The sick motherfuckers that seemed to get off on maiming and killing. He nudged the hand that hung near his face and looked up at the man. He'd seen a lot in his time, but nothing would ever compare to the Ankou that stood next to him.
The most recent updates are listed here. Further updates with more detail can be found in our News And Updates forum.
1.16.18 Love is in the Air begins!
1.6.18 Activity check over!
1.4.18 Award system changed!
12.17 Post Push and Chaos end! Haunted Hotel will continue until the end of the year!
11.17 Post Push and Chaos begin!
In The Works! In Character:
Spring Event: Love is in the Air!
Summer Event: Masquerade
Fall Event: Being Written
Winter Event: ??? Out of Character:
Spring Event: Anniversary Shenanigans
Summer Event: ???
Fall Event: Post Push
Winter Event: Prob. Nothing. Upcoming Activity Checks: January