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."