confrontation//lucas

[remus]

Last night had been a nightmare, as usual, but it seemed almost worse than every other month in his life. For some unknown reason, Remus found it more difficult to keep control of himself. He had taken the wolfsbane potion, just like he did every other month, and he made sure to drink every single drop. It was something that he was very paranoid about, so he made sure to drink every bit of the potion that he was given because he couldn’t bear the thought of possibly attacking and hurting someone.

Remus was painfully aware that many werewolves didn’t even bother with the potion and many, like his young friend, Vincent, had a bad habit of forgetting to take their potions on time. He had lectured that boy time and time again, but goodness knew that he needed a keeper. How Remus wished that Vincent would be more careful!

Remus was growing more and more paranoid about the full moons and the wolfsbane potion the more he thought about it. Last night, there was little difference in taking the potion and if he had not taken it. Honestly, he had been taking that potion for nearly thirty years, could it be possible that he was developing some sort of immunity to it?

His stomach tightened at the mere thought of it. If he was developing an immunity to the wolfsbane potion…there would be no other option for him. Remus would have to resort to locking himself in a room , like back before the wolfsbane potion was even invented. He remembered those days clearly and he did not want to return to them…but he would, of course, if there was no other choice.

He winced and grabbed a low hanging branch to help himself to his feet. Taking a look around him, he quickly realized where he was: the Forbidden Forest. How he had gotten there, he wasn’t quite sure. Something may have happened last night when the potion weakened and he had lost control of his own mind. This thought certainly didn’t make him feel any better about…anything.

Remus got to his feet and glanced down at himself. His clothes were pretty badly torn, so he pulled out his wand and waved it a himself, causing the major rips to be repaired. There was really nothing he could do about the small ones. He winced at every movement, but did his best to ignore it. The main thing was to get somewhere safe.

He was fairly deep into the forest, so he gripped his wand tightly, prepared for anything that might attack him. There was a light sound of a twig being snapped, so he turned around. “Hello?

[LUCAS DONOVAN CAIN MULCIBER]

[style=font-family: times; font-size: 12px; letter-spacing: 1px; color: #989898; font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;]2,449 words Remus Fantastic post hun; I'm supremely looking forward to this thread haha XD Danger [/style]

[atrb=border,0,true][atrb=width,450,true][atrb=cellSpacing,0,true][atrb=cellPadding,0,true][atrb=style, background-color: #6d6d6d;] [style=padding: 10px; text-align: justify; font-family: arial; font-size: 10px; height: 475px; overflow: auto; color: #1e1e1e;]The night of the full moon had always been a bit of an adventurous night for Lucas Mulciber. Ever since he was four years old, he had been taught to abhor the inhumanity of those forced by the lunar light into the misshapen and violent forms of the wolfmen. He had been raised from childhood to look upon those inflicted with lycanthropy and vampirism as beasts beyond redemption, monsters that may have once been men, but now would never be. The outlook of the Mulciber clan as a whole towards lycanthropy and vampirism had not shifted an inch over the many centuries, despite the fact that the International Confederation of Wizards had accepted many changes over the course of the generations to the definitions and rights of both. There were few Mulcibers anywhere in the world who would tolerate a lycan or vampire anywhere within their midst; in fact, in the rare event that a Mulciber was infected by either species, it was a long standing tradition of respect that they take their own lives, so as to spare their family the trouble of doing so. This tradition was one that Lucas was cruelly introduced to by way of the man who raised him. Though Lucas had known from the age of four what happened to those in the clan who became infected, watching the Swordmaster take his own life had been a series of horrible lessons Lucas would never forget. That day, when the Swordsmaster returned to the Estates - the most fierce warrior Lucas had ever known - battered and beaten with blood streaked upon his clothes would have remained emblazoned upon his memory eternally, even if it had not ended as it had. Simply seeing the Swordmaster in such a state would have been enough; but it was all that followed which had turned a childhood disgust into an adult hatred. The Swordmaster had requested from a then fourteen year old Lucas the blade that Lucas had been given from his mysterious mother some time ago. Without question – as Lucas knew better than to question his Swordmaster – he had handed the blade, imbued with silver and wolfsbane, over to him. Without pause or hesitation, the Swordmaster had promptly ended his own life, accursed by the taint of the werewolf he had fought, upon the blade. Any child would have broken down at such a violent display, at witnessing the death of someone who had raised them, but the horror displayed by Lucas had been so swiftly and harshly punished that from that day forward, Lucas showed nothing but calm in the face of death. Not even the end of one of his dearest friends, some seven years later, had been enough to draw forward a proper emotion from Lucas beyond the logical need to calm Severus and get the body buried. Since the Swordmaster’s death, Lucas took all werewolves as a personal affront not just to nature, but to himself. He suffered no werewolf that crossed his path to live; a vicious outlook that had earned him quite the name in the magical community during the first war. On more than one occasion, Lucas had taken his werewolf hunting a bit too far – ignoring orders from the Dark Lord to finish out a hunt, or missing his target entirely and taking down a member of their family in the fray. While a part of him tended to consider those casualties a pity, the part of him determined to eradicate as many werewolves as humanly possible considered their association to the beast abhorrent enough to warrant their death in any case. Since his release from Azkaban, Lucas had for the most part not done anything illegal. He had gone to France and worked on his relations with the broader and larger branches of the Mulciber line and kept his head down. When he had not been dealing with family affairs, he had been writing letters, reading up on the political and social events of the past fifteen years and attending the occasional party. He had more than a few enjoyable evenings with more than a few fine men and women and all in all, had enjoyed himself. His return to England had been much less enjoyable, but necessary. The elders of the Mulciber clans had made it clear he was to remain with the Dark Lord and report all movements he and his followers made, especially if there was even so much as a whisper of the madman going outside of the U.K. for anything whatsoever. As such, Lucas had been promptly punished for his disappearance, which had set him into an immediately bad mood. Since then, he had been fairly diligent in following the Dark lord’s orders – mainly because there had not been any just yet. He had not thought of wolf-hunting since his return – that was until the Daily Prophet article about the Wolfsbane Potion and the current research into it. Yet more efforts to bring humanity back to that which had eased to be human; the sympathy for the beasts had disgusted Lucas beyond belief and had been enough to set him on edge. For two weeks he had been irritable and frustrated with no real reason as to why; it wasn’t until the night before the full moon that he realized he was restless for the hunt, that he was feeling as though his duty was not being done. Without another thought to the matter, Lucas had immediately set to preparing himself for a full moon hunt. He removed his day-to-day glamor charms (few as they were) and once again waved his wand so that his hair was a little past shoulder length. Using a few tricks taught to him by the Swordmaster back when he was alive, Lucas made his hair appear unkempt and frazzled – very much like the disastrous mess witnessed in the wanted posters the Ministry had pasted nearly everywhere. He used another touch of magic to grow his shadow of a beard out just a touch more, giving him the authentic ‘Azkaban escapee’ look; if anyone saw him tonight, they would be seeing Death Eater Lucas Mulciber, not the fancy aristocrat he had been posing as the last three or four months since his return to the UK. Ensured that he would not be risking the comfort of his cover, Lucas had then armed himself with the usual implements of werewolf hunting. Taking the sword he had commissioned back when he was nineteen, Lucas strapped it on along with his grandfather’s silver imbued dagger – the very same one which had been taken by the Swordmaster to end his life all those years ago, gifted to Kate before the old man died, before finding its way to Lucas. The last things he grabbed was his crossbow, a quiver of silver-tipped quarrels and his wand before putting on his favorite hunting jacket – a long black duster made of firm blackened leather – and apparating to Hogsmeade. The one good thing about being locked in Azkaban for so many years was the fact that the wolves in this region had long ago grown complacent to the idea off hunters. With the Ministry having made the noble sport of wolf-hunting illegal, the end of the war had truly meant peace for the beasts; which meant that they had likely crawled their filthy ways back into Wizarding society, lurking amid the unaware witches and wizards and taking refuge in the forest at night – the ‘good ones’ in any case. Lucas did not linger long near the town, making his way quickly to the Forest before his obviously Death Eater self could be witnessed. He returned to the small make-shift shack he had built back when he was nineteen, recalling the beaten path with ridiculous ease, having followed its winding way endlessly in his mind during his time in Azkaban. He was surprised to note how little damage had been done to it by the elements; the roof had caved considerably due to the weight of the moss that had taken residence upon it, and part of the left side had rotted away, but for the most part it was still quite stable. Settling in underneath it, Lucas took out the bread, meat and cheese he’d packed and his whetstone. In between food, he sharpened his sword and double-checked the weight and edge of his bolts. By the time he felt he was well enough prepared, the sun had set and the moon had begun to rise. With careful silence, Lucas rose and began his night – it did not take him long to hear the howls and follow them to the source of the closest. There were several wolves out this evening; something that did not sit well with Lucas considering not only Hogsmeade, but Hogwarts as well. Stalking his first target, Lucas took care with his steps – his years in Azkaban had made him a touch sloppy however, and he was noticed. The wolf turned on him, but among the many things Azkaban had not taken from Lucas was his response time. Raising the loaded bow, Lucas shot as the beast ran for him, taking the time to pause and set aim; he knew better than to panic when the beasts came at you, knew that the greatest part of hunting them was the nerve to wait and the ability to keep them at bay. The shot was well placed, the bolt burying itself deep into a glaring golden socket, though it was not enough to stop the wolf’s momentum. Moving quickly, Lucas jumped aside and allowed the beast to barrel past him before it tripped over its own feet, losing coordination as the metal and the silver pierced its nervous system through the brain. There was no hesitation as Lucas stalked over to it, palming the silver dagger and grabbing the wolfman by the forehead, pulling its head back and baring its throat. The animal was bled out quickly – Lucas did not stay for its dying throes, opting instead to take off after the next set of howls. The night progressed as such, until Lucas crossed paths with a wolf he was certain he recognized. He watched it for a time, following at a distance as it seemed to struggle and war with itself. Yes – yes he recognized that particular form, skinnier than the others he had born down upon tonight, more scarred than he remembered, but the same hesitant motions, the same twitchiness – it seemed Remus Lupin was still alive, after all this time. Raising his bow, Lucas took aim and had the beast by the heart before he noted the lightening of the sky. Thinning his lips, Lucas lowered the bow, words long past echoing in his mind as he did so. Though he could have feigned ignorance and likely gotten away with it considering all the years that had passed, Lucas knew in his soul that he had recognized the monster, and to kill it in either form would damn him in a manner he was not prepared to face. He watched silently as the beast transformed, his arm ready to raise again in the event he was mistaken, prepared to kill the wolf as a man if it should prove to be anyone other than Remus Lupin; for Lucas knew damn well that emancipated beast was not Fenrir Greyback. Sure enough, the form shifted agonizingly back to a mans shape, older and more tired than Lucas remembered it, but familiar all the same. He had not been mistaken. Placing his bow back to its holster at his hip, Lucas thinned his lips again in frustration and annoyance as he watched Lupin stumble a bit in the clearing, seeming to be getting his bearings. He looked worn – too worn, in fact – and weak. They were in the deep of the forest, where Acromantula and Centaurs ruled, not to mention other wicked magical monsters. Lucas knew, as he watched Lupin struggle onward, that the man was easier pickings than a newborn calf at this point. A part of his mind screamed to let the wolf fend for itself, to turn and walk away if he had to suffer the beast to live, but the better part of Lucas could not in good conscience allow this particular monster to be killed. Suppressing a sigh, Lucas followed after Lupin, not really thinking to stalk silently as he had the beast form, forgetting that even as a human, the monster within was more alert than the normal man. As such, when he stepped carelessly upon a twig, Remus was instantly alert to him. For a moment, Lucas considered going still and waiting for the fool to brush it off, before deciding to have some fun. If he was going to be stuck beast-sitting, he may as well get some entertainment out of it; and the sight of fear in the old Marauder’s eyes at the sight of him would do just that. Nothing like the sight of your childhood nemesis stepping out of the shadows, blood flecked across his cheek (One of the wolves had bled a bit profusely due to an unclean kill) when you happen to be weaker than a newborn kitten. With that sweet thought in mind, Lucas stepped forward, not hiding his Death Eater appearance, knowing it to be the one Remus would recognize and not at all willing to show the wolf the face he used in public nowadays. ”Well well,” Lucas greeted, his voice a cool drawl in the early morning hours, ”Looking a bit ragged there, Remus,” He stated, shifting his coat slightly so that his crossbow could be made very clear in case Remus saw fit to attempt anything. Silver alone wouldn’t kill a wolf – it would cause extreme – nigh unbearable – pain, to be certain, but it wouldn’t kill them. A shot to the shoulder would be more than enough to incapacitate the beast, if push came to shove. They weren’t kids anymore; and Remus didn’t have Potter or Black to hide behind now, not that either boy had really stopped Lucas when it came time for Marauder retribution. ”Best be getting yourself back to the castle, now shouldn’t you?” Lucas suggested rather mildly, he thought. ”Wouldn’t want something bad to happen to you,” He added with a not so kind smile, even as he pointed a bit to the left of the way Remus had been heading. ”Four and a half miles, straight on. You’ll see it by the time you get through two or so.” He added, more than a touch helpful, considering the fact Remus was likely quite lost after his wolfing rampages. [/style]

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