DTM

Encounter

Walking through the woods late in the night you are contentedly chasing fireflies and trailing a particularly large racoon when the world goes cold without warning.

The cold chills you to the bone, but there is no change in the weather nor cool breeze to bring it on. Its not the cold of an oncoming rain or that of the cool night air, but the sort of cold you feel when discovering your pup's lifeless body after assuring it that it was allowed to go play in those woods; the kind of cold you feel when you're exploring and come across one of those odd, half-living cryptids that seem to stare through you with soulless. It was the cold of fear and dread, the sort that could consume even the bravest and strongest of wolves and leave them a whimpering, trembling puppy again with their tail between their legs.

You turn to go home, all of your instincts screaming at you to run, to get very, very far away and never come back to this place, but someone is there now, and your heart stops. It is a she-wolf, coat darker than black, eyes split into eight pure white slits. Her paws are shrouded by darkness, rising from her claws in plumes like the blackest of smokes, and curling unnaturally before fading into the air. At her neck more darkness forms odd, waving tentacles, inky and independent as they grasp for something that isn't there. The corners of her mouth are a bit too far back, and when she smiles you get the feeling she could leave your pack without an alpha if she chooses to, with little to no effort.

Then she speaks, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

"You have gone....too far......foreign wolf....." The sound is so warped and layered you can't tell one portion from the next. Its like a hundred wolves of every age and gender are speaking at once, each in their own tone and mood and all stacked into one sound. You can't tell what she's feeling because of this, as you can hear laughing and crying and screaming and growling and whining all in those few words. "This.......is not your land......."

You turn to run but she's there when you do, too fast and silent to have run or leapt. You think maybe comparing her to the cryptids wasn't so inaccurate. She takes a step toward you, eyes void but piercing, bringing every terrible or frightening memory you have to the surface like a pipsitter calling her young charges. Her smile grows ever widens evermore, and you are scared of asking how much more it can grow.

".....I will let you go......today....." Says the wolf, if you can even call her that. "But I will.......remember.....you...."

You blink involuntarily and she is gone without a trace. You sprint home and get no sleep tonight, her promise hanging over you heavily. You really, really hope she forgets, but a part of you knows she won't. Something about her feels far too ancient and powerful for that. Whatever she was, she is not a wolf anymore.

~~~•●•~~~

Story

Tamara Moore was once a normal young she-wolf—pretty, but nothing special; pleasant, but not overly selfless; fairly decent wolf with a bit of a temper at times—right up until she found It.

It had called to her from the thickest, darkest section of the woods, and she made the mistake of answering that call, straying from the winding path and into the underbrush. The nearer she got, the stronger its call became and the harder it would have been to turn back if she tried, but she didn't try. She didn't know.

The call lead her to a small thicket, and directed her to dig, to save It, and she did just that, claws throwing clods of dirt behind her effortlessly until they scratched something hard and solid: a blackened wolf skull, clean and fragile. She had been alarmed—as any could expect—and feared a haunting after tampering with what must be some sacred burial grounds, but she wasn't quite that lucky. Instead, the voice became clearer in her mind, warped and slow, hissing and halting as if weak and injured,

Break the skull......and free me.......

She had hesitated, not very used to skulls speaking in her mind and finally gaining the common sense to question, if not to run. However, It had a special weapon. It could see into her mind, just a quick brush against thoughts and memories, enough to know her personally. Enough to see her dreams and desires, to taste her weaknesses and fears. It felt like slimey tendrils curling around her brain but she ignored the feeling in her innocent ignorance.

She eventually followed its wish, stepping forward to crush the skull underfoot, ear twitching at the sickening crack as it splintered and crumbled beneath her paw. From that moment on, she was no longer Tamara as the world knew her, she was something dark. She was mixed with It. It seeped into her pours and curled under her coat, entering her mind and blackening her soul until It had near full control. They were one.

And she was lost, an unknowing captive in her own body. She could move and feel and speak, but only what It allowed, only enough to let her think she was still in charge. Whispers filled her mind with promises of greatness, power, anything she wanted, and twisting her mind to think that this cursed creature could get it for her, if she did as told.

She was changed, a being of darkness and cruelty, a monster that had no sense of kindness or gentleness. A thing that would relish the sight of pain in prey, and manipulate any who came near. They were one, and she didn't even realize she was a slave to the whims of a shadow. That her power was truly poison, feeding off of her like a parasite and growing as she weakened. She gave her life to the beast, and the beast kept them both alive in return, but the cost was steep.

She could have no friends or allies, no abilities or successes without the creature being the one to grant them. She had to be dependent on her new master, and the master saw that she indeed was. She was helpless without, powerless and weak, vulnerable. Scared.

Worst of all? She was addicted to the feel of the darkness in her veins, the tingling if power in her paws and taste of her enemies fear on her tonge.

Legend says her name will summon her, so all have shortened it in some form: Night Walker, Phantom, and most commonly, DTM.

Dark Tamara Moore.

If you wander too far with bitterness, jealousy or fear in your heart, It will find you. And while its words may sound tempting, they will only ever lead to pain.

You have been warned.