[WP] A young werewolf chased by hunters is left no choice but to flee inside a church occupied by a vampire priest.

...

People fear the things they don't understand, young one. For as long as our family has lived with the blessing, it is that fear that has been our truest enemy. Remember that, and remember it well. It is not man for whom you should be wary, but his terror.

His fathers words pounded like the blood in his ears, as Lars stumbled forward through the woods. Clothing ragged, nothing more than strips of wool clinging to his skin, he pressed through the thick branches that blocked his path. Through the night he'd bee been running: First on two legs, then on four, and now on two again, as the morning sun brought faint hints of warmth against the bitter chill. Yet even after the miles passed, Lars could make out the cries of distant hounds.

In the far off of the trees and mist that covered forest, he could make out the shouts of hunters. For every step he took in resistance, they still grew closer.

Escape: It was a thought and desire that held his very being captive.

Another bout of branches opened into a sheep precipice he had no choice but to fall, landing harshly on stone, and then white ripping tides of water. Foam covered his eyes with a roar of motion and force, spinning him under its horrible currents as his hands grasped desperately for air and substance; anything that could secure him from the pulled grip of the liquid around him.

How had it come to this?

Lars had been so careful since his parents passed, so cautious. Their teachings were held to the letter, their lessons remembered and respected. The family farm was always tended, the crops and fields were always harvested, and he was never late to market for the years that followed- not matter how hard it was. But perhaps that was what made him all the more suspicious.

So careful to avoid suspicions, that he'd outed himself on the formalities of small-town life regardless. No matter what one might do, a village will be prone to gossip. Keeping mostly to one's self in church country was perhaps just as dangerous as howling towards the harvest's moon. Tending the flock, collecting the wool and tilling the fields- selling what he could on the cycle of the month, and leaving before the faintest touch of evening came about the lands. People stood to talk of that, for there was little else to do, and the whispers soon turned rumors more powerful than any true evidence.

That boy be a wolf, I tell you.

Lars had heard the elder cackle on that fateful harvest, staff clacking the hardened ground of stone from afar as people gathered.

My Pa' seen the parent's tails himself! Told me there was once a whole tribe of them, all howling at the moon...

The looks only grew colder after that. The trade come market only grew more cruel. For every few copper Lars could make, he might lose almost as many. Any earnest protest was brought to rest under nervous glances, any claim Lars might raise ignored.

Then the Paladins showed, gleaming in their armor of white and steel. Marching onward with torches and blades bared, as they descended on the farm.

And now Lars ran.

Desperately his hands clawed at the stones of shallows beneath him as he surfaced in the ebbing currents. The pull was finally releasing him, and he greedily took in the breath missing as his feet broke from the river's flow to force his legs out into the cold air of morning once again. Far beyond, along the cliffs behind him, Lars heard angered shouts mingling with the rabid howls of hungry dogs. As an arrow slammed into the ground beside him, he knew better than to look back.

Onward, further than he had ever imagined he might- Lars let his legs carry him until he felt as though his body were made of ripping threads and wasted string.

It was in his deepest exhaustion that his hands broke free of the forest's turf, and once again out among the open air. A clearing, lead to by one ancient and desolate road, but maintained in a simple way. Lars could see with clarity, evidence of someone's occupancy to the chapel before him; hedges trimmed to careful length, graves tended and washed from the growth that crept along their stony bases. The statue of the sun stared back at him, engraved deeply beside the arcing doors of thick wood.

Even after all this way, he could not escape the gods of light. Perhaps there was irony to be found in the sadness, but as Lars considered running further, he heard the sound of travel on the ancient road. A rolling, not unlike a fast moving cart, and a hum of voices not yet discerned.

His hands grasped the iron rings of the great doors, and had pulled them ajar without further consideration beyond one passing though: That maybe on this holy ground, he might be shown mercy. As the doors shut behind him, Lars found himself surrounded by darkness.

An absence of light and sound, truly was the greatest description one might give upon entry to this place. Unlike all of the Churches Lars had ever known, structures designed to enforce the principles by which their gods were founded, this chapel seemed so amiss: Where there were windows, there were shrouds.

As his eyes adjusted, even in his tired state- uncertainty crept over Lars. What place dedicated to the Light of holy gods would dare shut it out and away?

"Who goes there... Child?" A raspy voice echoed out over the dim setting, as a single candle lofted from a far and distant altar. Lars watched it as it began a slow paced and bobbing approach- footsteps sounding quietly off of the stone and tiled floor. "It is rare that I receive visitors... You see..." The voice rasped again, as it came closer.

Despite all the rational thought within his mind, Lars felt his hair raise, along his back, along his skin and neck and scalp. The blessing could sometimes grant him gifts of insight, in ways others might not find- and now they screamed of danger.

"I don't mean any trouble!" Lars said, voice resoundingly weak and tired against the perfect crypt-like nature of the building. "I'm just... I'm just looking for a place to stay. A safe place, is all." The approaching candle slowed, then stopped, wavering there quietly as the footsteps which brought it towards him came to a sudden absence.

"Ah... A safe place..." The voice spoke quietly, as if considering. "This is a safe place... for some..." The hair all along Lars' scalp lifted, and the urge to fall upon all fours and bare teeth grew to a crescendo. Something here was very wrong: Very dangerous, but as he listened, even through the thick stone of the chapel there were now sounds outside.

Had the Paladins already reached him? Was he trapped already? The candle began its approach once more, footsteps almost invisible compared to their previous approach. Lars raised his hands defensively, grasping in a panic at the small knife still tethered to what was left of his belt.

"Don't come any closer!"

"Ah... but why not child?" The raspy voice seemed to smooth out beneath two gleaming points of white above the tiny flame. As he watched, Lars was certain beside them he could see the faintest curl of lips beside them, a wicked smile forming as a single hand raised over the candle's fire. "Or should I say, little wolf?"

The flame went out beneath two ghastly fingers as the cruel smile behind the final glow of light turned to a horrid grin, and Lars felt his blood ran cold beneath a chilling and melodic cackle.

"Stay back!" He shouted, lifting the knife before himself with a shaking hand. "Stay back! I'm warning you!"

"There is no moon here, nor sun... No..." That rasp fell away to a chilled tone of slick and smooth words: An ancient voice laced with magics that slipped closer through the darkness with every syllable. "It has been some time since my last meal... So I think not... little wolf."

A heavy blow slammed Lars hand with effortless motion, as another pushed him to the floor. His struggles beneath the iron grip that held him were fruitless as he lashed out, kicking and screaming for all his worth as the reflection of two gleaming fangs caught the dimmest hints of light. Wide eyed, Lars saw the cruelest smile form, as the vampire reared backed in victory.

"Thank you for the meal!" The vampire shouted in victory as Lars closed his eyes tight, letting out a scream he'd not known himself to possess.

"AIEEEEEEE"

A scream that soon mingled with heat of the sun- with flames of unholy making, with the scream of the vampire atop him, as the heavy doors behind them were ripped open to bask the room in light, and then the booming casts of magic. A flash of steel swept down, and the monster which held him in an iron grip was swept away- dying screams bursting from a withered corpse that soon crumbled into dust beneath the morning's glow.

A rough pair of hands soon pulled him to his feet, dusting Lars off as his eyes adjusted.

"Sola, is that fucker dead?" A strange man looked away from Lars, motioning inside the chapel with a strange device. "Because if it's not dead, I was figuring we might waste some of the Dwarven stuff. Just set this whole place on fire and be done with it."

"No need, it's definitely dead." A voice from inside the chapel replied, thin figure of a dark Elf emerging from the shadows with a shovel of all things. The Elf overturned the instrument, letting ashen dust plummet to the ground unceremoniously, small bone fragments trailing along with the majority. "Look, it went all skeleton and dust on us." She motioned with the shovel. "Think a bit of this is good enough proof for the Guild?"

"Well..." He leaned closer, considering. "I sure hope so. Job was worth seventy silver." The man looked back at Lars, hand rubbing at a bearded chin curiously as his eyes scanned the younger man, uncertain. The Elf soon stood beside him doing much of the same. Neither looked much like Paladins, but by the way they had so easily dispatched the vampire, Lars wasn't quite certain. Was that a necklace of... Garlic around the man's neck?

"Thank you." Lars said hesitantly, more than conscious of his rough attire. His shirt was nothing more than scraps, and his pants weren't much better, tone and shredded in dozens of places. Still, he bowed deeply, ignoring these details as best he could in an effort to show gratitude. "Thank you both for saving me. I am in your debt."

The two curious stares didn't shift. In fact, Lars was certain they were both actively following something, slowly moving back and forth with looks of uncertainty shifting to utter disbelief. The pair looked to one another, and then back at Lars again, bewildered.

"Sola..." The man spoke with a weary tone, spare hand now rubbing at his eyes before pointing at Lars with a bewildered expression. "It's not just me, right?" The Elf shook her head slowly, head tilting to the side with a serious and thoughtful expression that brought heat to Lars' cheeks.

"No... No I don't think so." The Elf's response did little for the man, who was again scratching at his beard with a pensive look in Lars' direction. After much deliberation and thought perceived, the man finally cleared his throat before speaking once more, question asked with deadpanned tone.

"Why the hell do you have a tail?"