Disclaimer/AN: This story is based on an RP but the main plot and its development are mine. The main characters as well as some people imported from Naruto (referred to or are actually in the story) are Kishimoto's. The story needs polishing and I'd appreciate some constructive criticism. Enjoy!
I
It was a dark and stormy night. Well okay, it wasn't exactly stormy but it was still dark…as dark as a night can be with a half moon. Anyway, it was a somewhat dark and not so very stormy night, and the forest was alive with sound.
"Get him men! He can't have gone far!"
"Blasted werewolf, pretending to be one of us."
"Look there he is!"
"AARGGH!"
"…Oh sorry Shal. This old pitchfork couldn't have hurt you much could it?"
…And so on. But let's move to a different part of the forest, near the long dried up river and beyond the traders' paths. The river in this part of the forest used to flow right into the sea at one end and through a village at the other. People, being people, eventually dammed the former with silt and wastes best left unidentified. Now the village has abandoned this portion of the village and moved to higher ground, near the mountains where wells could be built to harness underground springs.
Here, we see the remains of a bridge and a dark hole just hidden beneath the skeletal planks. …And the eyes, just visible in the dim light as a figure emerged from its crouched position over the corpse of a rabbit.
It licked its fingers in a way peculiar minded people might consider extremely erotic- if it wasn't for the fangs peeking from inside its mouth, and if what it was licking wasn't blood. Let's shine a little moonlight here, shift the leaves of the trees to the side just so. There we go-
The figure is a man. He's shorter than any of the villagers we met earlier with a built deceivingly similar to a young man's. Now you're probably thinking 'Ah here's the villain or hero of the story. He must be either very charming or frightfully hideous. In fact, you're right. The charm he has is enough to send a signal to one's primal instincts to run.
Perhaps the smile and flush on his face wouldn't be as chilling if his eyes weren't rings of black and blood red.
