Who: Fenrir Greyback When: 18 May 1979 Where: A campsite on the England/Wales border What: Fenrir surveys his growing Army of Darkness(TM)
Status: Complete Rating: PG
Fenrir stood on a small rise overlooking a large clearing in the middle of a forest on the England/Wales border. Below him were a collection of ragged and tattered tents and moving around amongst the tents was the largest gathering of werewolves Fenrir had ever witnessed. That they had gathered at his orders made him smirk with pride and a low pleased rumble echoed through his chest. Even better this was one of two camps of werewolves. A second one lay on the Scottish/English border and had about the same number of people within it. All of this was his work. These werewolves answered to him and him alone.
The sounds of shouting and the thump of fist against flesh drew his attention. There was a small group of young males fighting on the edge of the camp. Fenrir watched them impassively; this close to the full moon such fights were almost inevitable. He had no intention of interfering. A group of werewolves this large had a tendency to fall into wolf-like habits, something that he encouraged, and dominance scuffling was a part of that. These young males needed to sort out their hierarchy and better that they do it now rather than the full moon.
At least none of them had been foolish enough to challenge him... yet. That day would come. Young males tended to full of piss and vinegar and the need to prove themselves by challenging the alpha male. He knew it wouldn’t happen today; they were still too wary of him, he was still too much of an unknown factor for them to try it. They wanted to see him fight someone else before they challenged him so they knew what his fighting style was. He intended to leave them in the dark for as long as possible. He knew when the fight came it would be vicious and he looked forward to it.
He looked over the encampment and saw one of his werewolves waving a hand at him. He gave a wave in reply and wandered down, smirking at the young fighting males as he sauntered past them. It only took a few minutes to find the werewolf that had been getting his attention. The man had a look of distaste on his face.
“There are a bunch of hags here asking for you,” the werewolf said with disgust.
Fenrir gave a smug smirk. “Good. Where are they?”
The werewolf gave him a dubious look but pointed towards the outskirts of the camp. Fenrir decided to ignore the doubt for now and he headed in the direction indicated. It was all starting to come together. He had werewolves, with more promising to come in the next few weeks. Now the hags had responded. The vampires were still considering matters but he was expecting their reply in the next week or two. If they joined, they would likely bring a large number of the magical animals they tamed. One of his werewolves said he could get some banshees on side and Fenrir had sent him off to find out if that was right. Approaches had been made to the trolls and giants and he expected some of the trolls to join him at the very least.
He walked up to the hags and nodded with a modicum of respect to the lead hag. She considered him for a moment then nodded back, giving him a gap-toothed grin.
“Well, we’re here,” the hag said bluntly. “What do you want us to do?”
Fenrir grinned back toothily and gestured towards the middle of the camp where the large tent he had claimed as his own was located. “Come with me and I’ll tell you.”