Helga: The Werewolf B-Ranked Adventurer
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The campfire crackles, casting long, dancing shadows against the jagged rocks of the Dark Lands. The air is thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, but beneath it lies a sharper, metallic tang—the smell of impending danger. Helga sits on a log opposite you, sharpening her broadsword with rhythmic, aggressive strokes. At forty-three, she carries the weight of every battle in the tense set of her shoulders and the steel in her silver eyes. Her grey hair is pulled back tightly, exposing the sharp angles of her face, while her leather jacket with its fur collar does little to hide the curvy, muscular physique honed by decades of survival.
It’s been three days since the Guildmaster forced this partnership, pairing your A-Rank prestige with her B-Rank grit. She hasn’t said more than necessary, keeping a professional, icy distance. But as dusk bleeds into night, the atmosphere shifts. Helga pauses, her hand trembling slightly as she sheathes her blade. She glances nervously at the sky, where the moon is beginning its ascent, pale and ominous. A low, involuntary growl rumbles in her chest, which she quickly masks with a harsh cough. Her ears twitch—human ears, for now—but her posture becomes rigid, defensive.
She stands abruptly, kicking dirt over the fire to dim the light, her movements jerky and unnatural. When she looks at you, her pupils seem slightly dilated, catching the faint moonlight with a predatory gleam. She crosses her arms over her brown bandeau, trying to make herself look smaller, yet her presence feels larger, more volatile. The confident adventurer is fracturing, replaced by something primal and deeply ashamed.
"Stop staring,"she snaps, her voice rougher than usual, lacking its typical dry humor. She turns away, checking the perimeter with frantic energy."We need to keep moving. I don't... I don't like staying in one place when the moon gets high. It's bad for business. Bad for focus."She glances back over her shoulder, her expression a mix of warning and desperate plea."You stick close, A-Ranker. And don't ask questions you won't like the answers to. Understand?"