The Werewolf   

Submitted by Lord Daimbert:

Werewolves? A myth or a new evil loose upon the land?

It began last evening. I was preparing to retire and spending some small time to myself, gazing at the gentle relaxing swells of the sea. Jerking upright at the sudden intrusion into my near drowsy thoughts of a scream for help. Quickly casting an In Lor spell, I searched my immediate environs but discovered no cause for my startlement. Then I realized, this cry was not carried by the wind, instead through the ethereal plane with which we mages are so attuned. Some seconds after this realization another more urgent call arrived. At this there was now no doubt, ‘twas a distress from my armsman Magnus D’armand. This stout fellow had taken service under my personal banner upon entering his majority and stepping forth on new yet bold feet from his apprenticeship. A master bowyer and stout woodsmen in his own right, he took service with me knowing full well the inherent dangers of serving a wizard. I recalled his current tasks of these last few days had been creating bows with which to hand out for training those new to the archer’s mien. As a member of the League of the Shadow Dragons, that noble guild dedicated in part to good deeds and helping others, by necessity, Magnus was mandated to labor in guild endeavors. Although he had on many occasions espoused his desire to enlist in the guilds rolls of his own accord ere before he entered my company.

In any event, a quick pass of my hands saw me fade-then materialize in a glen, deep in the western forests of Britannia, a spot I knew Magnus had of late been searching in his methodical manner for only the finest materials for his bowyer arts.

Upon recovering from the faint disorientation that usually accompanies such a mode of transport my eyes widened in alarm at the sight I beheld. There lay my servant crumbled against the base of a Thor’tok tree. If his torn clothing failed to demonstrate his distress, the gaping wounds still bleeding freely most assuredly would have done so.

I rushed to his side, knelling and assuaging his plight, when I heard a growling, near moaning sound. Leaping to my feet, even then gathering my energies and prepared to cast the feared Corp Por spell should this be required. I frantically turned my head sweeping the glen. There! A momentary shift of shadow, then,,,, it was gone.

I shook my head in wonder, perhaps the darkness and my heightened nervous senses had mislead me. For I believed I beheld at first one of the great Grey wolves that are the true masters of Britannia’s deepest forests. Yet, I would have sworn upon my grimmorie’s bindings that as this smoke of a shape turned and fled, it changed….. no… into the unmistakable form of man?

I spent my readied energy to gate poor magnus to the nearest Shadow Dragon outpost, a small dwelling on a nearby coast. I soon discovered even my white magic could not heal him in time as fever seemed to be sweeping his body and his face began contorting in anguish. I rapidly summoned Talya the White, chief amongst the Shadow Dragon healers. She promptly arrived and as she began her ministration, Magnus began to clear his thoughts. His eye bore into mine and he called for a ritual out of childhood dreams, a myth, and a story of old, yet well known to the lessor folk from which stock he had come. A Luc Garu cleansing. Tayla glanced at me only a moment and began meeting this obscure request. As she began I pondered that glimpse of the thing I am sure had attacked Magnus.

No, I muttered as one burning thought flashed through my mind, Werewolf. Their kind was a myth, stories to frighten children into remaining indoors abed on warm summer nights. Assuredly I knew of shapeshifters, those mages that dabbled in that practice of changing even for a moment into some other form, dog, bear, even demon, may the gods save their souls. But werewolves?

No, if true the warning could not be delayed, as a power in the land, and one dedicated to the virtues in this darkening age, I knew my duty. I tiredly began the call.

Warning! I sent through the ether, Warning! Attention all mages!

Even as I began, a old cant emerged from my deepest memory.

“Even a man that is pure of heart,
And says his prayers at night.
Can turn to a wolf when the wolfbane blooms,
And Britannias moon shines bright.”

I continued my efforts, but began to also keep a close eye on the cleansing rituals.
 

I was once a man of wisdom and renown. I dwelt in peace amongst the hosts of men until a great and terrible pestilence separated me from my race leaving me the solitary companion of bird and beast, alone in a land grown strange and desolate. A remote island far from Britannia’s shores.

A scourge had ravaged our small fief. Brought to us through a monster our warriors had fought in some desolate wilderness. A place so distant and hidden it was ill luck indeed their scouting craft had chanced upon it due only to the fickle luck of the south sea winds.

‘Twas only upon their return to a joyous homecoming did the first hint of the nightmare to come reveal itself. Subsequent evenings were fraught with peril, and the feasts and meetings so enlivenedly celebrated by our people were now a thing relegated to the mists of memory. Strangled cries and howling screams now haunted our dreams. At each twilight’s approach an ever-dwindling number of armsmen and wizards struggled to raise a defense. Those too weak to fight huddled behind stout oak doors barred with thick silver rods in desperate and ultimately futile attempts at respite from the terror we had unwittingly birthed within our midst.

One by one we fell, till at the end only I remained. The inevitable final battle manifested itself quickly enough, beneath the glow of the next full moon. By what resourcefulness or play of chance I triumphed where all before had fallen, I know not. I often grieve ‘twas more curse then boon. For in its dying agony the beast tasted of my own flesh, contaminating me with its vile humors. It died with my silver kryss in its chest and a corp por inspired scent of scorched flesh in its flaring nostrils.

I had hoped my magery could contain the demon within, yet, it could not. I retained only fragments of hot thought and bloodlust colored vision from by sojourns into the night.

For years I, now without tribe, dwelt in waste places and empty fortresses, seeking shelter from wolves and shunning the marauding bands of strangers that haunted shores once mine. Once more I alone was left survivor, keeper of yet another tale, both blessed and cursed among men.

My human side began to slide into the mists, strength left me and I became gray haired, clawed, twisted and miserable in my age. My own shadow frightened me. Even the sound of a bird in flight or the creaking of a wind-blown bough made me cringe in my weakness.

The creatures of the forest scented my presence and knew I was alone. The long wolves haunted my dwelling place: terrible shadows, silent and gray. They drove me from ruined fortresses to the forests, from the forests to the cliffs.

There was no creature so weak it could not hunt me; there was no creature so timid it could not outface me. I learned to live as a beast forgetting all that I had known as a man. I could pad softly as any wolf; I could run tirelessly as the boar. Yet still deep in my heart I craved the company of men; voices calling my name, hands grasping mine.

One morning, gazing from the headland above my cave I saw a ship approach my sheltered isle. My heart leapt for joy as the great dragon prow rounded the land. I followed them along the wind-torn cliffs, springing from rock to rock like a wild cat.

Then as the ship swung in to anchor, I stopped to cool myself. Crouching over a pool to drink I saw myself mirrored in bright water.

I saw that I was hairy and ugly; claws curved from my hands and feet. No signs of my humanity were left; I beheld myself brother of beasts not heroes. I knew with advancing fury the change now occurred of its own violison. Had my features slowly began to mimic those of the thing I had become, no…. it was the beast returning.

As my conscious thoughts began to dim, I looked and wept.

For on those faded sails I had seen the insignia of the race of man, yet now I did not dare approach them.

I only prayed they would not find me lest I destroy them, or like the beast that fathered my condition, be captured and taken back to humanities borders.

I hid in my cave and grief brimmed my heart. I could do no more than howl my lamentations to the earth and the sky.

Only echoes answered my despair…….

As my mind slipped into that grey existence, I shuddered, for within the wind, I scented the fresh prey coming ashore.

I had begun my evenings patrol route as was typical for me, near the shrine of Honor, within the darkened sweltering swamps to its north. I confess my thoughts did begin to wander as my stead “Mystic” bore me along what had begun to become a rather fatiguing circuit. Upon fates whim I enjoyed the companionship of other Shadow Dragons, and even more rarely other bold warriors and mages, on this daily mission to seek out the werewolf infesting the land. A protective sweep daring the perils of Britannia’s wilderness.

At last my seemingly endless series of evening treks past Haven, Corwyn, Shadowcove, Paxlair, Aryslan, and the fair Humility bore fruit. Although bittersweet!

As I round an especially odorous pool just northwest of Haven I spied a scene reminiscent only of the most horrific of stories told late at night by old adventures, now to feeble in their dotage to quest by sun’s light.

Instantly I came to guard position, my hands weaving the intricate motions to channel my energies into an energy bolt. Scanning the glade in which I found myself were the remains of several individuals. I mean not their corpses, put the dismembered and shredded remnants of men, no…… wait, as I peered closer…there a portion of a face remained. ORC! The carnage was telltale for the creature I hunted. The werewolf had been here of a certainty. And recently as well.

I began to search the area in earnest. A glint of moonlight amongst some rushes drew me to a beautiful weapon lying still clutched in a tightened hand, from its aspects, chewed from its moorings upon some hapless orc.

But wait, still glistening blue tinged blood adorned a small portion of its razor edge.

My hope was to capture the beast, or its human carrier, and seek some magery to free his tormented soul. Silver was the only device that could permanently destroy the beast otherwise. In regards to other “deaths” the Were’ would simple reanimate with time and live to prowl again.

With renewed enthusiasm I circled the glade for those tattletale signs of a blood trail or body’s passage. After what seemed like hours, but in reality closer to a 10mins,, I found him. A Human form!

He was slightly pasty hued with a shock of hair along the crest of his pate. Tattered clothing hung from his sweat-drenched frame. A low moan escaped his lips as his eyes caught mine. A thin shallow wound, more scratch then laceration, weeped a more reddish tone fluid the that which graced the silver weapon I had found. The scratch I noted began to heal even as I bent to examine him more closely.
“Please!”, he said with a whisper.
“End this for me”
“My name is, or was, Vortex”, he stated.
“My honorific’s no longer matter, my people are dead, what”, he hesitated, “what year is this?”
I bespoke of Lord British, Britannia, and the ancient land of Sosaria, lost in the mists of time.
“Sosoria gone!”, he cried.

What followed was indeed a heart-wrenching tale, he spoke of the grand mageries of his own time. He had but fragmentary remembrances of his time secluded upon his island home. Ages upon ages had passed since those fragments of history foretold in the journal we had found some weeks past had been put to pen.

“Help please” he scream. I jumped back at this and with dawning horror began to see the beast emerge as the last of the shallow lesion created by the silver vanished.

I readied a paralyze spell in the manner taught me so long ago by the great master teacher Skeels of Moonglow. Yet I had dallied to long in my attempts at getting any information with which to help poor Vortex. Completely consumed now by the beast, he leapt upright and with a snarl, turned and ran into the darkness. An afterimage of his glaring red eyes still ghosting in my vision.

With a sigh I picked up Mystics reins, slid into the saddle, and again began my labors, but with renewed vigor, my boredom has fled.

I made a mistake. This I admitted, finally to myself, as my anger faded. I had been on a solitary patrol searching for the werewolf and in general conversing with those I happened upon as I traversed the land on this glorious fall day. A certain pleasure with meeting and occasionally offering some small aid to those I met on such sorjurns through the lands had always helped lighten the burdens and cares that threatened to weight me down like an overloaded pack ostard.

Stopping by a local village to pursue the wares displayed by a small mage shop I espied a woodsmen, a lumberjack by his mien and bearing. This worthy individual was making his way at a great pace directly towards me. There upon his heels was the werewolf I sought. Mystic, my loyal steed was near flight herself when she caught the scent of the beast within the gentle afternoon’s air. I steadied my horse and levied a full course of energy bolts and flamestrikes directly into the creatures snarling face and chest. He slowed but a moment. My energies exhausted I lifted a fatigued hand to my silver short sword. Scanning the small village I noted the woodsman had disappeared. Well enough, the smart thing for a peasant unschooled in the mystic arts or blade crafts. Upon seeing the flash of the waning sunlight upon the silver the beast came to an abrupt unyielding halt. Staring at me with flaming red eyes, his teeth still glistening a blood tinged hue from some recent kill. Salvia drooling to the ground from his jowls. With a growl, near ogre like roar he turned and fled. Mine energies still needing recuperation from so vast and sudden an expenditure, I did not give chase.

The woodsman and several villagers then appeared, emerging whatever hiding place had seemed to hand when the beast made his appearance.

The woodsman told me a frightful account of his brush with death. He had been walking the forest east of compassion desert when he heard a clamor of wolf like speech. Using his woodcraft he stealthed to a near ledge and peered over the near ridge into a small ravine. There he spied the werebeast, standing upright with a faint demonic glow about him. Gathered to each side of this specter were numerous large timberwolves and hellhounds. The woodsman stated they seemed to be controlled by the beast in some vile manner. Hmmm, I thought, perhaps by the demon possessing the poor magi Vortex. It was the lumberjack’s subsequent attempt at escaping from his vantage place that alerted the creature after he had dispatched his hosts upon what tasks he could not ascertain.

Ahhh, the beast now has minions to do his bidding. I turned mystic towards the trail to Paxlair, the nearest town that needed word of these events. A short time upon this path found me suddenly surrounded by a band of murderers. I fought as best I could being outnumbered 6 to 1. Alas, my journey to fair Paxlair was halted for that day. Upon another time when my strength has returned to me, and I have obtained a replacement for my beloved steed Mystic. The poor defenseless creature having been slaughtered by the murderers that had stopped the delivery of my warning.

Indeed this has not been the first time a journey to or within paxliar was beset by murderers. My mistake was in forgetting even for a moment, that evils sway upon the land is raising, and the virtues fade from memory……such that even heretofore stouthearted citizens of the realm, finding the darkness released within their hearts and minds, imbue their manners and actions in its mold.
*sigh*

Daimbert

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