Ch16 Territorial fights between territories
Splish.
Cain froze.
A slow glance back told him that the lake man was still out of it, drunk on his pheromones as he was. Telrind had showed himself to be¡ clingy. That was the word for it. Clingy and massive. Even now, at the very edge of the guardian¡¯s mucky form Cain felt like he would sense him moving away any second. So he moved slowly. Slowly.
Splish.
There it was again. The demon looked around, head moving just a little faster than he¡¯d dared to earlier. The mud and debris making up the lake man¡¯s body was all around him. Cain pushed himself to send out another wave of pheromones. He felt his surroundings shiver as they soaked up his magic.
Cain felt dizzy. It was a novel experience. He hadn¡¯t even known it would exhaust him to work his magic this hard. The whispers at the back of his head hadn¡¯t warned him. Perhaps they didn¡¯t know. Had any other of his kind been caught by a creature as mighty as Telrind before? They didn¡¯t know. Frustrated over the lack of information to go on, Cain turned his focus back to the task at hand.
Escaping.
It was hard work. He was underwater. Far beneath the surface of the lake. The light far above taunted him. ¡®Try harder¡¯ it seemed to tell him. ¡®I¡¯m trying,¡¯ he would hiss back if he didn¡¯t fear it would snap the Telrind out of his daze.
He¡¯d worked hard for this. His body was still sore and complaining about moving any more than he already had. He had to get away.
As tempting as it was to stay in the lake man¡¯s grasp until Rowan returned with a boat, which could take ages mind, Cain¡¯s patience didn¡¯t quite agree with the notion of staying put in one place for so long. He¡¯d grown impatient, despite the pleasure of Telrind¡¯s near constant attention. Having someone indulge in him like the lake man had had spoken to some primal part of the demon. The part that demanded to do what he¡¯d been made for. To bring pleasure, to hunt and deceive, and to do what all demons craved the most; to feel.
At first it had been addicting. A flood of sensations only this unique scenario could grant him. He¡¯d feared drowning at first, but Telrind¡¯s impatience, or perhaps his recklessness when it came to new playthings, had shown that oxygen was more of an option for the demon. Cain had felt like he was choking at first, then water had filled his lungs and the instinct to gag and cough and flail had disappeared. Perhaps it was another act he was urged to put up for his victims? To seem real. Mimic people, act like them. He might not be a human, but the best way to seduce one was to act in predictable ways wasn¡¯t it? Humans liked to feel in power. To know what would happen. A wonderfully exploitable trait for any creature able to mimic them.
Cain smiled. He¡¯d gotten the hang of it now he thought. Telrind had seemed all too happy with the reactions his prodding and teasing got. So happy that he hadn¡¯t noticed the way Cain¡¯s magic had slowly dulled his mind until only something vaguely resembling consciousness remained.
At first Telrind had played along with the mimicry of humans. He¡¯d revealed a somewhat human body beneath all the muck and grime. Pale, lean limbs, and a gaunt face with tired but excited eyes. Black messy hair. Ears and teeth that were just a tiny bit too long and pointy to pass for human. He¡¯d played along, done as humans did and used his hands and mouth. It had been fun. A slow start. Telrind had said he wanted to savor the feeling. To enjoy his newfound entertainment slowly.
After few hours the lake man had faltered into little more than a writhing mess of shapes and grasping limbs. Needy and intrusive. It had stopped registering noises, and focused solely on soaking up Cain¡¯s magic. So much for taking it slow.
Cain grinned. That was his doing wasn¡¯t it? Even a guardian couldn¡¯t stay sane when left to ingest his magic for long enough. Even the mighty fall.
Splish.
...Though he wasn¡¯t too sure of how long the mighty stayed down, so he put some more energy and speed into his escape.
Clawing his way towards the surface was hard, no less so with his body burning with exhaustion. So close.
He felt the dark tentacle-like limbs of mud and reeds tighten its grip around his body. They held his legs and waist, moving slowly as if in a trance, just rubbing up and down his skin as if urging more of his magic to seep through it.
Feeling the resistance they offered his escape, Cain obliged. He sent another wave of pheromones into his surroundings, and felt the tentacles tremble and go slack almost at once. The lake man had overdosed on his magic to the point of nearly losing control of his limbs a long time ago, but the addictive traits of Cain¡¯s magic kept Telrind¡¯s body reaching out for more. Cain moved faster towards the surface to avoid getting caught by the tentacles when they returned.
They would return. Just give them a moment to recover. Telrind was terrifyingly fast to recover when given a chance, and the fact that he still could recover spoke of just how resistant he was to the stuff. It was only his lack of restraint that gave the incubus the upper hand.
Splish.
Gotta hurry. Cain clawed his way through muck and seaweed. It swirled around him, ever active, moving just enough for the clueless to suspect something off about the sludge at this lake''s bottom.
Keep moving.
The surface. He could see clearer now. He was part the worst of it. Juuust a little bit closer. Cain reached out, fingers grazing the bright surface of the lake. Cold air met his hands as he pumped his legs more fervently. Then something cold and slimy wrapped around his ankles.
In a panic, Cain doubled his struggles. Not again, he thought as Telrind¡¯s sluggish tentacles tried to pull him back down again. Driven by fear and determination, the demon¡¯s wings and tail unfurled on their own, spreading out from nothing into a brilliant display of frilled leather wings and straining, delicate bones and muscles. They were not meant for flight. Not for a competition of strength. Not even meant for physical labour really. But what else could he do?
He felt more of the lake man¡¯s cold and numerous limbs rise up to grab hold of him. His wings started to protest painfully as tentacles of reed and mud tried to wrap around them at the wrong angle. Not again.
He¡¯d failed several earlier attempts at fleeing, just like this. He¡¯d make it all the way to the surface, then just as he was about to break it Telrind sobered up. Not again.
A vibration ran through the water around him, quickly followed by a enraged screech. Black ichor swirled up into the waters, thick like oil. Cain didn¡¯t know the source of it at first, then he looked down at his thrashing tail, noticing the bloodied spines that had erupted- no, were erupting along its length. Sharp needle like protrusions that cut and stung whenever the lake man¡¯s limbs tried to grab hold of him again, each time pulling back with another shriek as black strings of goopy blood trailed from their wounds.
Cain only paused for a moment to take this new change in, then, as most demons did, he choose to not question sudden changes, and resumed his desperate swimming towards the surface.
He broke through it with a gurgling gasp, his previously water filled lungs suddenly remembering that they prefered not being filled with liquid. Coughing and sputtering, Cain splashed about at the surface of the lake while trying to blink the world around him back into focus. The sun glared at him with such intensity that he nearly dunked his head back under the water. He managed to stop himself, and just in time too, because the next moment he felt Telrind¡¯s slimy tentacles return for him, quicker now, but just as disoriented as before, now due to the pain, rather than the demon¡¯s magical scent.
Given such a strong new motivation, Cain gave the nearest limb a firm kick, which earned him yet another shriek from far below, a sound that promised several things Cain had no intention to stay and experience for himself.
Spotting the overgrown bank of the lake, the demon set his direction and started moving, much to the dismay of his exhausted body. Only when he started moving did he get away from the direct light of the sun. It was setting he realised. The sky was red, foreboding, and brilliantly bright in that way only a sunset could dye it. It was pretty enough to make anyone other than a demon fleeing from a enraged force of nature pause.
The newly grown spines lining his tail made contact with Telrind¡¯s searching limbs three more times before muddy ground met Cain¡¯s fingers. He barely felt it, numb as he was. The water had turned chilling and the cold ate away at his warmth quicker than he cared for. He had just made it out of the water and into the reeds when the lake exploded.
Water sprayed high enough to blot out the horizon in a terrifying show of power and intent. A frenzied shriek followed it soon thereafter, louder and somehow more distorted above water than beneath it. Cain felt the ground beneath him shudder as yet another explosion of sound and wetness threw itself out of the lake. This time a heavy bang followed the sound. A spray of water hit his back as Cain scrambled to his feet and made for the forest line. He turned his head for a split second to check the state of the lake. He regretted it almost immidiatly.
Black and brown threw itself above the roiling surface of the lake, shuddering tentacles and vague shapes made out of muck and debris. The lake man was turning his domain upside down, throwing water into the air while his heavy limbs thrashed about in a blind rage. It looks almost as if the bottom of the lake had climbed out of the water, and were now furiously throwing its limbs about in a blind search for what had enraged it. Cain ran faster.
The forest surrounding the lake seemed to share his opinion, because in front of his very eyes the trees uprooted themselves. Pale maple trunks moved and twisted with groaning sounds of bending bark and rustling leaves, a sight reserved for the night and the truly disastrous moments. Disaster felt the most accurate, because late as it was, the sun was still visibly glaring at the entire spectacle from just above the line of the horizon as if the entire scenario was beneath it.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
Cain pumped his legs and ducked in beneath the leaves of the forest, just in time to feel the impact of one of the lake man¡¯s limbs crashing into a far off tree. The impact sent another tremble through the ground, and everything from insects to mushrooms fled away from it. Cain would have been fascinated enough by the sight of his moving surroundings to pause, had he not felt the spray of mud hit his back as he turned to follow the general direction the forest was going in.
He could feel the rage of the lake as clear as a thought in his mind. Compared to the lake, the maple forest was in chaos. Where the lake was clear, furious, intent, the forest was a startled outrage. Confusion was thick in the air, the base that made up this slew of emotion, but trying to out volume that was the rage of wounded pride. The demon knew that if the r? had been close to him he would have heard her scream in fury. Who had the audacity to act out like this near her domain?! It was disorienting. Cain was an outsider, and a demon at that. His connection to the Underground made the turmoil of the two guardians stand out clear as day to him, yet as an outsider he was given no instruction on how to deal with it. He could feel Telrind trying to pull him back, demand his return, but he wasn¡¯t one born in the lake, nor had he laid down any roots near it. The lake had no claim to him, and as such, the demand was little more than a request. A furious, threatening, request that promised a world of pain should he deny it.
The thought of it drew out a wild cackle from his throat. The danger of it made him feel alive. It was a rush, so sweet and pure. Raw emotions mixed with the burning exhaustion of his body. A deliciously dangerous rush. Cain savored it the only way a demon could. He howled with glee and fear and soared through the woods at breakneck speed, knowing in his very core that even broken bones couldn¡¯t stop him.
The moving forest flew past him as he ran, flashing crimson and torn green. Water flooded the ground and fought with thrashing roots. Shapes moved past Cain in the opposite direction, all huge, lean, and hungry, all eager to please Lan¡¯s fury. Cain laughed and hurtled down a hill, wings folding in lest they get caught and ripped off. He let his tail remain for balance, and as the ground greeted him he rolled and continued.
The previously unified movement of the forest had ceased. Chaos reigned as half of the Maples tried to flee from the enraged lake, while the other half surged towards it to push it back into the hole it called home. Cain followed the fleeing half, but soon enough even that part of the forest fell behind.
Sudden emptiness caught Cain as he leapt out of the woods. Flat ground replaced the lumpy floor of the forest and the sudden change threw Cain¡¯s balance way off.
With a surprised yell the demon fell, then tumbled a good few meters before he managed to catch himself. Disoriented, Cain shook his head and looked about. In front of him lay the plains. Far to his right a well used path cut through the grass on its way towards the distant settlement. When Cain squinted he could see that Harwall was lit up and active, far more than one would expect at this time of day. The deep sound of a alarm bell suddenly rang out, painfully clear even at a distance. Cain slapped his hand over his ears and winced loudly at the sound, hating it within seconds.
Behind him the lake and the Maples continued to war, the roar of beasts, trees, and water only barely out voluming the cry of the bell. Cain felt that the bell had no business being that loud.
Still a bit dizzy, but far too eager to get away from both sounds and their sources, the demon stumbled back to his feet. He noted the chaos on both ends, then he saw the silhouettes of the Pines behind Harwal shift and decided that south sounded like a lovely place to be right now. Deciding so, the demon dusted himself off, noticed his lack of clothes for the first time since he¡¯d escaped the lake, then decided against worrying about it for now, and set off towards the south, the opposite direction off¡ Well, everything relevant for the time being. He had no intention to remain near two, possible three if the Pines were getting involved, warring territories. They could sort it out while he explored the south.
Meanwhile in Harwall.
Rowan had spent his afternoon working on a boat. Not a real boat, at least in the sense that someone would ever sail it. He¡¯d been making a toy boat, as instructed by Margret. Usually such a suggestion would have seemed crazy to him, but Margret did have a reputation of knowing things and how to deal with them, so he¡¯d chosen to trust in her rather than run around in a panic on his own. He might have been able to find the right people to help him make an actual boat, but that would have taken days, not to mention the cost.
Rowan was no boat builder. Hells, he couldn¡¯t even make furniture. Frail but pretty things was more his forte, thus his career as an artist rather than a carpenter or a stone mason. It had seemed enough, right until his new friend had gotten himself taken hostage by a guardian that demanded he make him a ship if he wanted to see his friend again.
So, Rowan was making a toy boat. He¡¯d worked hard and actually made something pretty similiar to the real deal, if downscaled to the size of a cat and without a whole lot of details normally seen on a boat. Or a ship. Rowan had lived his entire life land locked, so the terms didn¡¯t really come naturally to him. A ship was just a larger boat wasn¡¯t it? But a toy ship was smaller than both a boat and a ship, so it¡¯d be called a toy boat right? Or a toy ship¡ He didn¡¯t know, nor did he think it would affect the final product much if he called it this or that. Point was that it would float, look kinda fancy, and a lake man would deem it fit to sink in some creative way. And hopefully it would save Cain from going mad or turning into some kind of lake changeling. Could changelings turn into other kinds of changelings? He didn¡¯t know that either. Maybe he would ask Margret when he was done with the boat.
He would have worked on it the entire night, but his body had other ideas. He hadn¡¯t really rested, not since the demon had gotten its hold of him and that entire mess had started. Rowan was exhausted, tired, spent. He wanted to continue working on the boat, but his hands were growing unsteady and his eyelids were getting heavier by the minute.
¡°...Tomorrow. I¡¯ll finish it tomorrow.. He¡¯s a demon, he¡¯ll survive.¡± Rowan tried to convince himself that he could spare himself a few hours to rest up and finish the boat early in the morning instead.
The sun hadn¡¯t set just yet, but it wasn¡¯t far off. An early night then. Just a few hours. He might make a mistake if he didn¡¯t rest too, and that might be worse than being a few hours late. He didn¡¯t know how picky the lake man would be, or how alert he would need to be when offering him the boat either for that matter. What if he got angry? Margret would come with, but what could she do? Maybe he shouldn¡¯t trust her so blindly on this. Cain¡¯s life was on the line wasn¡¯t it? But then again, how well did he know the demon? They¡¯d only known each other for what, a day? And he was a demon¡
Thoughts of doubt haunted Rowan as he undressed and flopped down on his bed. Maybe he was working himself up a bit too much over it all¡ He was too tired to decide on that. Troubled, the artist closed his eyes and let sleep take him. It took only a few minutes. Sadly it only lasted as long too. A distant sound had Rowan¡¯s eyes squint open just a tad. He couldn¡¯t tell what he¡¯d heard, nor was he awake enough to think much more off it. But a few seconds later another sound followed the first, louder this time. A distinctly worrying sound.
Rowan pondered the pros and cons of ignoring it. It sounded distant, possibly even outside the settlement. He lived close to the wall so that was plausible. Maybe a roaming monster or something having a fit. They did that sometimes. The alarm bells would start ringing if it was actually something to worry about.
Reluctant to wake up any more than he already had, Rowan remained face down in his bed and waited to see if the sound returned or not. He hoped it wouldn¡¯t. He groaned loudly into the mattress as it did.
Rowan sat up with a grimace and glared at nothing in particular. His bedroom had no windows, but he could see some of the red sunlight coloring his floor through the door to the rest of his house. Sunset. Who was throwing a racket at sunset?
Crash.
The sound was louder this time, closer or just louder. He couldn¡¯t tell which, but it was enough to get him out of bed. More sounds of distant violence rang out as he searched for some relatively clean clothes and got dressed. He would have to do laundry soon. If the Maples moved that was. He wouldn¡¯t risk another run in with Lan over some dirty clothes, no matter how icky it made him feel to smell his own filth on his clothes. Being a werewolf made him just a smidge less tolerant to dirty clothes. Had he lived in a city down south he might have cleaned his his stuff more often, but up north he had fewer opportunities to do that. Harwall had no finished well yet. The land moved too much up north for wells to be easy constructions.
Rowan groused about dirty clothes and well hating land while pulling his dreads back into a loose ponytail. The alarm bells rang at the same time he stepped out of his bedroom, which, both comically and infuriatingly, made him stub his toes on the threshold. His moment of pain and swearing leeched some of the drama out of the sound of the bells.
The bells of Harwall were simple things, large bells of some cheap metal hung up in temporary towers of timber. They would get proper towers of stone once the wall was set up. Now they rang loud and clear and the sound made Rowan¡¯s head hurt.
Irritated more than anything, Rowan made his way through the mainroom of his home, to the door, then outside it. As expected of a emergency near sunset, Harwall was falling into a sluggish sense of chaos. Chaos, because anything worthy of the bells meant possible death and tragedy, and sluggish, because at least half of the settlement would have prefered if the emergency could have waited until morning. People did not care to die before bedtime.
A good number of guards were rushing about, armors on and weapons at the ready. Rowan made to shout for one to find out what the hell was happening, but before he could do much more than open his mouth, the door to Margret Rotwall¡¯s house slammed open and clocked a guard in the face. Rowan watched in astonishment as Margret stormed out through the door, looked around, then turned around to yell at the poor guard what the racket was about. The guard¡¯s companion had to shoo her away from the downed guard, who had a broken nose and a even worse temper thanks to Margret¡¯s door.
Rowan¡¯s sensitive ears managed to pick out the gist of the half yelled conversation, despite the noisy chaos of the streets and the distant rumbling.
The Maples were fighting something, possibly the lake. A shiver ran down Rowan¡¯s spine as he heard this. A fight between guardians? That could end the settlement if it reached that far. He¡¯d seen the tense relationship between Telrind and Lan so he had no doubt they would go all out if it really was a fight between them.
Just as he had that thought, the ground shook. In the distance came a noise of breaking tree trunks and raging waters. The entire street went silent for a split second, then, as riled up crowds of people tended to do, they panicked. The sharp sounds of whistles broke through the otherwise chaotic sounds, and the piercing sound was enough to make Rowan stumble back and bed over, hands on his ears while his insides burned. The sound was painful, and it made him wanna tear himself free of his skin and run down the street to rip the whistles out of whoever¡¯s hands were holding them. Possibly rip the hands off too. He couldn¡¯t focus.
A warm hand on his back snapped him out of those thoughts, but the ringing in his ears remained. So did the sound of the whistles. Vaguely he noticed armored people running about, trying to get those panicking to calm down. Someone was talking to him. He couldn¡¯t hear what she was saying over the sounds of the street. Margret had his back. The wiry old woman had her face set in a determined yet worried expression. Another tremor ran through the ground.
¡°On your feet and get inside.¡± Margret pulled at his shoulder, showing a surprising amount of strength. While still feeling woozy from the loud noises, Rowan stumbled up and let her pull him over to her house. Only when they were at her door did his head clear up enough for him to hesitate.
¡°Aren¡¯t we supposed to go the town hall?¡±
Margret let out a stressed huff as Rowan stopped.
¡°No time for that. Esbi just got up off her ass and in just a moment we¡¯ll be feeling the effects of that.¡±
She¡¯d barely finished talking when another tremor shook Harwall, this time strong enough to make the houses rattle and groan with strain. Margret left no time to argue. With a harsh shove she herded Rowan inside her home, shut the door, then slumped against it and exhaled loudly. Rowan left her that moment of relief, knowing full well that she wouldn¡¯t drag it out more than she could.
As expected, Margret took another deep breath and then she was back on her feet again. A swish of black flew past Rowan¡¯s feet, nearly making him fall on his ass as he reeled back from it with a start. Herman the roster graced him with a discontent hiss in his passing, clearly not happy with the artist being there. The bird went right past him, making a beeline for Margret. Noticing the agitated bird by her feet, the old woman bent down and scooped him up. Herman made another hissing sound, a tad happier this time, and then he settled down on top of her shoulder, with his yellow little eyes glaring daggers at what he perceived as a intruder. As usual, the rooster showed far more intelligence with that one glare than Rowan felt comfortable with a bird having. There was something deeply unsettling about meeting the bird¡¯s eyes. Despite this, Rowan felt himself resisting the urge to look away. The bird did not approve of the challenge, but before any of them could go a step further, Margret intervened with a snide comment.
¡°Both of you stop your cock measuring contest. I¡¯ve got enough with one of them around.¡±
Pun delivered, Margret smiled. Rowan made a embarassed sound and used the excuse of walking away to sit down in her sofa to break eye contact with the rooster. Herman saw through the lie apparently, because he let out a croaking clucking that sounded awfully similar to laughter as the artist retreated. Margret sighed.
¡°You¡¯ll have to tolerate each other for the night. I doubt the guardians will be done before morning. Wise as they are, when it comes to quick moving and actually communicating they can be terribly slow. Trees and puddles were never known for their social skills I¡¯m afraid.¡±
Rowan nodded absently. His head was still spinning a bit too fast for his liking. While muffled now, the chaotic sounds from out on the streets were still hammering away at his sensitive ears. He had an urge to slap his hands over his ears, but out of the corner of his eye he could see Margret watching him. So he stayed as he was, with his elbows on his knees and hands clasped in front of him. A small voice at the back of his head was trying to get him to run back out into the chaos again. Staying cooped up while knowing what was going on out there didn¡¯t sit right with his feral side.
Another tremor made the many bottles and pots strewn about the shelves in Margret¡¯s home clir in protest. It was quiet sound, the kind that made you all the more aware of the silence once it stopped.
Margret remained where she stood for a long moment, seemingly lost in thought. She studied the man sitting in her sofa. Saw his yellow eyes and the way his lips occasionally trembled as if he was fighting a reflex to bare his teeth. She¡¯d prevented him from joining the rest of Harwall in the town hall, out of fear for what would happen if he lost his temper after all.
Silence reigned whenever the tremors faded. Rowan sat quietly, worrying about what damage the settlement would suffer. He was born further south, and as such he hadn¡¯t experienced what it was like for the lands to move and rage to this degree. The north had a temper and the guardians had far more energy up here when human roots hadn¡¯t weighted them down yet. Rowan worried about that, and Margret wondered what she should do now that she¡¯d discovered the werewolf.
Ch17 True forms
She knew. How could she not? It all added up. She¡¯d had her suspicions, but now, with the target of said suspicions sitting in her sofa, struggling to keep himself in check with the onslaught of sounds and sensations bombarding him from all around, she knew.
What would she do about it? She didn¡¯t know. Not yet at least. The ground shook again and Margret knew that while she¡¯d found the werewolf, there were more pressing matters to attend to.
The old woman went over to her trembling shelves and started picking down the more fragile containers and objects. Rowan remained sitting while Margret put her fragile things in safer places.
Time passed like that, with Margret wandering about, restless, and Rowan meeting each tremble of the ground with a soft sound of discomfort. What both of them failed to notice in time was the way the continued tremor was slowly making the clay pot at the back of the room crack. It started as a small crack. Just the faintest of signs of the old clay giving way to the continued vibrations of the floor boards. Rowan might have heard it, given his sensitive senses and that, were it not for all the other sounds tugging at his attention already.
Only when the pot tipped over and the crack loudly spread from top to bottom did they react, but by that time it was too late. Things happened fast after the mandragora within realised it had a shot at freedom. First of all, Rowan jerked up and looked around the room when he heard the sound of the pot breaking. The werewolf didn¡¯t know what to do about it though, so the fast reaction was pretty much wasted. Second to react was Margret, who swore in a way to make Rowan jerk around to stare at her instead of the pot and it¡¯s escapee. Last to move was Herman, but only because he waited until Margret yelled before hurtling towards the rebelling herb.
The small lumpy root with it¡¯s comically oversized flower bobbing above on the stem sprouting from it head spun, moving in a almost drunken manner before it noticed the flurry of feathered death coming towards it. Once it saw the roster it squeaked, a quiet sound that still made Margret¡¯s ears ring and the had the artist double over clutching at his head. The rooster seemed unaffected, so Luhnan fixed that with some fast reacting involving a large shard from the pot, a somewhat clumsy swing.
Through luck or skill, Luhnan somehow made his swing connect with the bird¡¯s head, abruptly stopping its attempt to stun him just as it tried to open it¡¯s second pair of eyelids. Herman fell to the side with a indignant croak while Luhnan got enough of his balance back to make a run for it across the room. He had to make a sharp turn to avoid getting pounced on by the artist, who looked more rabid than artistic now. A small trickle of blood was running down from both of his ears, and his eyes glowed yellow in a way that promised pain, should he manage to catch the sentient shrub.
With another squeak that made the werewolf¡¯s nose start bleeding, and somehow enraged him more, the small mandragora threw himself to the side, slid across the floor, then scrambled back to his feet to keep on moving. He made it about halfway towards the wall before Margret punted him.
The shutters of her one window fell open and partly snapped free from their hinges as Luhnan went crashing through them. Whatever sound he made after that was quickly drowned out by the chaos outside. Margret caught sight of a pine tree tall enough to hide its tip in the clouds slowly lurch forwards in the direction of the lake, followed by enough birds to blot out part of the sky. The guardians were still at it, and now Esbi had joined the fray it seemed. The tremors that shook the ground was gradually growing worse, and in the distance the sound of the ground breaking open could be heard.
A rumbling snarl from the back of the room made her reluctantly tear her eyes away from the window. Hunched in the middle of the room next to the sofa stood Rowan, one clawed hand gripping the back of the sofa hard enough to make the wooden frame groan. Margret took a unsteady step away from him, felt the wall at her back, then called out as calmly and quietly as she could.
¡°Herman¡¡±
The werewolf¡¯s head jerked up, eyes wide and no longer human. She could see sharp teeth gleaming with drool, the tips of them just barely touching down as Rowan worked his mouth, lips drawn back in a snarl of both struggle and hostility. The rooster was already staring the man down, but Rowan didn¡¯t seem to have enough of his mind left to register the threat.
Margret¡¯s heart hammered in her chest, and she had no doubt Rowan could hear it as well. The man¡¯s dark skin moved, bones bending and angling themselves slowly beneath his skin with muted wet pops and crackles. She kept still, just staring. Rowan had his eyes locked on her, yellow with darkening edges and the skin around them already turning a leathery black.
A hiss from Herman had the werewolf slowly turn his gaze towards the bird. Herman waited until their eyes met, then quickly opened his second, transparent, pair of eyelids. The already intense yellow of the rooster¡¯s eyes took on a almost painful sheen, bordering on green, and as they stared each other down Rowan¡¯s body slowly froze. Margret could see his raging body struggling to push the change, but Herman¡¯s stare held it and frozen enough to draw out a frustrated growl from the werewolf.
For a moment it looked like Rowan was gonna shake the effect. Dark fur was pushing out of the pores of his skin at an alarming rate, and the wet crackling sound of his bones snapping into new shapes made Marget feel nauseous. But she knew Herman could still keep up. Her familiar was nothing to frown upon, even if a werewolf might be testing his limits a bit.
Like the werewolf, the rooster¡¯s body slowly started its own change. Herman raised his head, rearing it back like a snake, and as he did the feathers on his neck puffed up to the sides like the hood of a cobra. The bird¡¯s body lengthened, as he pawed the ground restlessly, limbs growing longer and spreading out from its body. His wings spread to the sides, growing longer and wider, showing off a impressive wingspan. Dark scales glimmered in the gaps created where his body had stretched out, leaving patches on his neck, the base of his wings, and tail, bald of feathers. The rooster¡¯s beak opened up to its fullest, then further yet, the skin where the upper and lower parts of the beak connected drawing back like the mouth of a dog, revealing needle like teeth crowding a mouth that reached a far bit down it¡¯s neck.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
Herman looked grotesque in his true form, a cockatrice in the prime of his life, a bird mixed with the traits of a snake. The scaled bald spots on his body made the bird look scabby, and its long and sinuous body held something alien and powerful to it. It moved slowly, with the grace of a predator waiting for its moment to strike.
His intense gaze held the werewolf like a physical thing, paralyzing and oppressing. But werewolves were known to be stronger than your average changeling, and Rowan demonstrated just that kind of strength and willpower by continuing his change, despite the cockatrice¡¯s stare.
Dark fur covered his body, slowly sprouting, spreading, and thickening. His fur was of that kind where the undercoat of it looked brown, giving it a rich texture and a depth whenever he moved enough for the coarse outer layer to part. Rowan¡¯s dreads lost their grip and fell out as the fur crawled across his head, landing on the floor like withering ropes. The werewolf¡¯s skull looked like it was bursting apart but slowly, bone cracking open and pushing at his skin in a way no body should ever move. It was like something sluggish yet powerful was struggling to stretch its body out from within a stretchy sack of skin. Margret and Herman watched the creature grunt and snarl as the thing beneath replaced what used to be a man. The change went on for minutes, maybe even an hour, but the sight of it was enough to entrance both cockatrice and witch. It was like staring at a cadaver. It was grizzly and ugly, yet you couldn¡¯t look away.
When the change finally ended the werewolf growled. Saliva dribbled down his chin, jaws parted and lips drawn back to show a wicked set of teeth. The cockatrice kept it still, but not entirely paralyzed. Margret realized that he couldn¡¯t. The werewolf was too strong.
Thinking quickly, Margret slowly reached to open the door, then took a step to the side. Rowan¡¯s eyes locked onto her almost immediately. Herman rumbled warningly, but the alchemist let the door hang open, then took another step. She hushed the bird and tried her best not to tremble. If she was to make it out of this alive she would have to stay calm. The werewolf would attack and give chase if she moved too fast. She kept moving, going anti-clockwise to try and circle the beast.
Four steps she got before the werewolf moved. It lifted one heavy paw, then slowly tried to move towards her, circling like she did, but in the wrong direction. Clockwise. Herman let out a short hiss and stepped in its way, his hood flaring up further in a way that made him look bigger and less inclined to let the beast past.
Margret held her breath as Rowan stared her familiar down, one paw still in the air. Then thankfully the beast recoiled, choosing to go the other direction instead. Herman allowed it to mirror Margret, both of them circling each other at a snail¡¯s pace. Herman followed, always keeping himself between the werewolf and the witch.
They kept moving like that, predator and its would-be prey circling each other. Impatience and fear nagged at Margret, something small and afraid at the back of her mind telling her to run, run, and for gods¡¯ sake don¡¯t look back or it would eat her. The rational part of her brain told her that it would eat her regardless of if she ran or not, and that her old legs would be no match for its speed.
It felt like an eternity before she had Rowan¡¯s back to the door. It hung open just a bit, enough to let the cold night air tug at the beast¡¯s dark fur. The sun had set outside, but the sound of the woods moving and the ground groaning from the strain made it noisier than day. She could see Rowan¡¯s ears twitch and angle back every now and then, attention splitting between its prey and the activity going on behind it.
Now came the tricky part¡
Margret gathered her will and focused into a single desire. She hardened her gaze and straightened her back, then spoke in a low, authoritative voice.
¡°You should leave now Rowan. You are not welcome here. Get out.¡±
She saw the werewolf twitch at the sound of its name. A low growl followed.
¡°Leave,¡± she repeated, pouring more of her will into the command.
The familiar feeling of magic made her hair stand on end. It wasn¡¯t something strong, just a tingle, a vague feeling of something unreal happening that left her mind feeling a sense of muted wonder. There she stood in her own home, the center of her domain. Within one¡¯s home their will is law, that was one of the many rules the supernatural abided by in this place. People and creatures might be able to act against the host¡¯s will still, but doing so would feel wrong. It wasn¡¯t something obvious. Just a nudge of one¡¯s instincts. One humans it would have little effect, unless they were naturally submissive or uncertain, but a werewolf was a creature of instinct, and right now Margret could tell, Rowan¡¯s instincts was starting to tell him to obey.
The werewolf¡¯s hackles rose and a unhappy growl bubbled up in its throat, but the beast did take a single step back. It might have wanted to charge at her instead, but Herman¡¯s stare still made its movements too sluggish for that.
¡°Get out of my house. Leave, Rowan.¡±
Once again the sound of his name made the werewolf pause. It shook its head while looking disoriented for a moment, then turned its eyes back to her to snarl in defiance.
Margret raised her chin up, just enough to show confidence. She would have to act her part if the changeling was to accept her authority within her home. While pushing any panicking thoughts aside, Margret took a firm step forwards. The werewolf stepped back almost immediately before it noticed what it was doing. Another growl rose up from its throat, angrier this time, but Margret kept going. Herman stayed between them, aiding his witch by keeping his magical gaze on the intruder.
Their struggle of wills continued and Margret was gaining ground. Rowan kept snarling and growling, but the witch¡¯s spell held, and slowly but surely he was being herded out of the house. Once he was outside they all stopped, Margret and Herman standing in front of the door¡¯s threshold while Rowan crouched and snarled outside.
Herman put his all into paralyzing the werewolf, and when Margret was sure the beast couldn¡¯t lunge at her she grabbed the door handle. Quick as a snake she flung the door shut, screaming the words of a spell as she did. The barely visible runs covering her door and the wall separating her home from the street lit up with a hiss, and at the same time the entire building shook as Rowan threw himself at the door.
Had it not been for her wards strengthening it, the door would have shattered beneath the beast¡¯s weight. Instead it shook, wood groaning beneath the weight of the impact, but still intact. Margret took a staggering step back from it as it went quiet again, then leaned against the back of her couch as a second bang followed.
The werewolf flung itself against her door four times, too worked up to even notice the broken open window. It might not have been able to squeeze itself through that opening, but Margret was grateful that it hadn¡¯t tried still.
Once it gave up on the door, it went down the street instead. Margret waited for several minutes after hearing it take off before she dared relax again. Her hands shook and her heart was going painfully fast. Seeing his companion slump back into the cough, Herman shook himself, reverting back to his usual appearance, then trotted over to hop up on her lap.
The rooster cooed soothingly after it had settled on her lap, and Margret welcome the distraction. They sat like that for a long time, Margret staring numbly at a wall while stroking Herman¡¯s black feathers, and Herman cooing and croaking softly in an attempt to calm her down.
Once calm enough she went back up to check on her protections. She would need to make something werewolf resistant for the next time she saw Rowan.
Update. Insomnias a bitch. Still working on chapter 18 :(
Heya folks. Chapter 18 is still not done due to my health issues keeping me from writing. Insomnia''s a bitch when you need focus and energy to be productive. I''m about half way through the chapter so it miiiight be ready next weekend. No promises though...This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
I''ll try and hang in there as best as I can for now. Can''t leave stuff unfinished now that things are finally taking a turn right?
There''s plants to chase and lakes to calm. Bet you won''t hear a sentence like that anywhere else.
Ch18 The chase
What a glorious time to be alive thought the werewolf. Fine gravel and patches of cobbled road flew beneath his paws as he bounded down the empty streets of Harwal. Such a glorious time indeed. Above him the sky was dark, not because there was no moon to be seen, but because cloud and sky tore and clung to the branches of the gigantic pines moving past the settlement.
Rain wept down from time to time, coming down in patches, uncertain if it should let go or not. In the distance wood creaked and broke. The crashing of water and the rustle of frenzied maple leaves lent a sense of chaos to the night.
Rowan loved it.
Such was the commotion that had the citizens of Harwall hiding in the town hall, the church, and in the few homes built sturdy enough to withstand the anger of the ground.
Lan and Telrin were waging war upon each other, and Esbi was none too happy about it. Maybe the r? of the Pines would break up the fight. Maybe Harwall would be leveled with the ground before the three calmed down. Who was to say?
Rowan couldn¡¯t care less.
His was the night, in a very different sense. Here lay the usual target of his desire whenever he wore wolf¡¯s clothing. Harwall, in all its unfinished glory. Houses made of stone, wood, brick, and mud. Some looking ready to last for generations, while others were mere placeholders to keep the busy people of the settlement safe from nature¡¯s wear and tear.
And nature tore.
A pine tree the size of the smallest of Harwall¡¯s buildings came flying through the air, branches snapping and raining down fine green needles upon the empty streets as the lake man threw it. Water followed, a distant patter as if emptying a bucket onto cobbled ground. Rowan delighted in the way the sound roared. The only thing that could have made the werewolf happier was if any of the settlers had actually been out on the street while it happened.
The flying tree crashed into a building two streets away from where Rowan was. He heard wood and rock break with a hair raising crash. But no screams. Oh how he wanted there to be screams.
He debated seeking out the heart of the fight for a moment, curiosity over what a fight between the lands would look like tempting his heart. He decided against it, but only just barely.
A scent clung to the ground, slowly losing its hold as more smells crowded the place from far and wide. The wind was howling hysteria, a constant reminder of the potential destruction, that tore at one¡¯s ears. Rowan would have felt for it, had it not been muffled by the near constant ringing he¡¯d been left with since he¡¯d abandoned his fight against Margret¡¯s door.
The memory of what happened was unclear to him still. He remembered a scream, the panic of things going wrong, Margret reeking of fear. Something had come apart, and with it came enough confusion and stimuli to have the werewolf tear himself free of his weaker form.
What happened next had been a blur. He remembered the roster, vile and hated as it was in his eyes, stare at him. He still felt the weight it had put on his limbs, freezing him in place until he¡¯d managed to shake himself out of the daze. How he hated that bird.
One moment he¡¯d been staring the thing down, the next instinct had kept him blind and enraged. The next thing he knew he¡¯d been bounding down a street, claws clicking against the packed ground with each leap.
Freedom.
And within Harwall no less. Never had he run freely within its walls while wearing fur. It had always been a distant wish of his, to see it with his yellow eyes. The golden ones were too dull. They thought too much about what they saw. Too many worries and fears to truly enjoy what the world was showing him. Yes, his wild self was what needed this.
The scent caught his nose again, this time with enough of a presence for him to follow it. Rowan slowed his pace into a trott, then into a quick walk. With his nose to the ground he soon picked up a trail. Many in fact. The fleeing citizens only had a few places to go, and as such, their scents became one winding trail, all flooding towards nearly the same destinations.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
The church met him first, tall and proud. Many of his statues lined its sides and front, blank eyes of clay staring at him daringly. He could sense a great amount of people within its doors, but the ground burned his paws when he tried to draw closer. Another time then. He had better trails to follow.
The second place the fleeing people had gone to lay at the other end of the settlement, closer to the Maple gate. A tiny voice at the back of his mind told him where it was. It also told him not to go there, but Rowan saw no reason to obey it. All of Harwall¡¯s citizens were told to go to the town hall or church when a catastrophe arrived. That included him too didn¡¯t it? The voice disagreed, but Rowan felt too clever to deign it with a reply.
The empty plaza welcomed Rowan like it always had, streets on either side giving way to let him step into the open space. Harwall always felt a bit flatter when standing in the plaza. Shops and buildings of importance were closed and boarded up, their occupants having fled to safer places already.
Rowan prowled along one side of the plaza, keeping close to the buildings lining it rather than stroll into the open. Another airborne tree came crashing down. It hit the roof just above the prowling predator this time, and Rowan barely managed to scramble out of the way before it came crashing towards the ground, tearing half the building¡¯s front with it as it went.
The wind picked up again as the falling rubble pelted the ground. A rumbling growl bubbled up in Rowan¡¯s throat as the sound grated at his now even more ringing ears. Anger slowly filled his vision, but thankfully he would soon have something to take it out on.
The reinforced door of the town hall glared defiantly at him, which intimidated the werewolf as much as a toddler with a battlehorn. Cackling with glee and anticipation, Rowan crept forth. He put two heavy paws against the rough surface of the door, and immediately felt a faint tingling from the metals put into it to ward of changelings. It was nowhere as strong as the church, but the defense was there nonetheless. Perhaps it would spook some lesser creatures, presuming they didn¡¯t have enough of a mind to ignore the unpleasant feeling. Against Rowan it was about as effective as a squirt of water.
Goaded by the heavy scent of humans he caught on the door, the werewolf rose up onto his hind legs and put his weight onto the front paws on the door. The wood groaned beneath him as he leaned further against it, willing the door to break against his paws. His efforts were rewarded with creaking protests from the wood, but whatever held it barricaded from the inside resisted the werewolf¡¯s attempt at slowly breaking the door down.
Impatience slowly won over his desire to savor the moment. Rowan shifted his hind legs back a step, putting himself at more of a diagonal angle against the door, then pushed. For a moment his body went upright, stiff as a board, then gravity pulled him back down against the door like a falling pillar. Just before hitting back against the door, there werewolf thrust his paws forwards, adding further force to the blow. The wood complained with more creaks and groans, but held. Annoyed, Rowan repeated his actions for a few more attempts. No change.
Enraged, the werewolf gave up on any sort of tactic and started clawing at the door instead. Shuffling sounds started ringing out from behind the door, quickly followed by muffled voices full of alarm. Feeling his urges to break into the building nearly double, the werewolf cried out, voice raw with anger. He thought he felt the unnaturally sturdy wood give beneath his claws when something hard hit the back of his head.
A sharp flash of pain that rattled his skull. Rowan spun with a yowl, only to find that what had hit him was a small rock. The thrower stood frozen just a few steps away from his hulking form.
There it stood, trembling and trying to stay rock still at the same time. That same accursed lump of a root that had torn him out of his human mind earlier. Luhnan fought the urge to scream as the werewolf slowly turned to face him fully. Yellow eyes locked onto hollow sockets, the werewolf¡¯s ones burning with rage whereas Luhnan¡¯s could have rolled back into his head at any second from pure fright.
They held like that, staring each other down, neither daring to move lest the other one lash out. Then a root split the plaza like a surfacing worm bursting through the earth, and the startled Luhnan took off at a mad sprint. Rowan was on his heels near instantly.
If Luhnan had a heart it would surely have been beating overtime. The fact that he didn¡¯t, which meant there was no sound of it to follow threw the chasing beast off somewhat, but not enough to make it lose track of its quarry. There was still the scent and sight after all. Of a fearful little thing fleeing for its life. And flee he did.
Although most of the buildings stood sturdy, dust and debris still hailed down onto the streets, a constant shower of possible death should it hit something vital at that speed. Luhnan dodged death and crushed limbs with a show of surprising agility. Rowan charged through the obstacles like a rabid bulldozer.
Streets flew by at breakneck speed, and each turn the mandragora could feel the hungering beast closing in on him. He had no doubt what would become of him if the werewolf caught him. In fact, he was trying his best not to imagine it, lest nausea slow him down further. Survival was the only option he could allow himself, but that path would require more and more dire actions it seemed. He was at the end of his rope. Exhaustion had his body aching and slowing. He could hear the frenzied panting of the beast as it followed him around another corner in the street. Luhnan was starting to lose hope. He pumped his limbs with all he got, urging himself to keep going as fast as possible. Another crossroads opened up before him, and Luhnan was about to turn right when-
The system¡¯s voice rung out in his head for the first time since he got out of that witch¡¯s house. Willing to trust any advice that might lead to his salvation, even if that trust was blind, Luhnan dove to the right as the crossing streets approached. He dove, feeling something in his body snap at the extortion, then felt the ground disappear beneath his feet.
As the ground crumbled ad gave way, a sound to match it followed. Packed dirt crunched as it was ripped open by a tremor, and with it came the base of the building nearest the hole. Vaguely behind him Luhnan could hear the werewolf scream as rocks and timber started raining down over it. The house was coming down, tipping over like a felled tree of the giant kind, and the werewolf had followed Luhnan right into its path.
The world lost coherence during that moment, as what later turned out to be a newly dug tunnel beneath the street fell in on itself, and pulled the building it was connected to with it. Only the keenest of eyes would realize this however. To the uneducated it mostly looked like a building had come down, and dug deep into the ground as it hit it. The fact that seemingly no one knew about the tunnel beforehand only added to the dismissal of that vital piece of information.
Luhnan and Rowan would not, since that glaring truth had them both stuck in its maw now, buried beneath the rubble six feet under.
Authors note. Im alive!
I''m back baby! It''s been many months of bad health, bad luck, and so many adjustments. I should reassure you all, I don''t have anything life threatening so I didn''t and won''t drop dead. However, insomnia, anxiety, and bad stress tolerance has a way of getting to a person when left alone for long enough, especially if there''s more problems added to the pile over time.
Like having to drop out of uni. That was a hard blow but not one I can''t recover from. If anything I think it saved me a lot of pain by nipping it in the bud early so to speak. The career I wanted to pursue just wasn''t a good fit, and pushing myself towards that goal was right out unhealthy. One problem after the next piled up because I couldn''t solve one before two new were cropping up, and at the end of the day I became a burned out wreck dreading having to wake up to another day where I would overwork myself. I shan''t go into details too much though, mostly because it''s private stuff but also because you all are here to read some good ol fantasy and not to listening to a sad sap vent on the internet.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.
But know that I''m doing better now. Skilled doctors with wonderful life advice, a few months on medication to let me get back into sleeping for more than 3 fitful hours a night, and a whole lot of therapy has set me back on the track to recovery. I consider myself healthy enough again to be able to run a few projects again. I missed writing. The time I spent on "break" also let me learn a whole lot of new things to make writing easier. I have a planned plot now. An actual timeline for things so I don''t get stuck on what to do. Previously I just had a vague idea of direction and ending, but it turns out that that''s not a good way to write a book. I wish they would have taught me the wonders of planning a book properly in school.
So now I return to the world of the living with new methods, better circumstances, and a few pre-written chapters to avoid the stress of a looming deadline. Releasing a chapter as soon as it''s written is o so very tempting but not healthy for the author in the long run. You need to keep some spare chapters to release so you can take a break when you need it without falling behind.
That said, thank you for listening to me rave for a moment and please enjoy the new chapter.
Ch19 After the storm
Everything hurt. It was dark, hard to breath, and everything hurt. Rowan felt as if he was buried beneath shards of glass. He was sore, tired, and everything felt¡ heavy. And it was dark.
That caught his attention. Things weren¡¯t usually this dark. Not for him. Even during the moonless nights his eyes could beat that darkness. His night vision was on pair with any predator of the woods, a fact that often had him feel less human that he wanted to be. So why was it dark? Were there no shred of light for him to see? Was he blind?
His wolf had gotten out earlier. He knew that before he knew where he was. It had gotten out, done whatever it did, then gone somewhere to sleep, and as a result, shift back to human. The memories of its nightly escapades would return to him eventually. It was only the first moments of waking up that always had him groggy and lost. Sometimes he forgot who he was. Those times were always frightening. Not while they happened, but afterwards. Because when he didn¡¯t know who he was, he felt none of his usual attachments. No compelling argument to not go back into wearing his fearsome pelt of black and hunger. He feared that those times would be the end of his human days.
Today was not that day thankfully. His memories slowly returned and sorted themselves. Chaos and screams, falling rocks and a rainless storm. But not a dry one. The lakewater had been torn and thrown into the air, a petty attack by the Maple r? that wouldn¡¯t really accomplish anything but to spur the Lakeman¡¯s rage. Rowan¡¯s head hurt when he thought about this. Nature could be fearsome. Like a child with the with the power to change the lives of millions. Take them too if they felt especially nasty.
Putting such thoughts out of his mind, Rowan tried to focus on what happened after. The finer details so to speak. What had he done when the sky came down on Harwall? He¡¯d gone with Margret. What happened in there¡?
¡°...¡±
Rowan froze. He¡¯d shifted in front of Margret. Had he killed her¡? No¡ She¡¯d driven him away somehow. And he¡¯d stalked inside the town-... Fear¡¯s cold fingers latched onto his stomach. What had he done inside the town? Who had he hurt? Fear and shock made a tangle of his thoughts. It took several moments for him to clear them back up again. Had he hurt anyone¡? No.
¡°...¡±
A sigh of relief. They¡¯d all hidden away in safe places to weather the rage of the guardians. He¡¯d been locked out. But hadn¡¯t he chased someone? Something. What had he found.
Something fell near him. A faint pitter patter of rubble and dust raining down a unevent slope. Rowan froze. The grogginess was fading now, but the pain and weight on him remained. He stayed still for a few tense seconds, a minute, longer. But no more sound came. He could hear his own breathing echo. Where was he? And what had he chased?
Rowan tried to move while fishing for that memory.
Something small¡ A child? Had he found a child in the streets? No¡ No it wasn¡¯t a child. It was uglier, smaller, dangerous. It had hurt him¡ somehow. He felt dried blood on his nose and ears. A unpleasant feeling.
Something was pushing down on him. Rocks.Glass? No glass. Only sharp things. Splintered wood possibly. It dug into his body in places. Painful. Rowan grunted as he flexed his body and heaved.
More falling things echoed in the dark place. He felt the pile of things on his back shift, then fall to the sides, freeing himself from its weight. He¡¯d been buried by broken things. He couldn¡¯t tell what kind of things exactly, not without light. He had a bad feeling about this.
A second rush of sound came further away as more dust and debris pelted the ground. The artist froze, not because of the sound, but because he hadn¡¯t been the one to cause it. A quiet hissing sound followed while Rowan stood frozen in place. A sharp intake of breath perhaps? Or something much more sinister.
The sound came again, closer this time. The hairs on Rowan¡¯s neck stood up as he heard a faint shuffling start towards him in the dark. The unseen thing kept close to the ground. It was a hesitant, dragging, sound. Tiny feet on crude stone tiles. The hissing came again, louder this time. The thing repeated the sound every few steps, occasionally adding more to the drawn out garble.
¡°Sssssshssuuuh¡¡±
Rowan couldn¡¯t tell if the room was large or if the thing took very short steps. The faint echo distorted sound far too much to make an accurate assumption. The thought of many, many small legs working to drag the creature¡¯s body forwards crossed the artist¡¯s mind.
¡°Ckssshuuuu...nsh¡¡±
The hissed gibberish turned into something slightly more intent. A short ¡®click¡¯ now started each hiss. The sound made Rowan¡¯s skin crawl. He debated moving, since the gibbering creature was steadily making its way towards him, but the fear of the unknown held the artist in place. He didn¡¯t know if the thing knew he was there yet. Had it missed him? Surely not¡ He¡¯d been making sounds earlier when waking up. Was that why it was coming towards him? The next gurgling click came from a spot far too close for comfort.
¡°C-ck-hhhhuuUUUUnnhh¡.-t¡h..¡±
Perhaps if he had waited another second or two, Rowan would have heard the first successful attempt at pronouncing the word ¡®cunt¡¯. Another minute or so and the thing might have even managed to croak out the rest of the sentence it had in mind. Something along the lines of ¡®Cunt, bitch, fuck, that hurt.¡¯ Not the most creative of profanities, but the speaker could hardly be blamed.
As it were, rather than finish his first and arguably questionable vocal accomplishment, Rowan instead pulled his leg back, waited, then kicked with all he had at the approaching mandragora. Said mandragora had no idea what was coming for him right until the moment the artist¡¯s foot made contact with his stomach. Several new mediocre profanities came to mind as Luhnan sailed across the room. He forgot almost all of them the moment he felt himself hit a wall.
The room wasn¡¯t that large. Not after the ceiling caved in and buried half of it. The resulting collision was therefore painful and far too close in time to the kick that caused it. Rowan felt a jolt of pain as the plantman slid down the wall and hit the floor again, all while letting out a pained groan sounding vaguely like a squeaky toy with a sore throat being stepped on.
Shock was felt by both people present, although in different forms. Rowan for one was feeling shaken by the experience of kicking something that definitely didn¡¯t feel like a rat. He had been hoping it was a rat. A rat wasn¡¯t a monster. Most of the time¡ Now he felt a creeping fear that he was stuck in a dark room with a vicious monster.
Luhnan on the other hand felt less fear and more pain. His shock came in the form that legs feel when something suddenly hits their knee at just that specific angle. Never a pleasant experience. He had sort of been hoping to never feel it again, given his lack of bones. Bodies made of roots feeling knee pain? Unfair. Even if it was more of a whole body pain rather than just a knee pain. Still unfair in Luhnan¡¯s opinion.
Silence reigned once more after Luhnan had stopped groaning and hissing on the ground. The two young men of varying monstrous natures held their breath for a moment, both wary of their partner, blind as they were. The standstill only lasted for a few minutes.
Light slowly bled into the room from a previously unknown tunnel. Rowan had to shield his eyes as the bright glow of a torch passed a corner in the tunnel and came into full view. Luhnan choose the smarter option for once and dove out of sight behind a pile of rubble.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
The man with the torch drew all the way up to the entrance of the room, then held his light out to light up the room further. It then struck Rowan that the torch man probably couldn¡¯t see him yet. He was at the back of the room, still far away enough from the torch to remain hidden in the shadows.
Hesitantly the torch bearer stepped into the room, eyes searching the ceiling and walls for signs that another cave in was about to happen. He visibly relaxed as he found none, and as he lowered the torch Rowan finally managed to recognize his face.
Tomas Kelling jumped as Rowan cleared his throat. The gaunt man stumbled back a step, paused, then did a double take of the dark room. Only then did he see past the long shadows cast by his torch to where Rowan stood. The short man froze in place while his eyes widened and his lips parted open in startled confusion. Only then did it strike Rowan that he was naked.
Naked, dirty, and slightly bloodied. His transformation from wolf to man had healed any of the injuries caught in the cave in, but dried blood still stained several parts of his body. Rowan felt that a smile and a sheepish wave was in place. Perhaps caught off guard, Tomas waved back, still looking like he was watching a ghost. Nothing was said during that stare, which led to Rowan awkwardly clearing his throat again.
Near death experiences, the risk of a deadly secret being revealed, and the wrath of mother nature herself be damned. Gods forbid they would endure a moment of awkward silence too.
¡°Hi, uh¡ Tomas Kelling? Fancy seeing you here.¡± Rowan felt like a fool as he spoke, but him breaking the silence did the trick. Tomas blinked, opened his mouth, then pursed his lips while frowning. His reply came a lot less casual than Rowan¡¯s.
¡°You¡¯re ah¡ what are you doing here?¡±
Vague memories of last night flashed through Rowan¡¯s mind. The earthquake, Margret¡¯s house, the chase, falling¡
¡°...I fell through the floor,¡± he answered. Tomas stared at him blankly.
¡°... The floor?¡±
¡°The floor,¡± Rowan confirmed.
¡°The one¡ Your own floor?¡±
¡°No¡¡± Rowan drew the word out, uncertain. Had it been close to his own house? No¡ It had been further south. Too far from his own house then. ¡°Not my own floor no.¡±
Tomas frown grew pensive. ¡°And what were you doing there while ah¡ Naked?¡±
Rowan blushed slightly as Tomas gave him a pointed nod. Unable to think up any better excuse, Rowan went with the first lie that came to mind.
¡°Adultery,¡± he said matter of factly. This caught Tomas of guard. The man¡¯s face grew confused, then paled.
¡°With old miss Josey??¡±
This time it was Rowan¡¯s turn to pale. The tea seller? He¡¯d slipped up. Tomas looked shocked. Oh well, it was fake it or break it. Suspicion could be the death of him. Determined to take this blow to cover his ass, Rowan steeled his face and nodded with as much confidence as he could muster. His cheeks burned.
¡°Yes.¡±
¡°But she¡¯s ah-¡±
Rowan glared daggers at the man. Just shut up already.
¡°Ahem.. I mean.. Old Josey? Isn¡¯t that¡¡±
¡°In secret. Don¡¯t tell anyone.¡±
¡°Right¡¡± Tomas face flushed. He cleared his throat awkwardly while looking away. Rowan felt that he should drive that last point in a bit harder.
¡°Not a word about this to anyone, or I¡¯ll break you.¡± The fist he drove into his other hand was maybe a bit much, but the smacking sound it made and the way it made the artist¡¯s muscles bulge in the faint light of the torch was enough to convince Tomas.
¡°Not a word! Promise! So uh¡ Did she tell you about¡¡± Tomas waved the torch at the room in general. For the first time it finally struck Rowan that a tunnel like this right in the city wasn¡¯t exactly¡ normal. But he had no idea why it was here or where it led.
¡°No.¡±
¡°I see¡¡± Tomas trailed off, then quickly caught himself. To Rowans great relief, he started to explain.
¡°A emergency tunnel. You know how paranoid some old folks can get. Mayor said the church and town hall would be enough shelter for stuff like this, but most of us won¡¯t make it there if things happen fast you know? So uh, we dug some tunnels. Safe stuff I assure you. Even got a few architects in on it.¡±
The explanation felt off, but Rowan was hardly in any position to question things right now. He needed to get back to his house. If it was still standing. And pants. He needed pants.
¡°Has it calmed down?¡± Rowan asked.
¡°Excuse me?¡±
¡°The fighting. I need to get back to my house before people get back on the street.¡±
Rowan made a gesture at his lack of clothing. Tomas blinked, then quickly turned away again.
¡°Oh- of course. Right this way. We got a ladder up into another house. But uhm¡ Don¡¯t tell the mayor or any of the boss folks aye?¡±
Tomas turned to walk back into the tunnel, but his words made Rowan pause.
¡°Why?¡± His question halted Tomas in his steps. The man thought for a moment, then replied a bit hesitantly.
¡°Mayor didn¡¯t want to fund these tunnels being built. It¡¯s kinda hush hush. They¡¯ll be gone once we start building sewers any way. But it¡¯ll be a pain if the leadership hears we built something like this behind their backs.¡±
This too felt off.
¡°Come on. I¡¯ll show you the exit.¡± Tomas waved for Rowan to follow. Since he had no better ideas, Rowan followed.
Dust and debris fell behind them as they entered the tunnel. He¡¯d forgotten about the monster¡ Suddenly alarmed, the artist turned back to stare into the dark room. The light of the torch was just enough for him to spot something small and lumpy dart behind a pile of rubble. A thick stem with a large bud at the top bobbed up and down suspiciously behind the cover. The flower was visible all the way down to it¡¯s crown of leaves surrounding the base of the stem. The rest of the monster¡¯s body was hidden behind the pile.
Rowan had a bad feeling about leaving it be, but Tomas had already walked off a fair bit without noticing that the artist had stopped. A moment of poor decision making lent itself to the artist. He left the monster be.
Sunlight framed by ruin greeted the pair as they returned to the surface of Harwall. At first Rowan feared that the town was lost, but a few steps forwards quickly reassured him. It was early morning, the air was crisp and just a tiny bit hard to breath thanks to the lingering dust from the guardians'' scuffle. And what a fight it had been.
Most buildings had miraculously survived their raging surroundings. Only the one hiding the entrance to the tunnel lay crumpled like a stomped anthill. Perhaps it was proof of a poor foundation, or the tunnel beneath it weakened it.
Rowan spotted crushed jars and pots beneath the heavy planks that had been sturdy walls once upon a time. The air there was thick with herbal scents. Sweet and bitter. The smell of tea. Coupled with the fresh smell of morning and its chilling touch. It all urged a almost pleasant state of mind for the werewolf. Perhaps it was the vacant stare that caught Tomas'' attention.
The shorter man shifted nervously and cleared his throat to get Rowan''s attention back. He got it, together with a embarassed tint of cheek and a few quick blinks to regain his focus.
"Did a number to the place didn''t it? Not to worry. We''ll have a few people running all over to salvage what we can from the wreckage." Tomas smiled reassuringly, showing more confidence than Rowan was used to seeing in the man.
The change caught him off guard. Rowan nodded back. He was about to say something back when the loud cry of a horn rang out. The sound drowned out all words and thoughts of practically anyone within the town walls. Rowan flinched at the sound, sensitive ears ringing painfully along with the horn sound. Tomas flinched too, but the movement was more out of being caught off guard than of actual pain.
The horn sounded a number of times signaling the passing of danger. There were a few signals everyone in Harwall had been made to memorize just for times like this. This one along with the call for danger was the most frequently used ones. One as the danger arrived, and one for when it had passed. Not a minute passed before more sounds joined it.
Shouts from the direction of the church and the plaza, the two buildings serving as the main shelters when people were told to seek cover. Rowan caught a pat on his shoulder along with a string of words he couldn¡¯t make sense of just yet. His head was still ringing. Apperently Tomas had said something about leaving because that was exactly what he did. The thinner man hurried off past the wreckage of Josey¡¯s home and down a street. Rowan assumed he¡¯d heard someone he knew or something of that nature.
The ringing faded after awhile, leaving Rowan feeling disoriented just in time to get caught up by the post-disaster chaos of people returning to check on their homes or friends. First now did he have a chance to take in the destruction. The maddened state of mind associated with his canine form rarely left clear memories.
While many buildings had survived the literal wrath of nature, very few of them had come out of the storm without a scratch or two. Rowan saw torn open roofs, walls with holes and diverse sturdy plantlife sticking out of them like living arrows. He saw an entire tree blocking one street as he made it out of the pile formerly known as Josey¡¯s house. A maple one thankfully. Had it been one of the giant pines, more than just one street would have suffered.
With a building sense of worry the artist picked another street then begun the jog back to his own home. He lived on the northern part of Harwall, which placed him on roughly the opposite side of town to the church and town hall where most had headed. The jog took him a few minutes, mostly because more than one street had too much debris covering it to offer quick passage. By the time he made it to his own street the town had erupted fully into activity. He could hear people bustling about just a few houses over, followed by the growing sorl of a upset crowd. Disasters like this was nothing new to the north, but that didn¡¯t make it any more pleasant to experience them. A lot of the settlement¡¯s development would have to be put on pause until the damage was repaired.
Rowan was thankful to find his humble abode relativly unscatched. A few of his neighbour¡¯s shutters had been torn off, leaving ugly groves in the wall where whatever hit it had scraped it badly. Aside from that the street looked pretty intact, save for a shallow crack or two through the packed dirt road.
The wooden door closing his home off from the outside world took a few heavy shoulder pushes before giving way, somehow jammed into place by a shift of the ground. A third push made it give way with a crack of wood and snapping metal. Rowan tumbled into the familiar chaos inside, glad to find it only slightly shaken from the Guardian fight.
Okay, ¡®slightly¡¯ might have been a tad too optimistic. The place was a mess, more so than usual. Overturned furniture, spilled paint, a clay jar filled with wooden beads laying shattered in a corner, beads spread all over the floor. It was chaos, but manageable chaos. Rowan prefered cleaning beads off his floor from having to repair a wall or replace his roof.
Drip.
¡°...¡±
Ahem, replace all of his roof. He could live with a few holes for now. Another dripping sound was heard, followed by a soft patter from outside. Gentle rain unleashed itself upon the recovering town, turning not a few sour faces into outright angry ones. This was not how the people or Harwall wanted to start their day, but better alive and angry than squashed under a tree dead as a bug.
Ch20 Dirt is great
Unbeknownst to most of Harwall¡¯s meager populace the same activity found above ground could be found beneath the town itself at this very moment. The tunnel Rowan had ended up inside was but one of many. They were still raw and new, some a too unsteady to be made regular use of, but they were there. A safe room similar to those above ground had been dug and filled, saving a select few people from the rage of nature as they retreated into it. The select few were few in number because the room was a secret. As were the tunnels connected to it. Why, Luhnan had yet to find out.
He was trapped in a way. Lost in a new place. That wasn¡¯t much of a change from the usual given his uncertain place in the world as a human reborn as a mandragora in what to him appeared to be some kind of fantasy world of magic and maw. That didn¡¯t make him any less trapped though.
Luhnan found himself wandering the dark tunnels beneath Harwall, more confused than ever but to the System¡¯s great surprise, not panicking.
¡®This is more like it. Now we¡¯re back on track.¡¯
¡®A dark tunnel with monsters and possible treasures. Did I spawn in the wrong place? I was obviously meant to start in here.¡¯
The lumpy plantman was making his way through a dark, unlit tunnel. The only light source in there was the gently glowing pink plant blooming on his head. It bobbed up and down gently as the mandragora made his way through the dark. As a nocturnal creature the dark didn¡¯t bother him much. He had night vision in a sense, even if he was unsure if that was what to call it without having actual eyes. At least he didn¡¯t think he had ones. His sense of vision was weird.
What he saw was rough walls of packed earth, a few wooden pillars or structures for support, and the occasional rock. Crevices and other imprefections broke the otherwise flat walls up into uneven surfaces full of shadows. The place had the feeling of one very specific kind of place to Luhnan. His current train of thought confused the System greatly.
¡®Now to start grinding. Or is it exploring first? Do I get XP? I haven¡¯t gotten XP before. Maybe I was still in the tutorial phase. I can¡¯t wait to fight a monster.¡¯
The complete change in attitude had the emotionless and uncaring System¡ concerned. Or curious maybe? The System didn¡¯t admit to either being the case since the System was just the System. A simple helping tool without opinion or bias.
¡®Hopefully it¡¯s something gross like a bug- but not a big bug! Nothing too creepy¡ A slime? Slimes are the usual low level enemies. But aren¡¯t those like, super hard to kill too for a beginner? I don¡¯t have any magic or anything to fight it with- or do I? Hey System, do I have magic?¡¯
¡®Too vague a question was it? Hm¡ Can I shoot fireballs or something?¡¯
Still no answer. Luhnan paused his merry chattering and frowned.
¡®Are you mad about something?¡¯
More silence. Luhnan waited patiently for a few seconds, but when no answer came¡
¡®I take that as a ¡®no fireballs¡¯ then. That¡¯s fine. I think¡ As long as my first monster isn¡¯t something like that squirrel thing. I don¡¯t want to be mean to something that looks like a normal animal.¡¯
The System might not have felt emotions, or at least admitted to the ability to feel emotions, but right now¡ The System was confused. So much so that it could be felt by Luhnan himself. The chatty mandragora paused again, then tried to come up with a way to ask what was up without the System deeming it a answer it wouldn¡¯t answer.
¡®So ah¡ Where am I? What¡¯s the name of this dungeon? This is a dungeon right? Got the whole underground dark tunnel thing and everything.¡¯
Luhnan waited hopefully and this time the System did answer.
| You are beneath Harwall, a human settlement. This is a tunnel. |
¡®A dungeon tunnel?¡¯
A tunnel made by humans. It is beneath Harwall, a human settlement.
¡®Oh, like uh¡ Ancient humans? It IS a dungeon right? The kind that spawns monsters and treasure and is meant for me to level up in at the start of my adventure?¡¯
A longer silence followed his many questions.
The answer that finally came sounded¡ off. Annoyed? Confused? Curious? Luhnan wasn¡¯t sure what to make of it. He also didn¡¯t like the way that short and simple answer crushed his hopes of what was going on. Not a dungeon? The sense of familiarity and confidence that came with it faded in a second. He thought he¡¯d finally ended up in a predictable scenario.
¡®Then what-¡¯
Voices. Luhnan froze at once as he heard them. Down from one end of the tunnel they came. Human from the sounds of it, but Luhnan hadn¡¯t had good experiences with humans so far so he darted for the wall. The walls of the tunnels were rough still from having recently been dug out. There were plenty of grooves and crevices for a toddler sized plant monster to press himself into to remain somewhat hidden in the dark. The pink flower growing from his head closed up and went dark as he settled in the best spot he could find. The voices drew closer.
¡°-and Tomas sent him back up again, just like that.¡± A man¡¯s voice, young and vexed. He had a torch in his hand that threw long shadows over his and his companion¡¯s face. The hiding spot Luhnan had picked didn¡¯t let him see them very well, but he feared being seen if he moved to get a better look.
¡°It was that artist guy wasn¡¯t it?¡± The companion was a woman from the sound of it. Older but no less vexed.
¡°Which one?¡± The man asked.
¡°We only have one.¡±
¡°Ooh, the nervous guy?¡±Stolen novel; please report.
¡°He¡¯s not nervous I think. Just silent.¡±
¡°Dunno. He seem a bit uncertain whenever I see him. Distracted.¡±
¡°That¡¯s just cause you¡¯re the chief¡¯s son.¡±
Luhnan heard the woman wince after a light thump. A friendly shoulder punch? The light flickered as they went past him.
¡°He doesn¡¯t know I¡¯m her son.¡±
The woman laughed. ¡°Hah! Everyone knows it. Chief Tilde won¡¯t let a minute pass without mentioning it. ¡®Oh my good for nothing son at it again, talking shit and causing trouble.¡¯¡±
The man grunted, unamused. ¡°I¡¯m not like that. She knows that. And I am helping this place. I¡¯d tell her too if Josey didn¡¯t-¡±
¡°At at ah, don¡¯t say that.,¡± the woman interrupted, clicking her tongue at the man. ¡°You know what a fuss the others will cause if you keep bringing that up. Chief¡¯s not in so we don¡¯t tell her.¡±
Luhnan heard the man sigh as they rounded the corner of the tunnel, slowly getting too far away from him to make out the words.
¡°I know, but I¡¯m her son. Surely I could-¡±
¡°No. Josey tried and she failed. We¡¯re not risking-¡±
The voices faded. Luhnan was tempted to follow just to listen in, nosey as he was, but the risk of being found far outweighed whatever shady business those two were talking about. What would he even do with that info? It wasn¡¯t like he could tell anyone. Relieved and disappointed, Luhnan continued in the opposite direction of where the pair had come from.
The way he went took him to a place where the tunnel divide into 3. He¡¯d come from 1 and didn¡¯t know where either of the other 2 went. One had the sound of distant voices coming from it so he took the other. It led him towards silence with a faint angle to the ground. He was going upwards slowly but surely. The tunnel divided a few more times, each time having Luhnan pick one at random to continue through. He saw few ways to tell them apart aside from the occasional piece of wood stuck to the walls with a nail or two. They had some letters Luhnan couldn¡¯t understand scribbled on them, signs he assumed. They didn¡¯t help him one bit.
His aimless wandering came to an end after what felt like hours had passed. His feet hurt, his back hurt, his everything hurt. He realized after all this walking, running, and tumbling that maybe¡ just maybe mandragora were not meant to be walking around all day. He had a strong urge to just sink into the ground, literally. Some soft soil to disappear down into and do¡ whatever plants did. He wasn¡¯t so sure, but it hadn¡¯t felt half bad the past couple of times he¡¯d been submerged to nothing but his flower sticking up. Even that horrible time spent inside the pot at the scary lady¡¯s house hadn¡¯t been that bad. If you ignored the whole being caught, hit, and trapped part. He was pretty sure that if he found one of those pots alone with no old woman and her angry bird around to guard it¡
¡®I kinda miss the pot. Everything else was horrible, but the pot? The pot was nice.¡¯
Luhnan¡¯s happy reminiscing was joined by a new pleasant sound. Faintly he could hear rain, soft and refreshing. The tunnel was also getting brighter. Up ahead he saw the source of it, a crude pair of wooden stairs led up through the tunnel into a small patch of daylight. The smell of grass and wet earth called to him. Luhnan put some more energy into his steps, eager to finally be back above ground.
A fresh gust of air nearly blew him back down the hole as he stuck his head out of the tunnel. The end the tunnel turned out to be a hatch set in the ground out in the middle of nowhere. Luhnan could see the walls of Harwall far off in the distance on one side, and the pine forest he¡¯d first appeared in to the other side, equally far away. The hatch was placed in the middle of a vast grassfield. The trapdoor belonging to the hatch lied torn off some paces away from the hole itself, broken in a way that suggested it had been kicked off its hinges and tossed to where it lay now.
Speaking of destruction; the ground all around the hatch had been upturned as if a farmer had plowed through it. Luhnan might have connected the dots between the torn ground, the missing plantlife, and the recent event that had trees and lake water fly all over as if mother nature herself was throwing a hissy fit, if it wasn¡¯t for the strong allure of dark and soft soil calling to his tired body.
The mandragora ignored common sense and wariness in favor of hobbling out of the hatch to then let his roots grow and sink into the ground. Luhnan let out a content sigh as his somewhat humanoid shaped body disappeared beneath the surface, leaving only the stalk and its budded up flower visible above ground.
¡®Bliss.¡¯
The soil that only hours ago had belonged to a Guardian¡¯s forest was rich in nutrients and o so pleasant for the mandragora to surround himself with. Before he knew it sleep took him. Turns out even plants can feel exhausted.
¡..
Cain watched with fascination as both the Pines and the Maples slowly crept towards the looming mountains covering Harwall¡¯s north, west, and east. ¡®Slow¡¯ was a deceiving word, for the speed of which both territories moved was urgent enough for the movement to be seen by the naked eye at a distance. Cain had a fair bit of distance between the woods and himself.
He sat on a wall, stone, brick and gravel. It was a broken wall. The dry moss covering the cracks between the old brickwork told him that it¡¯d been broken for quite some time. Cain turned his head from north to east. What met his gaze was the fall of organization. Broken buildings, greenery reclaiming tamed stone for patches of trees not quite large enough to be called a forest just yet. Open grassland lie past the other side of the once upon a time mighty wall that surrounded the ruins. Remnants of the Pines were pulling itself away further and further, until the dark foot of the mountain could be seen far, far in the distance.
The mountain range was vast, shaped like a crescent moon with its two tips pointing south. Within its embrace lie the Pines, the unnamed lake west of Harwall, the maples, and the everchanging pieces of grassland filling the gaps. Cain would guess that the plains made up just a little less than a third of the space fitted inside the half-circle of mountains. It looked like more the longer he spent watching the moving land. Both the Pines and the Maples seemed intent on hugging the mountain range, pressing themselves thin and dense against the base of the mountain.
To lick their wounds he thought, if Guardians even had to. Did they suffer from this fight? Were there wounds? How long would it take for a forest to heal. Cain could have made the journey to ask, but he feared the two forest creatures might react similarly to Telrind. He¡¯d wait a bit before risking something like that. For now he was perfectly content to sit in the faint drizzle and watch as the land decided on a new layout to rest in. The north was always restless.
Further west and just a bit to the north lay Harwall, the currently standing settlement of the north. A few years ago that title would have belonged to Raan, which now lay in ruins. The name was lost to the incubus currently using its crumbled walls as a perch. Further south yet lay another settlement, by now a budding city and a hub for any trader dealing in northern rarities or the unreaped riches of the unclaimed wilderness. Rider¡¯s Rest had been what Harwall was now once upon a time, many years ago when humanity had decided to take yet another careful step further north.
Unlike Raan it had lasted, survived the harsh flora and fauna and the sporadic fits of the Guardians that lived up there. The mountain range had been named the Snake Spine shortly after Rider¡¯s Rest made itself a lasting part of the north. The city lie just beneath it, out of range from both the Pines and the Maples.
South of Rider¡¯s Rest lies what humanity and their cousins liked to call ¡®civilized¡¯ lands, but our story has yet to reach that far. Our focus remains in Harwall, shaken and recovering from their most recent challenge.
Cain considered going back to Harwall to spy on said recovery. After all, watching humans doing human things were among his top 10 favorite things to do. Sure, his top 10 list wasn¡¯t yet complete, but he figured 3 out of 10 was a good start. On that short list were ¡®watch humans¡¯, ¡®pretend to be a human¡¯ and ¡®eat humans¡¯. All very human centered but that was just the way he was. Maybe he should go back to the place full of humans. The idea of finding something new to do was interesting but mostly daunting. Why go through the effort of that if he could just do the usual? Yes, Cain was finding out that routines were a very nice thing to have.
Thus decided Cain hopped off his perch on the wall and landed softly on the ground. He had a long trek in front of him before he reached Harwall. He should probably find some clothes on the way too. The ones he¡¯d worn before the lake incident had been wrangled through mud and water til the point of being useless. Cain had some standards for what to wear, thank you very much.
A helpful prod from the voices lingering at the back of his head turned his attention to one of the many wrecked buildings making up the ruins of Raan. Oh yes, corpses sometimes wore clothes. How convenient! Now he just needed to find a corpse. Surely there would be a few corpses left? Or would the wildlife have eaten every last bit of them by now? The voices were less sure about that. Nonetheless it was worth a shot. Cain set off towards the closest pile of no-longer-a-building and went looking for a way into it.
There were windows and a door, or the crumpled remains of them at least. The key here would be to find one opening not crushed or covered by rubble. It took him a good long time until he found a hole on the ¡®roof¡¯. A big ol hole from when the entire thing had caved in. Maybe he should have checked the roof first¡ Oh well, Cain felt as if he was becoming a more experienced ruin climber from the effort.
Digging through the ruined house proved fun but ultimately fruitless. Alas, Cain was not one to be dissuaded! Mostly because he had a hunch that walking up to a human naked wouldn¡¯t end well. A second building found itself searched and conquered by the great demon explorer, this time with a bit more luck on the looting side.
Cain found a set of chainmail not yet fully consumed by rust. He considered it a set because it consisted of two pieces. The voices were in full agreement that it could be called a set. That was until they and Cain noticed that the pieces were two parts of one whole. The ¡®set¡¯ had once been a full shirt of chainmail, but now it was more like half a shirt with a runaway sleeve. Did it still count as a set? Maybe¡ Cain wasn¡¯t interested enough to ponder on it for long. He tried putting the chainmail on, failed, then lost interest in it fully. Clothes that couldn¡¯t be worn were useless to him.
His search continued until he suddenly heard a noise not made by himself. It came from outside the ruin and was most definitely not made by a human. Cain froze as he heard it, fearing for one short moment that it was the lake man that had caught up with him. The moment of fear passed as a second sound followed the first. This time Cain could hear it more properly since he was focused on listening. It sounded like a horse. Curious, Cain stuck his head out of the missing piece of wall he¡¯d entered the ruined building through. What he saw was something new and exciting. And just a little bit daunting.
Humans and horses, lots of them. Cain counted maybe a dozen of the rugged men and women streaming through the broken wall surrounding the lost town. The visitors themselves seemed equally rugged. Armor sets made up of mismatched pieces all bleached down by wear and tear in the sun was the most common attire. Cain spotted a blond man in far more well kept armor leading the group at the front. His armor was of dark leather and fur, a matching set rather than scavenged bits and pieces like most of the rest. A wicked battle axe hung at his side, matching the muscles required to swing it. Similarly the rest of the group wore weapons and the appearance of knowing how to use them.
Cain swallowed nervously. He¡¯d yet to find anything to wear so he didn¡¯t exactly believe in his odds of befriending these dangerous strangers if he was seen. The plan of running away before the spotted him seemed like a great idea at first, but once he noticed the group spreading out and setting up sentries around the place his hopes fell. He wouldn¡¯t be able to slink past the cracked wall without getting seen. The bows and quivers of crude arrows he saw on the backs of the sentries erased any desire to test his speed against their aim. The incubus could only watch in suffocating anticipation as the band of bandits started making camp all around him.
Ch21 Come in, weary traveler
It turned out that a band of bandits weren¡¯t that big a threat after all. At least not when you were one luck incubus pushed by extreme pressure. Stress seemed to be just what his body needed to send his pheromones into overdrive, and gods know the humans loved his pheromones. They¡¯d succumbed to it one after the other, the entire camp falling apart into a writhing mess before night fell upon them. After that it became a race of endurance, one Cain was vastly more suited for than your average mortal man.
By the time dawn arrived the bandits were no more and Cain had plenty of clothing and armor to pick from. He picked most of the leader¡¯s set, that being the dark leather and fur. It didn¡¯t fit his thinner frame as well as it had the lean leader, but some adjustments had it sitting just well enough to not look too ridiculous. A plain shirt pilfered from a corpse not fully eaten worked well enough to fill the chest piece out. The red stains were almost perfectly hidden by the armor. Cain was glad the man hadn¡¯t worn the armor when things got going. Eating things not human, like armor, made him feel¡ not so good. His corrosive pheromones could dissolve most organic matter, but that didn¡¯t mean absorbing it was good for him. Cain resolved to always get his victims naked before eating them in the future.
He¡¯d also found out that he could over eat. And that opening his wings mid feeding was messy business. Without the cocoon made by his wings surrounding his victims the half dissolved body would just drip out. The nasty sludge that was their remains lost all their appeal as food the second Cain got out of his feeding trance. As a result the ruins of Raan had gotten¡ Messy. While he couldn¡¯t possibly eat all of the bandits, he sure as hell wasn¡¯t going to let any survive. He¡¯d needed a nap after eating so much and being stabbed by a survivor once the pheromones wore off wasn¡¯t his idea of a good time.
The sight of the sludge and the less melted corpses made him shudder in disgust. Right, he shouldn¡¯t stay here anymore. There was nothing pleasant left to be had from this place. Once he got out of the ruins he noticed that his surroundings had changed. Perhaps lured in by the carnage of one human eating demon let loose on a band of bandits, the Pines had started creeping in to surround the fallen town. Even now he could see some shrubs slowly using their roots to crawl around. Give it an hour or less and the ruins would be fully surrounded by the forest. Cain broke into a run.
Fleeing the encroaching forest took the demon back to the road towards Harwall. His lungs burned as he pushed himself to crest a small hill. Damned spooky forests. Cain could do without them after seeing just how destructive their tempers could be. If he¡¯d known Telrind would throw a hissy fit in the shape of a lake bound tsunami then he just might have stayed with the creature until Rowan figured out where to find a boat. Seeing the ground itself heave and roil like a frenzied beast was enough to make Cain lose his trust in anything plant or water like. His grumbling coupled with the veil of exhaustion dulling his focus made him spot the humans way too late.
He was halfway down the small hill when he noticed the road up ahead was occupied. Deja v¨² washed over him as he heard a horse neigh and saw the riders on their backs. The feeling passed as he noticed that these folks weren¡¯t bandits. As startled as they were by a man suddenly come running at them out of nowhere, they didn¡¯t react like the bandits had. There was no roar to catch him or meaningful displays of weaponry to tell hims just how fucked he was this time.
Instead a man in travel-worn but otherwise well kept metal armor rode up to him. The man looked confused, a little bit startled, and a whole lot suspicious.
¡°Halt! Who goes there?!¡± The armored man yelled. Cain waved. It felt like the right thing to do. He got a tentative wave back. Success!
¡°A traveler from Harwall! My name¡¯s Cain!¡±
The man reached him by the time Cain made his introduction. There was still some wariness in the air, but the man seemed to have relaxed a bit once he got closer. Cain wasn¡¯t sure what he¡¯d expected of him.
¡°Greetings. I¡¯m Anton. You headed away from Harwall? It¡¯s dangerous to go alone.¡±
Cain was given a look of some kind. Concern? Suspicion? A mix of both most likely. Cain realized that traveling alone was apparently a strange thing. Appearing strange when pretending to be human was no good. He willed his pheromones to spread into the air. Not enough to arouse the man or anything like that, he wasn¡¯t hunting. No, what he wanted was just a tiny bit of trust. To make the man relax, calm down, don¡¯t think about things. Cain noted how the man relaxed further, no longer looking ready to turn his horse around and flee. Speaking of- the horse was reacting too¡ That wasn¡¯t the plan. Cain tried his very best not to show any sign of noticing the horse¡¯s nostrils flare. It leaned a bit closer. Cain took a step back. The rider remained oblivious.
¡°Back to it actually.¡± A flash of inspiration hit Cain. ¡°The lake and forest fought it out yesterday. I made my distance and waited it out like anyone wise ought to do. I was just making my way back now.¡±
¡°Ah, I see.¡± The half-lie went home smoothly. Anton waved for him to follow him back to the caravan. ¡°Please, join us then. Was it a bad fight?¡±
Cain smiled and obliged, already fishing his memory of details to share that wouldn¡¯t reveal his role in it all. He also did his best to ignore how the horse was trying to sway closer to him with every step. Pheromones worked stronger on animals, noted. Thankfully Anton keep his reigns held firmly. Any attempts to go off-course was corrected with a quick tug. He probably suspect the horse wanted to grace. There was plenty of grass surrounding the humble road.
¡°It was dramatic at the very least. The lake threw itself around and the forest hurled trees.¡± Cain waved his hands about as he described the fight.
¡°Which one?¡± Anton asked.
¡°Uh- Oh, I¡¯m uh, not sure which one started it. The other one joined in as soon as the tremors started. Hard to tell which forest threw which tree at who.¡± Cain shrugged and smiled helplessly. Anton chuckled.
¡°Fair fair. It must have been a terrifying sight. Perhaps us getting delayed by that troll hill was a streak of luck after all.¡±
Images of large, moving hills with massive limbs hidden beneath it all like some kind of deformed turtle flashed through Cain¡¯s mind. A memory that wasn¡¯t his. He shuddered despite being grateful for the flash of information.
¡°Was it a big one?¡± He asked. Anton nodded seriously. They reached the rest of the riders and the few people that were on foot. Cain saw wagons with canvas roofs and insides stocked with crates and barrels. There was a faint smell of grain to the air around the travelers.
¡°Huge, probably a older adult. It didn¡¯t show any interest in us but we kept our distance just to be safe. We would have made a run for it if it was any smaller.¡±
¡°How come?¡± Cain couldn¡¯t help but ask. He got a odd look for it, then to his great relief, a chuckle.
¡°You a southerner? Troll hills are pretty common up here.¡±
¡°You could say that. I didn¡¯t really pay attention to the details. They¡¯re dangerous yea? I kept my distance.¡±
¡°I sense a pattern I think.¡± Anton chuckled again. The other travelers showed Cain some polite curiosity. He greeted a few. Anton kept going.
¡°Smaller ones are more dangerous than the big ones. They¡¯re young and energic. Haven¡¯t gathered as much dirt and stuff on their backs yet so they¡¯re fast too. And bold. The larger adults get lazy and settled for catching anything drawn to their hills. They rarely give chase. I guess it¡¯s something they grow out of as they get older.¡±
Cain listened curiously. The whispers only knew so much and as usual their input was a mess of conflicting voices all vying for attention. Anton seemed far better at explaining. He also seemed to like the attention of a curious listener. A few of the other travelers groaned, a sign that this wasn¡¯t the first time he¡¯d gotten into lecturing about something.
¡°Interesting. I haven¡¯t seen any near Harwall. How come?¡±
¡°Too far north. I don¡¯t think guardians like them much. They tend to keep off each other¡¯s paths.¡±
¡°Ah, so Harwall having 3 around it probably discouraged them.¡±
¡°My thought exactly.¡± Anton nodded.
¡°I can see Harwall!¡± Someone¡¯s shout made the rest of the caravan look up from their own conversations.
And just as they¡¯d said, in the distance there was sign of civilization. And activity. Even from where the caravan was Cain could see movement. The area looked rugged from the guardian fight but now the locals had gotten to cleaning the mess up. Debris was being hauled off to either discarded or used. Mostly used. The guardians¡¯ quick tempers had seen plenty of wood and stone and other smaller things tossed back and forth. While some had crushed or broken houses, the rest simply lay around in small craters of their own, ready to be collected by people that saw better uses for them. Nature broke and damaged the town, but it also provided materials to repair with, even if unintentionally.
The topics of chatter when focused, most turning into sighs of relief that their destination was finally within reach. Despite the busy time after the fight there was still a pair of guards posted at the gate. The caravan turned out to be a welcome surprise with them bringing valuable materials and goods from the south. They were waved through eagerly without much of a inspection and got sent to the plaza.
The heart of Harwall had fared a little bit better than the more crowded streets. The open stretch of ground reserved for market stalls meant that few buildings had suffered from the debris hitting it, thus making the place a lot easier to clean up. The caravan rolled in with their horses and wagons without much issue. Cain marveled at the destruction that had swept over the town, and at how much of it was already taken care of. The settlers worked fast. It was either that or to get overrun by nature after all.If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.
People noticed the caravan as the riders dismounted and the others started opening up the wagons. Within minutes the first stall was up and people ran back and forth moving the appropriate goods to store in it. Mostly everyday necessities that one could survive without. The things people would flock to buy. And indeed, the inhabitants of the settlement were already crowding around it, some overly eager voices rising up to claim a bundle of candles or cloth or other sought after items.
Things of a more public use like nails, timber, ore, and various other tools were left alone in a uncovered wagon, waiting for the mayor and her ilk to come pick out what was going to go where.
It was a flurry of organized chaos that Cain watched with great curiosity. Soon most of the town gravitated towards the plaza. It became the center of activity just as much as the broken buildings had been for the workers just an hour ago. Cain spotted a familiar head of dark dreadlocks making its way through the buzz of people. Rowan noticed him too after a moment, mostly because Cain allowed a bit more of his pheromones to seep into the air.
The artist¡¯s head snapped up, nostrils flaring as he inhaled the intoxicating scent. Cani thought he might have seen his eyes flash brightly for a moment before he reigned himself back in. Rowan spotted him near one of the wagons and made to approach, but a gnarled hand latched onto his arm before he could get very far. Cain watched as the older woman the hand belonged to spun the much larger man around to face her. Even at a distance Cain could see how Rowan paled at the sight of her.
She didn¡¯t look like much to the demon. Just a human with grey in her dark hair and equally pale eyes. She dragged the artist off from the crowd and made for a street. Cain followed them of course. Him disappearing from the plaza went unnoticed by pretty much everyone. After all, he wasn¡¯t part of the caravan and as such had no duties to tend to. Just another face in the crowd.
Past houses both broken and whole the pair and their follower went, until the greying lady pulled Rowan into a surprisingly intact building. Cain waited until they were fully inside before he slipped over to the one window the small house had. Just as he was about to peek inside a flash of pain hit his hands. He¡¯d reached to put them on the windows sill, just idly resting them there, but a searing pain stinged his fingers the moment they made contact. He pulled them back with a startled hiss and stared down at the unassuming wood in bewilderment. What was that?
He saw nothing special about the windows sill. Nothing at all. He tried touching it again. Pain. It was worse than the sound of the priest¡¯s metal coins. Hot and burning and just the worst thing ever. Cain grimaced in disgust. What was making it act like that? Hesitantly he bent down to check beneath it.
A trio of silvery metal coins with nails through their middles had been hammered into the underside of the windows sill. They seemed to distort the air around them as Cain glared, a subtle sign of warning that the demon shouldn¡¯t touch them. The voices in his head whispered furiously about it. A ward! A barrier! A vile little curse to keep him out. Painful metal binding safety to a home. Cain bared his teeth in offense at it. How dare she!?
With a grunt he stood back up again, only to flinch as he noticed the no longer unoccupied window. Two yellow eyes glared daggers at him right behind the window¡¯s frame. A shiver ran through Cain¡¯s skin as he met the rooster¡¯s stare. Something wasn¡¯t right with it. The bird kept glaring. Cain hesitated, then wariness turned to offense. Affronted the demon glared back. What did this glorified feather duster think it had on him huh?
The rooster burred up its feathers, mostly around its neck. Cain spread his pheromones into the air to meet the challenge. He heard an oath as something fell over inside the building.
¡°Herman! You¡¯re no damn cat! Don¡¯t you dare drag whatever it is you found in here- Rowan, where are you going?¡±
The older woman¡¯s yell snapped Cain out of his staring contest with the mean looking rooster. He craned his neck to see through the window but curtains kept him from seeing much past the rooster. The bird suddenly jumped down and out of sight as a irritated Margret appeared in the window. She pulled the curtains aside to look out, then glared in confusion at the equally confused demon standing outside it.
¡°Who¡¯re you and why are you peeping into my home? Shoo!¡± Margret waved her hands at Cain.
¡°That¡¯s Cain!¡± Rowan¡¯s voice came from inside. Margret paused.
¡°The lake boy? How in the world did you get out? Get in here.¡±
Margret disappeared from the window and reappeared by the door, holding it open while waving for Cain to hurry up. She looked stressed. Cain threw a wary glance at the windows sill. Was the door warded too?
¡°I uh¡¡±
Margret narrowed her eyes at Cain. ¡°Two? Two in one day? Ilo have mercy on me. Wait there.¡±
Before Cain could comment she disappeared back inside the building again. This time he heard her fiddling with something close to the door then- A wave of static seemed to flutter around the entire building. Cain stepped back in alarm, feeling the fine hairs on his arms rise. Margret reappeared in the door and urged him inside once more. Despite the voices screaming at him not to follow her he did. Curiosity won over self preservation once more.
The inside of Margret¡¯s house was cluttered but cozy. Shelves covered most walls, they themselves being covered in jars and boxes of all sorts of origin. Herbs hung on their own or as bundles from the ceiling beams, the walls, and some lay on the counter in the back of the room. A set of sofa and couches huddled in front of a dark fireplace. Rowan sat in the sofa, head in his hands and a tenseness to his shoulders that Cain vaguely recognized. Then he realized that his pheromones were probably the cause for the werewolf¡¯s struggling. He quickly reigned them in and saw Rowan relax as a result. Margret eyed them both with suspicion.
¡°Not one, but two changelings in my house. At the same time. One I brought myself but the redhead is new. How did you escape the lake man?¡±
Cain started. She knew? No no that wasn¡¯t good. ¡°I¡¯m not-¡±
¡°Save the excuses, boy. My rooster is a snitch and you¡¯re poor at hiding your reactions. The ward shouldn¡¯t sting that badly. Did you think this building was sound proof?¡±
Cain closed his mouth again. His thoughts whirled. Margret just stared at him¡ then she sighed.
¡°Forgive me for snapping. It¡¯s been a harsh few days. Sit down why don¡¯t you?¡±
She waved at the sofa vaguely then reached up to massage her forehead. She looked tired, worn. Rowan went stiff as Cain sat down next to him. The demon watched in mild amusement as the werewolf tried to both scoot away and scoot in closer to him at the same time. He probably still smelled of that magical allure, despite having stopped his body from releasing the pheromones any further. Margret blew air through her nose.
¡°What¡¯s the matter with you?¡± She asked Rowan. The artist buried his face into his hands a bit more.
¡°He smells,¡± he said. Cain turned to scowl at him.
¡°I don¡¯t smell.¡±
¡°You smell.¡± Rowan insisted. Margret sighed.
¡°Just what manner of creature did you befriend¡ Cain was it? What are you?¡±
¡°Human.¡± The answer came on pure instinct. Margret repeated her question.
¡°What are you, Cain?¡±
Silence.
¡°I could start tossing things at you until we see what stings and what doesn¡¯t. I should have a stake somewhere around here¡¡±
¡°Incubus.¡± Cain blurted out as Margret turned towards the counter to search for things to ¡®test¡¯ him with. A mirthless but victorious smirk spread on her face as she turned back to him.
¡°Curious. Are you part of the Sisterhood?¡±
Cain frowned. The voices at the back of his head whispered urgently but no solid conclusion was had. They didn¡¯t know.
¡°What¡¯s that?¡±
¡°Then you¡¯re not. Though¡ Hmm, they might object if I¡¡± Margret grew quiet as she reached out and grabbed Rowan by the back of his neck. The artist had leaned closer to Cain all of a sudden but Margret pushed him back in his seat. He had a blank look on his face. His pupils had grown too small, making the yellow iris look far too big for a human¡¯s eye. They reverted to their normal look as Rowan blinked them several times.
¡°Maybe you should sit in a couch instead,¡± she said. Cain took one more look at the distracted werewolf and decided that yes, maybe he should sit a bit further away indeed. Rowan relaxed a bit as he did.
¡°So, we got a werewolf with poor self control, angry guardians, and a walking talking drug demon. My what a mess.¡± Margret kept hovering behind the sofa, not quite trusting Rowan to keep himself under control with the demon present. What a mess indeed.
¡°You both realise that being found out will get you killed, right?¡± Margret looked seriously at them. Both changelings sat up a bit straighter at that, worry written on their face. Mostly on Rowan¡¯s. Memories of previous mistakes haunted him way worse than the events of Cains by far shorter time alive. The fact that he could feel guilt also added to the tip in scales. It was also Rowan that answered first.
¡°I didn¡¯t mean to¡ shift, in your home. I¡¯m sorry¡ Please don¡¯t tell anyone?¡± The pleading look he gave Margret made her purse her lips. Of all the people to be the werewolf¡ She knew what she should do about it¡ But¡ Margret gave his shoulder a pat.
¡°I know, I know. But that¡¯s not the biggest issue here. I can¡¯t say this in any kinder words, Rowan. You¡¯re a danger to everyone in this town.¡± She gave him another pat, as if that would somehow help. His eyes were despairing.
She knew what she should do about him. Sneak poison into the things he ate. Tell the mayor and get their most skilled hunters to sneak into his home at night. Hope he didn¡¯t wake up. Grieve but know that nothing else could have been done.
Except that maybe it could¡
Margret looked sharply at Cain. The demon startled at the look. He wrung his hands nervously as she stared, thinking. Maybe, just maybe... She could use this.
¡°How long have you known each other?¡±
Both men blinked at her question. There was an intensity to the witch¡¯s gaze. She had an idea. Half formed, but an idea.
¡°A¡ few days? Maybe?¡± Rowan answered hesitantly, unsure himself. It felt like ages ago that he met the demon. Cain just shrugged. Margret went on.
¡°Do you know what your¡ smell was it? What it does to him?¡± Cain frowned at the question. Meanwhile Rowan¡¯s face went red as a beet. He sputtered in an attempt to hush Cain before he could answer, but the demon refused to be shushed.
¡°He falls for it even more than humans do,¡± Cain said. Rowan made a strangled noise.
¡°Does he get violent?¡±
¡°Erh¡ Yea. But it¡¯s not too bad. I heal quickly.¡±
¡°Hm¡¡± Margret put a finger to her lips and thought. Rowan was staring intently at a wall, face red. Herman hopped in front of Cain¡¯s leg before he could nudge Rowan¡¯s foot with it. Damn demon couldn¡¯t resist teasing the poor werewolf. This could get ugly. Neither struck Margret as people with good self control, which was a vital part of what she was planning. No, this plan would need some tweaking. Margret eyed her shelves of supplies while Cain and Herman hissed at each other.
¡°How long until you need to turn again, Rowan?¡±
The artist paused his attempt at lifting his legs up into the sofa and out of the way of the increasingly more fluffed up rooster.
¡°Ah- a month? I can usually go a month without¡ Could you stop them, please?¡± Rowan gave the duo staring each other down a meaningful nod. Herman was fury and feathers and had started making a rumbling sound that Rowan did not like. Cain was just staring back, eyes flashing green while he leaned forwards precariously on the edge of the couch. Margret looked at them both then raised her voice in a sharp ¡°SHOO! Stop that!¡± She clapped her hands together for good measure and both idiots sunk back down with a wince. Margret cleared her throat.
¡°Right. Finish that toy boat for me, Rowan then I¡¯ll get to work on some things. We¡¯ll keep quiet about your curse for now. I might have an idea on how to limit your wolf¡¯s rampages. And Cain, for the love of everything holy, stop picking on my rooster.¡±
Cain gave Margret a stunned look of offense and sputtered. Herman looked smugger than any bird had any right to ever look. Margret ignored both reactions and gave Rowan¡¯s shoulder another friendly pat. He too was blinking at her.
¡°What do you-¡± he started. Margret interrupted him.
¡°It¡¯s an idea, an idea. If you don¡¯t trust it then I¡¯d advise you in looking for a new place to settle in. If not then go finish that boat. We won¡¯t last another tantrum if Telrind decides to get impatient.¡±
Objections were had but Margret listened to none of it. Instead she went to work shooing both men out of her house so she could start working on the real project. She¡¯d need quite a bit of time and thinking before she set this ball rolling. Once she got both of the changelings back out into the street she went to set her demon ward back up. Cain might have been docile enough, but the witch knew from experience that there were far worse creatures of his kind out there looking for ways into a magi¡¯s home. She would not stand for another imp infestation in her larder again. Those little gremlins could well settled for normal food instead of gnawing up her magical roots and rocks.
Once done she went over to the sofa set, laboured over the fireplace until gentle orange was licking the greyed stone work and then finally she got to sit down in peace in her favorite couch. Herman went to sit on her lap as usual, but to her dismay the rooster didn¡¯t settle down to nap at once. Instead he stared at her face as if she¡¯d forgotten something.
¡°What?¡±
¡°...¡±
Margret frowned. What did he want? She hadn¡¯t- Then it dawned upon her. Herman settled down as Margret went to stare at the fireplace, a troubled frown creasing her features.
¡°....Fuck. Incubi eat people.¡±
Ch22 Do you come here often?
Cain was long gone by the time Margret went out to look for him again. She¡¯d been so focused on the werewolf issue that it had fled her mind that the incubus might be a far greater danger to the people of Harwall. But no matter which direction she looked, the demonic redhead was nowhere to be seen. Troubled but aware that there was little to do about it for now, Margret went back inside and got to work on other things. She¡¯d handle the demon later.
Said demon was strolling through the busy marketplace. The caravan had disolved into tents and stalls all packed with wares of varying importance. One had its merchant hawking rope of twine and rougher cloth, perfect for cheap but sturdy clothing, or as crafting materials for tools like sieves. Another stall sold jam, a far less vital product of one¡¯s daily survival but just as popular as the cloth stall for different reasons.
Cain marveled at the many kinds of items. The whispers were a quite hum that blended in with the chatter of the crowd. Pieces of information about human life were all around him. He was alone again too, so none could hold him back from exploring in peace. Rowan had gone back to his house to finish up the toy boat and some other project involving a skull and a candle. Art didn¡¯t interest Cain so much. At least not yet. He had other things to catch up with before he went down that road.
Like why the humans used silver and iron to trade. The clink and clatter of the silvery coins had been a quiet discomfort at first, but the longer Cain stayed the more aware of it he became. He started paying more attention to how the coins changed hands. Little discs of metal that would burn him. None were as bad as the ones the priest had worn, but the sound they made still bothered the demon greatly. He also spotted a few brown ish coins and rarer yet, some golden ones. Those seemed to be of higher value, for what they bought came in either greater quantity or higher quality. Meanwhile the copper coins went for far less. Children traded them for wrapped sweets and candied fruit. The exact worth of each coin eluded Cain, but he assumed there was some kind of system in place. The voices were less than helpful in telling him numbers. Either the value had changed greatly from time to time, or the voices just couldn¡¯t count that well. Either way Cain was not here to trade.
Traders and customers alike gravitated towards a certain building once their business at the stalls was finished. An inn from the looks of things, relatively whole after the guardian fight. The workers busily rebuilding a fallen wall and brushing fresh paint over filled holes might have been the reason behind that. Cain slunk inside with the milling crowd and soon found himself within a vast room. Vast yet terribly crowded.
The inn had two floors visible from the main room. A railing separated the walkway of the second floor from them open air above the bottom floor. A simple chandelier of wood and polished antlers lit up the place with a warm light. Tables of varying sizes occupied the bottom floor, some half enclosed by walls to create more private settings to the sides. A counter of oak ran from one wall to the other on one side of the room, with shelves upon shelves of bottles and barrels hugging the wall. There were a few openings in the counter of course, which staff used busily as they transported food and brew in exchange for coin and talk.
The arrival of the caravan had set the already busy town alight with activity and the inn reflected that in kind. Cain siddled over to a empty table near a wall while people milled about. None complained. The staff was too busy with their current tasks to see to him just yet, but Cain was perfectly content with just watching for now.
Tuning in on any one conversation at a time proved harder than he¡¯d expected. The shoo and stim was a constant droning that tugged his attention back and forth like starved dogs with a piece of dried meat. Cain frowned as he pondered how to make things easier. He sent the faintest bit of his pheromones into the air and was pleased to see how parts of the crowd unconsciously drew closer. A smug little smirk crept across his face as he let some more of the herbal scent mix with the smells of the inn.
He was surprised to see one guy break off from the crowd. A man with a hood and a mask of dark cloth pulled up over his nose sat down at Cain¡¯s table. The demon blinked, convinced that his pheromones hadn¡¯t gone that strongly. He feared he¡¯d attracted yet another werewolf for a moment, but the smiling face that appeared when the stranger pulled his mask down quickly brushed that thought aside. He was far too composed to be one of Rowan¡¯s kind.
The stranger had more scars than Cain could count beneath that mask of his. Cain wondered if that was the reason he wore it in the first place. Wisps of light brown hair hung around his face where the hood couldn¡¯t cover it all. Light blue eyes with an eerie intensity matched the smile on the stranger¡¯s lips.
¡°Hello there, hope you don¡¯t mind some company. You with the caravan?¡±
A bit surprised to find himself in a conversation, it took Cain a moment to respond. He noticed the stranger¡¯s smile fading a tad. He tugged a bit at the hood. ¡°Definetly haven¡¯t met you before then. Hello, name¡¯s Trevor. Local elfchild.¡±This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Trevor stuck out a hand while smiling politely. Cain blinked, then remembered that he was supposed to shake it. He felt like he¡¯d offended the man somehow.
¡°Ah, sorry. I¡¯m Cain. Local¡ You¡¯re a what actually?¡±
This time it was Trevor¡¯s time to blink in surprise.
¡°Elfchild?¡±
¡°What¡¯s that?¡±
Trevor was staring now.
¡°You never seen one?¡± Cain shook his head. The voices were quietly whispering things back and forth, seemingly not too sure of what an elfchild was either.
¡°Never heard of them.¡± Trevor¡¯s frown grew even more confused.
¡°How have you never heard of elfchildren?¡±
Cain realized that he might have made a mistake. Were elfchildren something common? Why didn¡¯t the voices know? They knew something but¡ No, they couldn¡¯t settle on one explanation. Useless. Cain noticed Trevor¡¯s stare and felt that he couldn¡¯t wait that long with answering. He hastily tried to come up with a good excuse.
¡°Erh.. Secluded life? Or maybe just bad luck. Actually, I might have heard the name just¡ never much detail. Guess I never paid enough attention.¡± He shrugged, which only made his answer feel more forced. Trevor kept staring. Cain tried not to squirm beneath it.
¡°But uh, tell me about it?¡± Cain let some more of his pheromones seep into the air to distract the man. A few other patrons absently turned their heads. Cain resisted the urge to swear.
¡°Right eh.. So you know of elves right?¡±
Flashes of pale, off-looking humans surrounded by gloom and earthen walls. Cain nodded. At least the voices knew of the elves. Trevor nodded.
¡°Good so, right. It¡¯s been some time since I explained this. So the elves do war with nearly all of Katrina¡¯s flock. Nasty bloodthirsty bastards. They¡¯ve been losing for the past¡ is it hundred years now? I forget the exact number. Doesn¡¯t matter tho. Elves pick fights, humans fight back.¡±
Cain nodded, listening intently. This was new information. Hearing it from one voice speaking coherently was also much easier to keep up with than the mess of whispers that usually explained things he needed to know.
¡°We¡¯ve been pushing them back underground for a good long time now, which is probably killing the bastards. There¡¯s something on the surface that they need to survive. They have a hard time sneaking around though, since you know, they don¡¯t look human enough to hide. So they started taking children.¡±
Trevor paused with a serious look on his face. Cain mimicked it. Pleased by their shared seriousness over the subject, Trevor continued.
¡°Human children mostly. Orc ones are just too different. So they cut them up real bad all over, then they do the same thing to their own kids too. At the end of it they both look nearly the same and you can¡¯t tell elf and human apart. Faces are too scarred and there¡¯s too many bits missing from the places that set them apart to really tell.¡±
Trevor pushed his hood back enough to point at a scarred ear. The tip of it was missing, cut off years ago.
¡°Then they release both elf and human children back up onto the surface and they all spread out to do¡ whatever it is the elf ones are sent up to do. No one can hunt the elf ones down without also harming the human ones, and killing off our own next generation would cripple us far more than just leaving the elf kids be would.¡±
Trevor nodded grimly. Cain shared in the somber silence until his curiosity could no longer be kept quiet.
¡°So you could be an elf?¡± Trevor blinked then chuckled.
¡°I guess I could. You¡¯ll have to take my word for it that I ain¡¯t.¡± Trevor smiled, apparently not too bothered by the question. He was probably used to it by now.
¡°Do you remember it?¡± Cain asked.
¡°Remember what?¡±
¡°The elves.¡± Trevor¡¯s smile faded but the genuine curiosity in Cain¡¯s eyes made him relax.
¡°Not really. It was a good few years back now and it all happened at night. Being cut up all over isn¡¯t really something you want to remember either. I still know some of the other elfkids but that¡¯s about it. Life¡¯s hard enough just being suspected of being an elf at a glance.¡± Trevor sighed.
¡°Does it happen often?¡±
¡°What does?¡±
¡°Being suspected of being an elf.¡± Trevor frowned in thought, then said.
¡°Not too much up here honestly. People have more pressing things to worry about. Course, all my neighbours lock their doors and windows more tightly than the rest of the place but what can you do?¡± Trevor chuckled merrily, as if the whole thing didn¡¯t bother him at all. Cain wasn¡¯t sure if he should snicker some too. It did sound¡ Bad? Unpleasant at least. Humans were strange.
Trevor eventually calmed down again. He was about to ask something when a large hand clasped his shoulder. The hooded man looked up, only to find a bald man staring right back down at him.
¡°We¡¯re not done with the market yet.¡± The large stranger said. Trevor smiled apologetically.
¡°Just a break eh? Come meet my new friend. This is Cain. Cain, Shaun. He¡¯s my partner in crime when it comes to hunting and- oi!¡±
Shaun offered Cain a half hearted wave while he dragged Trevor out of his chair.
¡°Nice meeting ya but Imma need the elf.¡±
¡°I just finished explaining to him that I¡¯m not an elf.¡± Trevor argued as Shaun secured a grip on the back of his neck and turned to drag him off towards the exit. Cain heard them bicker and nag all the way there until the noise of their surroundings swallowed the rest of the sound up.
Bemused, Cain decided to attempt an age old tradition of his kin. An art perfected throughout the ages through trial and error and lots, lots, and lots of embarrassing or right out alarming discoveries:
Picking up guys at a bar. Cain would later find himself banned from this bar. At least for a week.
Authors update. I need a break.
Hello dear readers. I come with some bad news. My health has sunk back to a general low again. Nothing life threatening, but it keeps me from sleeping, which means I can''t be as productive as I''d like. I am therefore going on break until things clear up again. I apologise for this. If luck has it I''ll be back at it sooner rather than later. Between juggling appointments, duties, and managing everyday tasks, there is very little energy left for me to work well on a project.
I could probably force myself to churn out a chapter once a week, but it would only add to the stress and the quality of the chapters would suffer greatly. I''ve always been one very hard on myself when it comes to performance. To the point where if I don''t meet the bar I set for myself (which is often a very high bar) I beat myself up over it. It''s a bad habit, it''s unhealthy, and I''m working on fixing it. But I need a break. To solve a problem I need to focus on it, and I can''t focus on one problem if there''s a dozen other problems all vying for the same kind of attention.Stolen story; please report.
So, sacrifices has to be made. Prioritizing some issues over others until they''re solved enough that I can move down the list to the rest. And writing a chapter once a week for a web novel I originally started writing just for my own enjoyment just doesn''t place at the top of my list. Especially since it''s become more of a stressful deadline I dread missing each week. It stopped being fun at some point.
So a break it is. Until I feel better and have the time and mind to find enjoyment in this again. Last time it took me roughly a year to regain that spark. It shouldn''t take a year this time. Last year was utter shit for me. I was in a way worse place than I am right now. Recovery should be easier and faster this time around.
That''s my tiresome monologuing about my own woes done with. I''ll post the next chapter when it is done and I''m ready to start updating again. My apologies for this.