Monster Party Book 2

Fiction about Ravenloft or Gothic Earth
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jamesfirecat
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Monster Party Book 2

Post by jamesfirecat »

Author Note: Welcome back and it's worth noting that unlike with the first "book" I'm using a proofreader, so hopefully between the two of us the end result will be even better than the first one!

Monster Party Book 2: Wolves will eat your skin, if you let them in!

Chapter one: It's another wolf bite, howling in the moonlight!

Half a dozen adventurers sat around the table doing what adventures always did when they were not in the process of risking their lives. Boasting about times when they had risked their lives in the past, and playfully gambling amongst themselves with coins that would remain the group's property no matter who won; at least so long as the serving wench didn't mistake the growing pile of precious metal in the middle of the table for an overly generous tip.

Still, some took the evening's entrainment more seriously than others.

“Cal what is that bottle doing on the table?” Demanded a pale skinned woman with ruby red eyes. Callan “Cal” Wright looked at the bottle, his hand, the pot, then back to the container in question.

“What? My belt is full, so I needed some place else to store it.” The alchemist answered nonchalantly.

“Just make sure that the stopper is on it nice and tight. I'd hate to see you waste another perfectly good invisibility potion by accidentally spilling it all over my winning hand.” The woman pointed out icily.

The pair might have gone on arguing in this particular vein for quite some time but they were suddenly interrupted.

The howl of a wolf echoed rolled through the tavern as the door swung open and a man stumbled through them. He staggered forward five paces and collapsed before he could seal the tavern against the chill outside.

Even for being out in the middle of winter the man was overdressed given Dementlieu's ever moderate seasons. Instead of only a simple cloak pulled tight against the slight chill he had on thick furs, a hooded cape, and boot made from some kind of animal hide.

Strapped to his back was a pair of broken snow shoes, items that most residents of the genteel and temperate domain were more likely to consider some sort of bizarre sporting good than an article of footwear. Clutched in his hand was a bloodstained hatchet that drew gasps of shock and horror from many of the tavern's occupants.

The adventurers were made of sterner stuff though, and one of them in particular, a lady with strange green tinged skin and hair like straw was almost instantly at his side. Looking up close she saw his face was ghostly white, and he sported a pattern of deep blue wounds surrounded by patches of white frost marks on his throat and arms.

A long flowing beard and drooping mustache framed a swarthy face quite at odds with the generally clean shaven look that was currently in fashion. Even simply pressing a gloved hand to his skin brought feelings of such coldness that the blue eyed woman couldn't help but recoil in shock and pain.

“Frostburn? Who gets frostburn in Dementlieu! It'd be like coming down with a bad case of sunstroke in Lamordia!” The alchemist blustered in amazement as he watched.

The woman who had warned Cal to keep his mixtures away from her cards approached the man with neither shame nor fear.

She was dressed in a masculine white jacket, and navy blue pants with a hat perched atop raven hair that was split down the middle a streak of white she seemed far too young for. Without further ado she promptly began to rifle through the man's heavy outfit seeing if she could find anything of interest.

“Mirri!” Florence Bastien, the group's blond haired expert in plant life barked in disapproval.

Mirri Catwarrior the group's expert on all things undead just shrugged callously.

“Look, he's a stiff in more ways than one, and he's clearly not from around here. If we're going to have any chance of figuring out who should rightfully get his belongings and be informed of his death then we'll need to try and find some clues. A journal would be ideal, but I'll settle for an IOU with his name on it...” She pointed out before going back to her macabre scrounging.

“She kind of a has a point, we can't help him, or whoever is depending on him if we don't know how he is...” Piped up a young male voice from the table.

James Firecat the group's expert in discovering and disarming traps, hadn't abandoned his seat. Like Mirri he wore a hat, though his had such a wide brim that the only way to discern his hair color was to observe him from behind and spot the surprisingly bright red follicles trailing down the back of his neck. Red was obviously James' favorite color for he wore a jacket, pants and pair of boots of the same color.

“We must summon up the gendarmes!” Suggested one of the tavern’s native occupants.

“That's not a good idea...” Announced a calm voice.

It belonged to a man with long silver hair; his left eye was green and his right was covered by an eyepatch. He was dressed in a midnight black outfit with a few silver markings designed to break up the outline of a human form when seen in the dark. His name was Alexander Diamondclaw, and he was the group's leader.

“If I left a glass of water outside, it'd be even money weather or not it would be frozen in the morning. The only way that a person could freeze to death would be if magic was involved. If there's an evil mage out there... well it'd be best if we dealt with them.” Alexander promised.

The other occupants of the tavern exchanged somewhat worried glances. Then they decided that letting “somebody else” deal with this particular problem was a very good idea indeed.

“Well let’s get it over with. As usual I'll be looking after the money till we can get back to it.” Announced a blue haired elf named Devi Skye.

She wore a close cut blue dress, and as the group's quartermaster she was in charge of making sure they were always well fed enough that they'd end up dying in battle rather than of starvation or thirst.

So with the money secured they headed out in the darkness.

Except that it wasn't quite as dark as it should have been, no sooner did they step outside then they found themselves presented with a glowing fog bank, one that was so intensely white that it stood out as if it was still midday.

It's almost blinding whiteness forced Mirri to avert her gaze and the others to squint painfully.

“Oh this is bad...” Cal muttered to himself.

Then those who could still look straight ahead suddenly saw an alabaster furred wolf poke its head out of the fog bank glaring malevolently at them.

“Really, really bad. Let’s go back inside and maybe it'll be gone in the morning!” He revised.

Not wanting anything at all to do with whatever was about to happen next he did a quick about face and yanked open the tavern's door ready to retreat back to its marginal safety.

Except throwing the doors open didn’t reveal the building they had just left, but another rolling cloud of white mist which washed over the six instantly. Darkness and cold swirled about them completely obscuring all sense of direction.

Time seemed to hang suspended in the biting cold the mist brought with it. It could have lasted for only an instant, or it could have been an eternity. Either way as reality or something approximating it at least returned it came with the crunch of cold dry snow under boot.

Cold remained as ever present as it had been before, but now at least it seemed to be a non-supernatural chill, though that was scant comfort to the group. Gone was Dementlieu's mild seasons, they were now being blasted with arctic fury.

Several varieties of evergreens, mostly pine, spruce, and fir stretched on as far as the eye could see. Powdery snow lay over the branches and in deep drifts beneath the boles of the trees, creating a realm of beautiful white and merciless chill.

The position of the sun had shifted, instead of it being night the sky was now only deepening toward twilight. With the dimming of the sun of course came the process of still greater cold.

The adventurers were lucky to have been wearing gloves on principle otherwise their fingers might already have been in the grips of frostbite.

“Cold... way too cold... reminds me of home... and home was always way too f**king cold...” Cal Wright shivered.

“Eh I've had worse, nothing like a little chill the air to really get the blood pumping if you ask me...” Noted Mirri who true to her word did not seem bothered by the temperature in the least despite the fact that she was dressed no more heavily than any of the others.

“Florence?” Alexander needed only one word to get his plan across.

One by one Florence approached each member of the group except for Mirri and placed a hand to their forehead before repeating the process upon herself. As she did so their shivering and foot stamping lessened.

The cold was not diminished but its bite seemed to have lessened. In this case, it was luckily due to druidic magic as opposed to the onset of hypothermia.

“Well, we're not about to freeze to death. Let’s see if we can figure out where are, the best way to do that is to probably try and see if we can't find someone else who is native to this place, and hopefully not frozen to death unlike the last one we ran into. Mirri, I don't suppose our mysterious stranger had anything as convenient as a map of his homeland on him?” Alexander asked.

“Sorry Sir, I've still got no idea who he was, where he came from, or where we are. The only thing I'm even close to certain of is that between you, me and my Kitten, I've got a feeling we're not in Dementlieu anymore.” She reflected.

“Funny you should mention not having an idea where he came from, because I think I do!” James happily announced.

Heads turned in his direction, and he pointed towards set of tracks left by someone in heavy boots. They came to an abrupt stop just short of were the adventurers had suddenly found themselves.

“Well between standing around until Florence's magic runs out and we start to freeze again, and following those tracks, I vote for following the tracks.” Devi advised.

Alexander nodded in agreement and the group set out eager to try and find out just where they were, and if they couldn't find something to help them survive in (or better yet escape from) this frozen wasteland.

End Chapter
Last edited by jamesfirecat on Tue Dec 02, 2014 1:12 pm, edited 1 time in total.
jamesfirecat
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Re: Monster Party Book 2

Post by jamesfirecat »

Monster Party Book 2: Wolves will eat your skin, if you let them in!

Chapter two: Hey Oo What's the sound?

A group of six of adventurers had suddenly found themselves transported from the only slightly chilly cities of Dementlieu to the frozen wastelands of…well, they weren't exactly sure.

For the moment the only clue they had to go on was a trail of boot-prints left by a man who had been as suddenly taken away from his homeland as its half a dozen newest occupants had been sent there. Luckily they did not have far to go before they managed to find some sign of where exactly he had made camp before striking out for whatever strange rift he had somehow managed to either intentionally open or accidentally fall through.

The air remained, as ever, unnaturally still and clear in the frozen woods. The only sounds were the crackle and rustle of boots in the snow and ragged steaming breaths. Ahead the tracks came to a stop in the middle of a clearing, with scattered packs and gear lying about a seemingly abandoned campsite.

A heap of cold ashes and half burned logs was surrounded by a crude set of sleeping furs and a pair of skis. Obviously whoever had been using this place last hadn't decided to strike out from it intentionally but been driven from it, yet just as clearly it hadn't been picked over by human bandits or scavenging animals.

Alexander snatched up the sleeping furs at once and tossed them to Devi.

“We're going to need these. Also we're going to need any other winter survival gear you have in your bag of holding come nightfall. Florence's magic will help us last through the days but she won't be able to renew it in the middle of the night if she's not sleeping, and if she's not sleeping...” He began.

“Then she can't properly commune with nature and replenish her abilities. We know, we know. It'll be fun to find out what gets us first, exposure, the local wildlife or possibly thirst if water freezes so fast we can't even drink it...” Cal Wright ruminated with all his usual cheer.

Mirri and James began to pick through the packs, him from his general sense of curiosity, her simply because it gave her something more interesting to do than stand and stare at trees and snow.

“I think I found a journal!” James declared triumphantly as he held up a battered book.

He quickly flipped it open to the last page with writing on it out of the principle it would be the most recent and thus most pertinent to the current situation, before gazing at the pages in befuddlement.

“Great, I don't think I've seen this language before...” He muttered dourly. Mirri took the journal form him and examined it with a more studious eye.

“Looks like Balok in cursive form Kitten. Being a lady of some breeding allows me to decipher it.” She pointed out a touch smugly.

James crossed his arms and sulked, not so much upset at Mirri as the world in general.

“Cursive? Bah! It's like the way the Dementlieuse take our perfectly good language and screw it all up by making it so fancy nobody can actually saying anything in it...” James Firecat reflected, as ever his own preferences for his homeland's less grandiose approach to the Mordentish language showing.

Mirri, being well aware that having spent over a year adventuring across the Core and beyond had done nothing to dampen James' patriotic spirit, took no offense and just got on with the reading.

She flipped back to the start of the book and began to recite as many passages as had managed to remain intact against the rigors of the elements, with melted snow having managed to dampen many pages to meaningless scrawls.

“This being the journal of Igor Rikorsky begun in the year 1127 of the Patriarch’s Calendar. I have chosen to record my journeys in Vorostokov hoping that even if I do not discover a way to escape this cursed land perhaps those who come after will.

I returned to Kirinova to consult with Sergei Ikoviev concerning the location of passes to the north, but discovered that the boyarsky had gathered outside the town. Their presence can only mean trouble and I fear for the folk of the village. The men of Kirinova took up arms against the Boyar and drove him and his boyarsky off refusing to pay his tribute. The Boyar promised to return with more warriors and put the village to the sword.

At Sergei's request I followed the Boyar and his men to Vorostokov looking for an opportunity to spy on their camp. I was able to overhear the Boyar plotting Kirinova's destruction. 'We will have to break Torgov as well,' he said. Could it be that there is another village that rebels against his rule?

They have discovered my eavesdropping but I got away from their camp. The boyarsky shall not rest until they have found me.

I must reach Torgov, to warn them of the Boyar's men. I do not think that I will make it there. The wolves are stalking me, even now I can see their red eyes in the shadows watching me. I may yet escape-- a strange fog is rising and it is growing colder. I will try to lose them in the mists...” She concluded before closing the book.

“He started writing in the year 1127?” Florence asked for confirmation.

“Either we've been thrown something like four hundred years into the future, or they use a different calendar then we do.” Devi pondered.

“Probably the second. The Mists are known for taking people to many strange lands on a whim, but they typically only take you on a geographic journey, not a temporal one.” Alexander reflected.

“Either way, it sounds like we've managed to land ourselves smack dab in the middle of another fine mess.” Cal spat bitterly as he checked Phoenix to make sure her metallic components hadn't frozen over.

“There's a map also...” Mirri pointed out holding up a page she had surreptitiously ripped from the journal while doing her reading.

“He was kind enough to mark off where he was on any given day, so we know where we are more or less, but beyond that there's no scale. Also, wherever we are, it seems like it's completely surrounded by mountains on all sides.” Mirri pointed out tracing a finger across the map in question as she spoke.

“You know, just once I wish running away from 'our' problems was an option.” Cal muttered to himself throwing in an exaggerated shiver for effect.

“I mean, it's always either an island, mountains, clouds of impassable unnavigable mists or something else keeping us locked in until we deal with the darklord du jour. Would it be so horrible to just run away and let someone else deal with these problems for once?” He muttered angrily.

Alexander raced a black gloved hand on the dirty blond's shoulder.

“If we run away we'd never get paid, not to mention get a chance to cart away as much of said darklord's possessions as we can shove into Devi's bag of holding.” Alexander reminded Cal, knowing that the way to the alchemist's heart was through his money pouch.

“Yeah there is that, but can the Darklord of some place like this really have enough to make it worth it? It's just snow, snow, snow, snow! There's nothing here but snow, trees, and wind.

Wind that whistles through the threes in a really, really, stupid way. Honestly I don't know why but that sound really makes me want to....” Cal never managed to complete sentence, as he was suddenly struck dead and dumb on his feet.

XXX XXX XXX

It had been all too easy the creature thought to itself as much as it was capable of thinking.

It was rare that it and its mate were able to locate a collection of food this great, six creatures for them to feast upon and none of them aware of the danger its song presented. They had simply poked about the ruined shelter which offered them no protection at all, and now they would never get a chance to move again.

They stood there, their own bodies holding them helpless, paralyzed by its mate's calls. First it would feast and then it would begin to sing so that it's mate could take its turn They would trade off until none of their prey remained alive, and both of them were very, very full.

Deciding to save the best for last the Yeneskyy headed for the smallest of the group, it drifted across the snow looking like nothing more than an animated coat of snow white material, except for a pair of glowing red eyes and hungry mouth. It was now all too ready to drape itself about the creature and crush the life from it.

Such was it plans, right until a pair of white gloved fists suddenly reached out, one seizing either side of the Yeneskyy's body holding it still as it was brought eye to eye with a pair of crimson orbs filled not with hunger, but malevolence.

“You were going to touch my Kitten, weren’t you?” A voice demanded.

The Yeneskyy was no more intelligent than a very bright animal and so there was nothing it could say.

“Nobody, touches, my, Kitten.

Anyway, funny story, I'm sure whatever weird mystical musical mumbo jumbo you and your partner are spewing is real impressive. It bet it's specially designed for paralyzing the nervous system, maybe even the demi-human nervous system in particular.

That would be ever so much more important to me if it weren't for the fact my body operates on only three things, my own will, blood, and magic, nerves don't really enter into it. Now then, allow me to show you why Alexander keeps me around.” The pale skinned monster promised.

Pain... so much pain... so much.... pa.....

XXX XXX XX

There was a sound like tearing fabric as one of Mirri's arms pulled up while the other pulled down, with predictable results.

The creature, whatever the hell it was, came apart in her grip like desiccated parchment.

Then she casually stalked through the snowy terrain until she found another creature which was still moaning. It saw her coming and the sound of its moaning changed slightly.

It changed a lot when she grabbed it by the sides and yanked hard just like she had done to the first.

“This is so easy it's barely even fun.” She lamented tossing aside the remains of the monster. Then she walked back to her companions who were now shaking off whatever spell the beasts’ moaning had woven over them.

“I trust whatever was causing that unnecessary diversion has been dealt with permanently?” Alexander asked with a casual glance in her direction.

If there was one thing that he knew was dependable about the group's vampire it was that she considered bloodlust no vice and mercy no virtue.

“You could say that Sir. I'm still not certain what they were, but being torn in half tends be a pretty serious impairment.” She pointed out playfully.

Alas the monsters seemed to be mostly composed more of animated fabric and less of traditional blood and sinews so there hadn't been much for her to feast on.

Either way, now that she had once again proven why undeath was a superior form of existence than traditional life, Mirri was free to return her attention to picking through the dead man's belongings.

“A few days’ worth of food for everyone but me and James, two water skins that didn't burst when their contents froze solid, and some basic fire starting supplies. Nothing much to write home about, but something tells me that out here we'll have to be thankful anything we can find.” She reflected.

Alexander nodded in agreement as he began to look over what remained of a long scattered fire to see if any of the wood might yet be rekindled.

“The sun is going down, and none of us are going to be familiar with the local constellations. We might as well try to make camp here for the night since we're unlikely to find any place more hospitable in the near future.” The group's leader decided.

Almost instantly Mirri dove for Devi's bag of holding. She reached into it, and in an eye water display of magical power she managed to pull a large ornate coffin several times the bag's size out of it. It seemed to have been made from Falkovnian “vigila dimorta” trees, with equally dark leather draped across it.

Engraved upon it in bright gold fabric the words “Rør ikke katten uden en handske”.

She lowered the coffin carefully to the ground, flipped open its lid, and crooked a finger in James' direction. With willingness which would have caused most observers to question his mental capabilities James all too readily joined Mirri within the coffin and shut the lid.

The other four, not having a ready-made near air tight and already enchanted to resist the elements shelter (even one of as morbid a nature as Mirri's) at hand, wouldn't have it so easy.

“You can make use of the furs we found, I'll find a way to keep Florence warm if it kills me.” Alexander promised without feeling a need to elaborate on how he'd achieve that particular feat.

Cal began to sort through his potions until he located one containing a completely mundane concoction. He emptied it over what remained of the kindling and estimated that the might, just might be enough material there to burn for an hour at most. “I think we're going to need some extra firewood, Florence is it okay if I...?” He began rather hesitantly, knowing that killing tress for firewood was a sensitive subject with the dryad.

She was typically the most serene member of the group, but she was also the subject of Alexander's affections and so it wouldn't do to have her be upset with him.

“How do you plan to get it, beating one of those evergreens down with your rifle butt?” She replied whimsically.

The alchemist threw up his hands in exasperation.

“Fine. Boss, you have a great honking sword that would be perfect for cutting down trees, Boss' Squeeze you give the say so on if it's okay to kill trees or not, the two of you sort out how we can keep a fire burning tonight.” He declared decisively.

Alexander and Florence talked for a bit then the silver haired man departed heading for the nearby trees. He returned a short while later, his arms laden down with a great many severed branches. He dumped them at Cal's feet and flashed him a smile.

“Here you go, have fun kids. Mommy and Daddy are going to go find some place private and work on surviving the cold in our own personal way.” Alexander offered up while draping an arm across Florence's shoulders.

Cal tossed more logs on the fire and then proceeded to strike the flint and steel they had found casting out sparks. Thanks to the lamp oil that he had previously dumped upon the wood it caught fire all too quickly.

Seeing that he'd managed to get a good fire going Alexander and Florence paradoxically headed away from the camp site to make their own way in the wilderness. Cal watched them go and then sighed heavily.

“You know, growing up in Larmodia I learned a thing or how to survive cold nights. One thing that everyone agreed on the importance of was shared bodily warmth.” The Alchemist pointed out with a slight motion of his eyebrows.

“On the other hand, I've learned not to take my clothing off unless I had some place warm to store them. Let's just pull some of those pelts over each other and call it a night.” Devi responded.

“Cold sucks, cold sucks, cold sucks, cold sucks, cold sucks, cold sucks....” Cal muttered to himself over and over again as he began to do as Devi suggested.


End Chapter two.
jamesfirecat
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Re: Monster Party Book 2

Post by jamesfirecat »

Monster Party

Book two: Wolves will eat your skin, if you let them in!

Chapter three: Through the chill of winter, running across the frozen lake, hunters are out on his trail, all the odds are against him.

Thanks to the precautions that they'd taken, the group managed to get through the night without freezing to death. It was not the most impressive of achievements that a group of adventurers could possibly boast about, but it was certainly something compared to the alternative.

The sun itself was hazy and weak, but at least it's presence was easy enough to mark their relative position. So long as it still rose in the east and sunk in the west the group could be certain of which way was which.

It turned out that a town named Torgov to the north west was the one closest form of civilization to the last date marked on the mysterious Igor's journal, so they headed out. Hopefully the town's physical location would be roughly equivalent to where the map depicted it, or else the group might end up wandering the frosty forest until they bumped up against the supposedly impassable mountains; which the map suggested completely encircled the land in every possible direction.

They made relatively good time through the snow, though in part this was because none of them were weighed down by any sort of heavy armor. This probably would have left its wearer buried knee deep in the snow with every step they took; assuming they didn’t freeze to death inside of it first.

As they traveled throughout the day, however, the howling of wolves was their constant companion; echoing through the woods so that what direction it came form was near impossible to tell.

Its distance was another matter entirely.

“Crap, even I could tell that they're getting close now...” Cal muttered after listening to a howl that he swore actually shook some snow free from a tree branch.

“Boss, you and Florence really know your stuff when it comes to wildlife. Are we dealing with real natural wolves, the kind that by now must have learned the effort expended to gained meat ratios for attacking a bunch of heavily armed demi-humans makes it a decidedly bad idea, or are we dealing with storybook ‘my what big teeth you have grandma’ wolves? You know, the kind that seem to exist just to attack people even though it doesn't make any sense in the grand scheme of things?” The alchemist desperately wanted to know, and greatly feared that he knew the answer.

Just to be certain, however, he took a moment to fire off Phoenix sending a bullet soaring off into the sky aimed at nothing in particular, but still pointed in the direction the group had come so he would have nothing to fear from it when it eventually came back down.

The sound of his firearm discharging was answered by another loud wolf howl.

“Storybook wolves.” Alexander growled.

“You're probably wasting ammo though Cal. Wherever here is, I suspect the wolves haven't heard firearms frequently enough to make them wary of the sound. Not that it matters. Something evil is out there, and its driving the wolves towards us.” He reflected as his single green eye began to flicker around their surroundings, looking for a good place for them to make a stand.

Given the generally wild and unfavorable terrain the best he could locate was an open clearing where at least it would be possible for them to see the wolves coming rather than letting the beasts sneak upon them.

No sooner had they taken up position in the middle of it, then suddenly a great black wolf was there at the edge of the woods; watching them through yellow eyes which burned with both hunger and hate. It took a long moment to size them up, and then it turned and abruptly vanished back into the woods just as it pack mates began to dash forwards to attack!


BLAM!


Cal had quickly reloaded after his warning shot and been saving his next round; he wasn't sure what sort of creature the black wolf was, or how effective standard lead bullets might be against it. So instead he waited or a chance to thin the beasts' numbers.

Sure enough his round took one wolf in the leg, deflected off of the bone, and ricocheted up into its body proper. The wolf plunged to the snow ground, clearly no longer a threat to any of them.

That only left the other fifteen of the beasts which seemed to be converging on the group from every direction.

Refusing to let herself be hunted Mirri Catwarrior raced forward to meet the beasts. She had her eyes on three of them that had circled around from the back of the group, and if wolf blood couldn't fill her stomach…well some of life's pleasures had nothing at all to do with keeping your belly full.

As always Mirri's motions remained fluid and graceful to the point that even running full out her feet barely broke the snow's surface.

The first wolf died when she delivered a spinning kick that caved in its skull. The second met its demise as it leaped for Mirri whose gloves suddenly faded away as her hands became jagged talons with which she rent a gaping wound in the animal's throat.

The third however managed to pounce on her back force her to her to the ground. Its own claws dug deep gashes in Mirri's flesh and she screamed in pain and shock; amazed that something as mundane as a wolf could actually hurt her.

Her body promptly began to grow wispy as she allowed herself to dissipate into white mist which floated up into the air and beyond the range of the wolf's claws. The wolf craned its neck upwards to follow as if contemplating leaping after her to try and take a bite out of the mist when suddenly there was a brief stab of pain in its side.

“You hurt Mirri! I normally don't eat other carnivores, but congratulations you just became an exception.” Growled James Firecat, who had already buried a pair of his daggers in the wolf's flanks.

The lupine beast answered with a growl of its own and sprang at the adventurer. James leaned back and his body began to change even more swiftly than Mirri's had. A frame that had once been wiry began to bulge with newly grown muscle as crimson fur sprouted across James' body. Clothing was 'sucked in' to his body as his feet spread out into wide not quite paws while his fingernails began to sharpen into not quite claws.

He leap through the air at the wolf... more or less. The beast snapped its jaws at James, but ended up biting only empty air as the newly transformed werecat sailed over its head. Then James took advantage of the fact that though their two forms were of comparable size, his hybrid werecat form allowed him a much greater range of movement.

To pick an example, not particularly at random, the ability to reach out with his arms and grab hold of the wolf's neck as he sailed past. He dragged the beast with him down into the snow forcing it to look away from him as he opened a mouth now full of razor sharp fangs. James' teeth tore at the wolf's throat while he pummeled it with his legs until all traces of life had been driven from its body.

On the other side of the battle, Devi was forced to defend Cal from the wolves while he desperately tried to reload. Deciding to make use of her collection of mystical artifacts rather than her flail, she raised up her hands and lightning bolts flew from her fingertips.

Another of the wolves was struck down by the energy blasts and toppled into the snow. At the same time a trio of the beasts that were dashing forward were opposed by Alexander Diamondclaw and his two handed blade.

“Why am I such a beast?” The silver haired man whispered to himself as the wolves approached.

His sword cut through the chill air with deadly speed. The white snow was soon dyed red with the blood of a pair of wolves, who had both been cleaved like carcasses in an abattoir, Wolf Claw slicing through their flesh with mystical ease.

“Because I will abide none beastlier... none to live who are beastlier than me.” Alexander growled to the corpses.

Despite his skill one of the wolves had still managed to slip past him, and it jumped on Cal and bore the alchemist to the ground, just in time to a newly reloaded Phoenix shoved up against its jaw.

“Down Fido!” Cal gasped as he yanked the trigger.

BLAM!

One more wolf carcass dropped to the snow, and a howl seemingly born more of anger than sorrow went up.

Those wolves who still standing began to fall back to the forests they had sprung from; vanishing as quickly as they had come. Mirri drifted back down to the ground and reformed, her clothing had already pulled itself back together over the gashes in her chest, but from her hunched over posture the wounds themselves would take a little longer to sort out.

James Firecat for his part, was suddenly finding his appetite quite diminished as he gazed down at what had become of his dead foe.

“Bastet's Tail Tuft...” He muttered to himself in horror.

“I take back everything I said...” He gasped and then spat, coughed, and half wretched.

Eight beasts had been slain, but there were only seven wolf carcasses to be found.

Instead, at James' feet now lay body of a dead man, naked except for a slightly torn wolf pelt wrapped haphazardly about himself.

“That's why he could hurt me.” Mirri realized in shock.

“Where there's one there's going to be more. They're pack hunters, just like us.” Alexander warned them as he began to scan the nearby forests clearly expecting to be attacked again at any moment.

Cal began to pry the wolf pelt off of the dead man as gently as he could manage.

“What do you think Boss? Some kind of magical wolf skin? Maybe anybody who wears it turns into one?” He asked, but before waiting for an answer abruptly tossed the pelt across his own shoulders.

His legs buckled, his eyes closed, and a loud howl left the alchemist's lips.

Then his blue eyes flew wide open as Alexander dealt him a firm elbow to his still completely human stomach.

The pelt fell from Cal's shoulders and landed in an unkempt bundle upon the ground.

“You don't even believe that, otherwise you wouldn't have tried to put it on. The magic isn't in the wolf pelt, or at least it's not completely in the wolf pelt...” Alexander Diamondclaw rumbled grimly.

As he spoke Alexander carefully stuck Wolf Claw's non edged side beneath the pelt and lifted it back up from the ground.

“I've never seen this before... but I've heard stories.” The silver haired man spoke with a faraway look in his eyes.

“Are they long stories? If so, we might want to start walking. There's no sign of that town yet, and if those wolves attack us again we'll waste even more time holding them off.” Devi pointed out, coldly logical as ever.

“As good idea as any...” Alexander admitted as one black glove grabbed hold of the pelt, and the other slid Wolf Claw back into its sheath.


XXX XXX XXX

“I was certain, certain that they were only stories.” Alexander began seemingly quite unnerved, though he had none the less draped the bloody wolf pelt across his own shoulders.

“There are all kinds of monsters in the world, that's what my father would tell me. All kinds of monsters, some of them look human, some of them once were human.

Monsters that would steal a child from its cribs and replace it with one of their own, monsters that hate love and live to destroy beauty, monsters that can take the form of something as seemingly harmless as a tree, no offense Florence.

One of the ways that a man could make a monster of himself would be if a hunter would personally slay a wolf, and it had to be done in just the right way. Not with a bow, not with a sword, not with a mace, not with a spear, but with a dagger, one human claw to equal the wolf's many natural ones.

Then, you draw a circle in the dirt with the wolf's blood. Kneel in the center of the circle, skin the wolf and wear its hide as your only garment. You must then feast upon the slain wolf's organs, just as it would have eaten of your flesh should it have slain you.

If you do those things then, well then my boy, you will a make a wolf of yourself!

I always thought that it was just another of his tales, a fanciful way to explain werewolves, because the very first werewolf, the one who wasn't bitten, who wasn't sired by other werewolves had to come from somewhere. In this place... wherever it is... it actually works!

Not only does it work... but people are so desperate that they'd do it! They'd make monsters of themselves!” Alexander gasped.

James coughed rather loudly at this point.

The group's sole red haired member vastly preferred to have lycanthropes considered simply a “morphologically variable” branch of demi-humanity rather than “monsters” for fairly obvious reasons.

“I'm sorry, but this isn't like infected lycanthropes who were normal people who came down with a disease that can make them dangerous to others, like an extra advanced form of white mouth. It isn't like natural lycanthropes either, they're people who are born with a special ability.

You all have heard the tales of sorcerers who can fling around balls of fire before their own balls drop, or end up bringing their own deceased pets back to life as zombies before they even know what 'death' really is.

Natural lycanthropes are no different, other than typically having a vastly more predictable pedigree of course, they're still just people born with powers that others don't have. They may choose to use that power for evil, but men born with strong arms may use them to become brigands.

This though, these are people who were born normal human beings. No longer able to bear the burden of humanity. My father was full of tales about monsters, but the worst ones... they were always the ones who were born as perfectly ordinary people and wanted to become monsters.

No creature can be more evil by nature than one that sets out to do as much evil as possible on purpose.”

The group's leader snarled, his own silver hair pricking up in anticipation.

With that 'happy' thought on their minds the group kept trekking on through the snow, and they somehow made it the rest of the day without any further wolf attacks.

XXX XXX XXX

As the group moved ever onwards the night began to close in around them. Along with being almost unnaturally cold, it also became ominously still and quiet.

The forest was flooded with silver moon light, and the only sign of human civilization in sight was a dim orange glow, the light of a single campfire. Alexander didn't even need to give any order, they all agreed without words to move in the direction of that campfire.

Eventually they found a clearing and a campfire crackling before a small lean-to made from pine boughs. A dark haired young man sat before the fire warming a cup of steaming tea. The fellow was wearing buckskin, with a great parka of fur hanging over his shoulders.

He had a sturdy bow and a large battle axe lay close to hand, while he roasted a pair of rabbits on a spit over the fire. He seemed to catch sight of them about the same time as they finally managed to get a good look at his face.

“Well, what do we have here? You're welcome enough to share my fire strangers. It's not like your presence will make the wood burn faster or the flames any less warm for me.” The man greeted them.

Cal was only too happy to rush forward and secure a spot for himself close to the fire in question and hold his glove hands out to warm them up as much as possible. The others were did likewise, though with less obvious relish than the alchemist.

As they did so, the man's blue eyes fell upon Alexander. He studied the green eyed man for a very long time before speaking.

“So tell me, what does a Loup De Nuit need with a campfire?” He asked his fingers starting to edge towards his axe.

Alexander gazed at him in confusion for a moment, before recalling the addition he'd made recently to his outfit. He promptly tore the wolf pelt from his shoulders without a second thought.

“Wolf of the night? I guess that must be what you call them. Heh, as good a name as any. I suppose our fathers must have raised us both upon same stories. Either way, I would imagine that one would have no need of a campfire, they'd have fur thick enough to keep out the cold.

I'm as humans as you are though.” Alexander promised the man and kicked at the pelt, sliding it across the ground until it came to a rest close to the burning fire.

A few orange specks fled from the burning logs and found a new home upon its gray fur.

“It was my mother who told me the stories.” The dark haired man corrected as he watched the pelt start to smolder.

“Either way, I guess you're right. They say each pelt is specially made for each Loup De Nuit, and they can only have one at a time.

That or the one you're burning is a fake and you have your real one hidden elsewhere.” The man suggested sounding as if didn't especially believe his own words.

“Search me.” Alexander offered holding out his empty hands to the man.

“If you manage to find another wolf pelt on me I'll be as surprised as you are. I was only carrying that one because I didn't believe in something as simple as a sword to destroy such evil magic. No, purification by flames that was what it needed.” Sure enough as Alexander spoke the few flickering embers were growing ever brighter and more numerous as they danced about the wolf pelt.

“A good thing for me, you have the look about you of companions who hold no secrets from one another. If one you were a monster, then so must be all the others, and that'd leave me in the sorry state of being the only one voting for rabbit when it came to ask what was for dinner. My name is Micheal Zolnik, what would yours be?” Mikhail introduced himself.

“Alexander Diamondclaw.” Alexander answered.

Both men clearly finding the other's title strange upon the tongue took a moment to consider before continuing the conversation.

“I suppose it's a shame that we don't have a Loup Du Nuit with us, two rabbits aren't much of a meal for one man, sharing them among seven different people will require some clever planning. I don't suppose you have much you food of your own to share?” Mikhail sounded good natured enough about sharing what little he had, like a man who had never known plenty in his entire life.

“James, go see if you can't find something to eat, something big enough for us to share.” Alexander instructed his red haired companion.

Almost instantly James' left hand rose to his brow in salute, and he stood up shaking a few fresh flakes of snow from his outfit.

“If it’s all the same to you, Sir, I'll go with him. Best to travel in pairs after all. Besides, you know how I like to watch my Kitten hunt.” Mirri pointed out rising as well.

Alexander acknowledged her comments with a simple nod though Mikhail watched their departure with a bit more skepticism.

“Well, I'll wish them luck, but the forests haven't exactly be in a giving mood today. On nights like tonight I wonder if ever the wolves don't have trouble keeping fed.” Mikhail reflected whimsically.

“Winter sucks, it’s the same everywhere. By the way, what part of winter are we in exactly? How long is it until spring?” Cal wanted to know; worried that the group might have to make themselves at home in this frosty domain for quite a while, and hoping that things got at least marginally more hospitable as days grew longer.

“Spring?” Mikhail shook his head of dark hair slowly, the look in his eyes suggesting that he didn't know if he wanted to laugh or cry.

“In Vorostokov 'spring' is as much a legend as the Loup Du Nuit . Well my mother claimed that she once knew 'spring', 'summer', and 'fall' while tales of Loup Du Nuit normally end up dealing with a friend of a passing acquaintance of someone's fifth cousin thrice removed, but in all my life there has been not one day of spring.” He informed them in the voice of a man who suffering had made old before his time.

Cal scooted even closer to the fire as if contemplating tossing himself into its flames so great was his desire for warmth.

“You mean it's like this all day long, day after day, month after month, year after year?” He paused for a moment and suddenly threw back his head letting loose with hollow laughter. “Oh I get it! It's what they'd call a feeshka in Kartakass, a 'little lie' you're making fun of me because I'm new! Ha-ha it is to laugh...” He muttered in irritation.

Then he saw the look in Mikhail's eyes and knew that it was no jest. To that look he could respond with only one single word.

“F**k!”

End chapter three.
jamesfirecat
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Re: Monster Party Book 2

Post by jamesfirecat »

Monster Party Book 2: Wolves will eat your skin, if you let them in!

Chapter four: It's always winter but never Christmas.

"So tell me travelers, where are you from and what is 'spring' actually like?" Asked Mikhail Zolnik as examined his four remaining guests a bit more closely.

"It's warmer, tree leaves turn green again, though given that your land seems to only have evergreens for vegetation you might not even know what a 'leaf' is or how they normally turn brown in fall." Florence Bastien answered.

"It's when the ground starts to thaw so crazy old man Mordenheim can try and dig up all the corpses that haven't had a chance to rot properly yet." Cal added, somehow managing to sound almost sentimental about the prospect of mass graveyard desecration taking place.

Alexander quickly rejoined the conversation not wanting it to drift too much further off topic.

"You said that this land is named Vorostokov. I don't think I've ever heard that name before, are you part of the Core or one of the islands?" He wanted to know.

"The Core?" Mikhail repeated the word, clearly finding it an even more alien concept than 'spring' all things considered.

"So you're not part of the Core, yet you can speak passable Balok... that's convenient." Devi Skye reflected.

Alexander shrugged not interested in dissecting unlikely linguistic overlaps.

"Let's not turn up our noses at whatever the small gifts the Mists feel like giving us. If you spoke a language unique to Vorostokov then we'd be reduced to communicating by drawing pictures in the snow. I was never very good at that sort of thing, and it'd be rather tricky to convey 'no, I am not a werewolf' quickly that way." Alexander pointed out.

Mikhail chuckled at the dark humor of his words.

"A fair enough sentiment. It's a shame that my homeland doesn't have more in the way of splendors for me to offer you. Alas, we seem to have an excess of only two things; snow is one and wolves are the other." The hunter admitted openly.

"For what it's worth, my homeland is known for only having an excess for snow, and so many insane artificers of one form or another that those of us who actually produce something useful can't make our voices heard above the din of those who are determined to 'show them all' because 'the fools dared call me mad!'" Cal commiserated.

"Perhaps you could tell us a little more about Vorostokov?" Alexander interjected once again trying to bring the topic back around to a useful subject.

"Say for example, do you have any local legends about travelers from a distant land who are supposed to show up one day and right great wrongs, or slay great evils? If there's some ancient prophecy supposedly at work, I'd prefer to be made aware of it as soon as possible." He inquired.

Mikhail shook his head.

"There is nothing grand about Vorostokov. I come from the village of Torgov which is not very far from this camp, only a day's march or so. I have visited the villages of Voronina, Kirinova, Nordvik and Vorostokov, the largest village in the land and for which the land is named. It is also where the Boyar has built his hall..." Mikhail didn't spit after he said that last sentence, but he gave the impression that if preserving fluids and keeping the fire going weren't so important to him he would have.

"The Boyar?" Cal was unable to avoid noticing their new acquaintance's tone and he had a distinct feeling that he he'd heard this particular tune before.

"Let me guess, he's an evil man who rules with an iron fist, and is even harsher than the weather of this miserable patch of... well I'd call it dirt, but honestly right now I'm not even sure if you have any good honest dirt hiding underneath all this stupid snow..." He guessed.

Mikhail's eyes flickered in surprise for a moment but he recovered quickly enough.

"With a tongue like that you might pass for a native though your clothing clearly proves otherwise. The Boyar, Gregor Zolnik is surely enough an evil man, and his warriors, the boyarsky, enforce a reign of terror over the other villages.

They demand a tax, not one of coin, but in the true treasure of Vorostokov: food. They cart it back to the Boyar's hall for him to distribute to his followers. They eat heartily while the rest of us can barely avoid starvation.

My village refused to send tribute when the boyarsky came last week, and I fear the Boyar himself will soon try to either extract his blood money or spill our blood." Mikhail warned them.

"Let me guess, Zolnik is the equivalent of 'Smith' in Vorostokov, I bet there are at least three of them in every village." Cal noted sardonically.

Mikhail shook his head sorrowfully however.

"Yes, I share Gregor's surname, because the Boyar is my father. When I was sixteen years old and visiting my mother's family in Torgov, my mother Sasha perished. My father's messenger said she had been chased into a ravine by wolves, and fell to her death. If Gregor who has the audacity to call himself the greatest hunter in all of Vorostokov cannot protect his own wife from the wolves, it was all the proof I needed that he was nothing but a bully and braggart. That is why I decided to spend the rest of my life in Torgov." Mikhail explained.

"The town that is about to be invaded. I don't suppose that little detail has anything to do with how forthcoming with both facts and provisions you're being at the moment?" Cal contemplated.

Mikhail's face flushed and he looked away.

"I am not just any resident of Torgov. I am its marshkovik, the leader of the village militia, such as they are. If it comes to open combat, the boyarsky will slaughter my men with ease.

I have heard tales that were other villages which might stand against my father's reign. If only we were able to band together, rather than letting him pick us off one by one..." Mikhail despaired.

"Does the name Igor Rikorsky mean anything to you?" Devi pressed.

"I know of him but do not know him personally. He was a hunter from Kirinova, and respected by many people of the land. How did you come to know of his name?" Their new friend wanted to know.

Alexander quickly gave a somewhat abridged version of how the frozen hunter's arrival had heralded their own journey to Vorostokov while Mikhail listened with rapt attention.

"It was rumored he was going to try to find other lands to ask for help. I thought that meant brave the mountains, but if he found some kind of portal, even a temporary one, well for better or worse you are all the 'help' Vorostokov is likely to get any time soon.

I think fate must have wanted us to meet. If Torgov had but a few more warriors, real warriors, not men who are only used to pitting their skills against beasts we would have a chance to turn back the boyarsky. It would mean salvation for my village, and a black eye for my father's cronies the likes of which he would not soon forget! If not, if you will not help, I will not let fear alone be enough to slay me as it was for my mother." Mikhail ruminated darkly.

"Even with the odds against you, you're still determined to fight on?" Alexander asked while raising an eyebrow.

Mikhail bristled in annoyance at the silver haired man's needling.

"Odds? What are odds in Vorostokov? I've already defeated the odds simply by living as long as I have without succumbing to cold, starvation, or illness. Having prevailed against the odds of nature, I refuse to be cowed by the odds of men." The hunter promised them.

Alexander reached across the campfire and took the other man's gloved hands in his own.

"I can be certain of why the cold has not taken you at least. How can you be chilled with such a burning passion within?" Alexander praised the other man.

"Passion is a fine thing, but a full belly, a heavy cloak, and a warm fire are better still. If you hold on till we reach Torgov and can best the boyar's men I will see to it that proper survival gear is the least of your rewards." He promised them.

"Speaking of a full belly, who wants food?" James Firecat announced happily as he and Mirri returned from their outing.

A moment later the pair tossed a deer onto the snow before Mikhail. The beast must have put up quite a fight for in addition to a ragged gash in the creature's throat there were other smaller wounds all over its body, including a few chunks of flesh torn from the stomach.

Yet if it had fought back, it had done so with little luck for neither James nor Mirri bore the markings of any recently suffered blows.

"Sorry for the delay. It had a fawn with it, Mirri and I alone couldn't carry both though so we decided to eat it as best we could before bringing the main course back for the rest of you." He explained.

Mikhail's eyes bulged at the sight of the slain deer, then he threw his head back and laughed.

"Splendidly done! If you fight as well as you hunt then my father will be in for a most unpleasant surprise that is a certainty!" He congratulated them before starting to skin the deer.

XXX XXX XXX

Mikhail shared his lean-to with the group, though the group wisely promised that in return for him having built the tiny encampment in the first place they would take care of guarding the fire all night and let him sleep.

James and Mirri took the first shift, and spending the rest of the night of Mirri's coffin once their new friend was safely asleep. Alexander and Florence took the next one, and Cal and Devi the last, awakening James and Mirri and being careful to once again hide her coffin within Devi's bag of holding before awakening Mikhail.

There was still enough deer left over to provide some meat with breakfast (if there was one good thing about Vorostokov's weather it was that food took it sweet time about spoiling) before heading out for the hunter's village.

XXX XXX XXX

Sadly much like Mikhail had predicted the trek to Torgov took almost the entire day, though either because of the events the day before or the presence of a native hunter among their ranks the group was left unmolested by the local wildlife.

Thus, twilight was just starting to fade as they arrived at Torgov.

Mikhail's home turned out to be a tiny little hamlet nestled in the shadow of a barren, snowy hill. Many small cabins sat in a circle in the center of the village, with small farmhouses and workshops scattered around the general area.

Farmland covered by a blanket of snow surrounded the sleepy village, its livestock pens and granaries almost empty. Mikhail led them to one small cabin in particular, stomping the snow off his boots and shaking the ice free from his parka before entering.

Inside warm firelight filed a cozy taproom not so truly different from the tavern they'd been staying at in Dementlieu before all of this started. A handful of villagers were drinking hot tea or hard cider while wearing somber expressions.

The arrival of their guide seemed to lift the dour mood of the place at least a little though as Mikhail was greeted with warm smiles and handshakes. The six adventurers on the other hand were given looks as frosty as the ground outside. Eager to avoid a misunderstanding, Mikhail was quick to start introductions.

"Anna, Pyotr, Kerin, these people are not some random strangers, they are friends of Torgov. They are not of our land, but they have no great love of tyranny and thus are far from friends of the Boyar. Bring cider, bread and blankets for them, they will tell you their tale better than I can..." He advised.

One of the occupants of the tavern, a grizzled older man looked the newest arrival up and down and scowled.

"How did they manage to make it back to the village upright in the first place Mikhail? Dressed the way they are, the cold should have claimed them soon enough." The man grumbled.

Florence stepped forward and curtsied low in a show of deference.

"That was my doing. I know a few minor cantrips for keeping the chill of winter at bay. I never expect to need them so badly but with the aid of Gaia I managed." She explained.

The open talk of magic sent another chill through the air and the same man snorted derisively into his drink.

"I don't suppose you would also happen to know a spell that would wish away Gregor and all the boyarsky he'll bring with him to the village tomorrow?" He morosely pondered.

"That will probably prove to be beyond my skills." Florence admitted.

The man grumbled a few inaudible words and words and went back to his drink. One of the taverns occupants besides their guide surprisingly came to the defense of the newcomers.

"You know Pyotr Bolshoi I don't think anyone has ever worked at hard as finding something to be upset about as you! Some magic is a great deal better than none and any magic is hard enough to come by!" Exclaimed a woman with dark hair and deep blue eyes.

She wore a long dress that actually seemed to be composed of several different articles of clothing carefully mended together to better keep out the chill. Mikhail gratefully took this woman's hands in his own.

"There is no magic in all of Vorostokov greater than the way your eyes bring warmth to my heart Anna." He praised her before pulling her into a tight hug.

"Do your new 'friends' have any way to pay for the rooms and food they'll be needing?" Asked an older woman whose black hair was starting to go gray in places.

"How much would it be per night?" Devi asked as she began to reach into her bag of holding, more than ready to solve this particular problem by throwing money at it.

As if realizing what the elf had in mind the woman shook her head.

"Vorostokov is big enough that coins are worth something, but out here we prefer to trade things more intrinsically worthwhile. Extra weapons, boots, cloaks, capes that sort of thing." She explained.

"James pay the woman." Alexander commanded without a moment's hesitation. James nodded and then did exactly that, reaching into the pockets of his red jacket and flipping a few daggers onto the counter before her. Most of them were simple (if well crafted) steel but one had a blade which gleamed brilliant silver.

"Will that be enough or do you need a few more?" He blithely inquired.

The older woman's eyes flickered slightly as she eyed that silver blade, but before she could say anything else Anna cut her off.

"That's more than enough to pay for your rooms, and I'm sure my aunt Greta would agree. I'll go see about getting your rooms prepared in fact." She promised them, giving Mikhail one last kiss before departing.

Mikhail returned his gaze slowly to Alexander, his swarthy features failing to hide his blush.

"Anna and I are engaged." He admitted, explaining her obvious affection for him.

"Hey, so long as she could provide us with some place warm to hang our clothes I wouldn't care if she was the village..." Cal began and then ended up stopping when Devi and Florence elbowed him in the chest from either side in near perfect coordination.

End Chapter.
jamesfirecat
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Re: Monster Party Book 2

Post by jamesfirecat »

Monster Party Book two: Wolves will eat your skin, if you let them in!

Chapter Five: A hunter is switching his prey...

Mikhail Zolnik awoke and at once he knew something was wrong. He was not sure what, but all the same he knew that something terrible awaited Torgov. It was not the first time in his life he had been struck by such feelings either.

It was nothing so dramatic as a magical premonition; simply that a lifetime of hunting for food and avoiding behind hunted by Vorostokov's other predators had given him a gut that could sense trouble coming well before his brain even had a chance. He slowly extricated himself from the pile of furs he had been sharing with Anna giving her one last kiss on the cheek (careful to keep it light enough not to wake her) then began to go about dressing himself in his heavy winter outfit and snow shoes; loading himself down still further with armor and weapons as well.

That task completed he headed out of the inn, though not quite as silently as he would have wished.

"Where are you going?" A voice asked him innocently.

Mikhail turned and to his surprise found that the youngest (though sharpest eared and keenest eyed) member of the villages Militia, Kerin was likewise up and fully dressed, bow in hand and a quiver of arrows slung over his back.

The dark haired youth's green eyes shown as brightly as ever and Mikhail reluctantly motioned for him to come along.

"It is nothing important, I just felt the need for a brisk morning walk around the village, you may come along if you wish." He answered, wondering if he was truly trying to deceive the lad or himself.

Either way, the pair headed out into the frosty morning air, as ever both of their breath transformed into puffs of ghostly mist the moment they stepped outside. Mikhail headed out in the direction that his instincts told him to go and Kerin followed closely behind.

XXX XXX XXX

Mikhail had been traveling through the snow for what felt like the longest, most tiring, most bone chilling ten minutes of his life. Every single rational reasonable part of his mind told him that he should turn back to Torgov before either he or Kerin end up losing more than just their time.

Just as he finally came to a stop and was about to give the order to turn around, three figures emerged from swirling snow. Three figures who he recognized instantly: a wiry man armed with a great battle axe, Dmitri Dneprov, a slender youth in a fur cape alongside a stocky board shouldered man with a bushy beard whose own cape was embroidered with jewelry, his older brother Alexi, and his father Gregor Zolnik.

It seemed as if due to the snow both parties ended up blundering into one another at the exact same moment and his father's blue eyes filled with wicked glee.

"Well what do we have here? Has my wayward son finally seen the error of his ways and realized that I only wish what is best for Vorostokov?" Gregor rumbled, already fingering his bastard sword all the same.

Mikhail's body stiffened still further as his eyes began to roam wondering if still more of his father's boyarsky would show themselves at any moment.

"You may wish what is best for the village of Vorostokov, but not our entire land! The people of Torgov have little enough as it is, I will not let you take it from them just so that your own followers gorge themselves into a state of idiocy where they cease to care where the food they eat comes from." Mikhail insisted, starting to finger his axe as well.

The Boyar of Vorostokov's blade cleared its scabbard with wicked speed as he stomped towards Mikhail his face alight with fury.

"If you are such a fool, best to keep your tongue between your teeth! You know nothing of Vorostokov, the hunting and farming there is worse than anywhere else. You see Mikhail, just like you I refuse to let my people starve, and will do anything within my power to ensure their survival." Gregor insisted.

"Except that for me 'anything' means risking my life to defend what we have, and for you it means strong-arming others into providing what you could not secure yourself. Maybe if more of Vorostokov's residents spent their time searching for game or tending crops and less menacing the other villages your people would suffer less father." Mikhail spat derisively.

The snow crunched underneath Gregor's boots as he began to stalk towards the marshkovik of Torgov.

"I am tired of listening to you defame a lifetime I have spent in service to the people of Vorostokov. Make your choice, die here upon my blade, or upon those of my men who will be ransacking your village in a few minutes. If you're fast enough you might actually be able to get there before them." Gregor chuckled darkly.

Mikhail put his back to his father and gave a simple one word order to Kerin.

"RUN!"

XXX XXX XXX

Mikhail ran as fast as his legs would take him, but it still didn't feel fast enough.

It was hard to fight back an obscenity every time one of his legs came down upon the snow with just a touch too much force and he ended up needing to waste precious time winning his freedom from his its icy grip.

Even if he had been a wolf running on four sure footed paws it still wouldn't have felt like he was moving fast enough though. How many people of his village would end up paying the price for his foolishness? He was their marshkovik, what had possessed him to go gallivanting about in the snow on the eve of the village being attacked?

Blinking flecks of snow from his eyes tried to shield his face and continue onwards all the same.

XXX XXX XXX

Despite the manic pace with which Mikhail drove himself onwards, he still was not fast enough to reach Torgov with time to spare.

The boyarsky were just beginning their assault from the south when he came racing back into the village from the opposite direction.

"To me! To me!" He cried out in desperation, hoping that the people of Torgov would be willing to rally around him as he waved his axe dramatically.

Already some of the citizens were trying to resist the boyarsky with whatever weapons (if you could even call them weapons) they could find: pitchforks, hammers, hatchets and hunting bows were all being used to try and protect the village

The citizens of Torgov were fighting with a dreadful urgency, many of Gregor's men were armed with a short sword in one hand, and a lit torch in the other. They clearly intended to burn the entire village to the ground before they were done.

He charged one of those men, hoping that he could provide an example for all those who continued to fight. His axe came down and the short sword came up to block it.

Mikhail had two arms around his axe, his foe only one on his sword. That was why he managed to knock the blade down into the snow and then deal the bearded boyarsky a mortal blow to the throat.

He fell to the snow and his torch began to splutter and die.

Yet that victory was a small pathetic thing next to the way the other fallen man's companions were continuing to push further and further into Torgov, slaying at least three of the villagers for every one of their own number who went down.

If things kept up at this rate, then Gregor would have his vengeance on Torgov without even needing to get personally involved in the battle.

Suddenly there was a sound that broke through even the chaos of the battlefield, a sound that every man, woman, and child of Vorostokov knew right down to their bones; the howl of a wolf.

The door to Greta's inn slammed open, and Alexander Diamondclaw emerged. His two handed sword already drawn, and without a moment's hesitation he charged forward into the fray.

A cloud of mist hung about him as he moved, making it hard to tell exactly where he stood, even though he was less than twenty feet away from Mikhail. Traveling in his wake was a …. what in the name of the lost seasons was that thing exactly?

It was roughly the right size for a wolf, but it's fur was a blazing red, its tail was all wrong, even its posture was likewise mismatched.

It couldn't be a wolf, but if it wasn't then what had made that howling noise? Either way Alexander and his strange pet advanced and a bank of mist went with him, combined with the natural snowfall he was all but invisible.

A moment later three boyarsky emerged from the mist and charged Mikhail who brought his axe up, ready to give ground to avoid being overwhelmed.

BLAM!

Mikhail's ears rung like someone had stuck a pot over his head and then smashed it with a hammer.

As bad as it was for his ears, it was worse for the boyarsky, even his well-made armor offered him no more protection from this attack than it did from the cold, as suddenly a bright red wound erupted upon his chest. A moment later he fell lifeless to the the snow.

The other two kept coming, and a long flail lashed out and wrapped around the blade of one boyarsky.

While he struggled to work it free Mikhail darted in and got to work with his axe, delivering another swift death.

The last one tried to take advantage of Mikhail's own temporary distraction his was easily checked by a seemingly ordinary wooden staff in the arms of a woman in green. The two dueled back and forth seemingly to be equally matched, and when Mikhail intervened on the blond haired woman's behalf the conclusion was obvious.

Only as he finished yanking his axe from the third boyarsky he had slain that day did Mikhail suddenly notice that the noises which filled his ears had changed.

The battle was no less loud, but the nature of the sounds were no longer those of men betting pitted against one another in combat. Instead, they were sounds of men trying desperately to survive as predators pressed in upon them.

There were howls, growls, and most of all there were screams of pain. How could one animal make so much noise? It was as if there was an entire pack's worth of wolves inside that strange fog!

Then with one last ugly unpleasant wet gurgle the sounds terminated.

A few moments later Alexander Diamondclaw walked out of the mist, blade sheathed, his single visible eye wide with shock.

"Mikhail you would not believe what I have just seen! I managed to take down one of them, just one, and then it happened. There were wolves in that mist! Huge white wolves made out of the mist itself! I saw one just like it before we were brought here, but this time there was a pack of them! They started grabbing boyarsky left and right! By some miracle they ignored me, and well..." Alexander trailed off.

The fog cleared, there was no sign of the strange creature that had accompanied Alexander when he'd left the inn. There was plenty of sign of the boyarsky though, just like Alexander had said, there was one body that had been killed by a simple clean sword stroke... beyond that one man however all the others looked as though they had been rent to shreds by beasts.

"Wolves made of mist?" Mikhail repeated, part of him unable to believe that some unknowable force should so blatantly interfere in Torgov's favor, another part angrily shaming him for questioning that which had saved his village from destruction.

Whatever the reason, whatever the source, there could be no doubting what had just happened. The force of boyarsky that had had rushed to attack into that strange mist had been horrifically mutilated, those that still lived retreated as quickly as they could fearing that the mists would return.

An exhausted cheer began to go up among the people of Torgov as it seemed that they would not be forced die upon the blades of the boyarsky or at the chill hands of winter after all.

"Do you seriously believe that this will make a difference?" A rough voiced boomed out from behind Mikhail.

It seemed that Gregor Zolnik himself had arrived just in time to witness the destruction of the force he had brought with him to attack Torgov.

"I will simply return to Vorostokov, and gather even more of my men. Those you slew today were new to my service, next time I will bring my elite with me. Surrender now and I will spare your village, but if you force me to return there will not be two unburnt twigs in all of Torgov!" He promised them.

Mikhail came forward to face his Gregor once more.

"Go back to Vorostokov then! We have seen your mercy, father! We will die free rather beneath your heel." He promised.

"You will need more than half a dozen outland allies and luck to save you when next we meet Mikhail. I've let you be for far too long..." Gregor promised before turning his back on Torgov.

The village's occupants were so worn out by the battle that no one thought to try and chase him.

BLAM!

Cal Wright fired off a round from Phoenix and it was just barely possible to see Gregor suddenly stagger through the heavily falling snow.

It was impossible to tell where he had been struck or how seriously he had been injured. Either way Mikhail had something more important on his mind, soon enough the movements of others and the fall of fresh snow would destroy all traces of the battle that had just taken place, so he had to act fast.

He frantically threw himself to the ground so as to get a better look at what remained of the tracks that Alexander had left behind as he'd gone forward into battle. They were accompanied by something moving on all fours, but they just couldn't be wolf tracks!

Just to start with, there were no claws marks in the snow, and, it seemed that the pad left too many imprints on the snow, was the beast some strange poly-dactyl rarity?

The prints weren't even evenly matched! The front ones were almost right, but the back had elongated pads closer to human footprints than anything else. Loup De Nuit should leave either human or lupine tracks in their wake... were these the marks of some creature that somehow fell between the two?

"If you're trying to make a snow angel you're not doing a very good job of it. I'd have thought somebody who grew up where it was always winter would know better!" Pointed out a playful voice from above.

Mikhail who felt he had gleaned all he possibly could from those strange tracks slowly rose to his feet and shook his head as he gazed at James Firecat.

"No... just, trying to make sense of the strange mist born miracle which has spared my village, for the moment at least." He explained. Shaking as much snow form his outfit as he could and putting the strange marks to his back Mikhail headed once more for Greta's inn, whatever would come next, that would be the place it would be decided.

XXX XXX XXX

Mikhail Zolnik slowly read over the journal pages that his new companions had discovered shortly after they had been brought to his homeland.

They were now even more worn than they had been a few days ago, but as Mikhail was more familiar with the flourishes of his language he could make a fair amount of sense from the wall the same.

"I wish I could say I knew Igor Rikorsky well enough to properly morn his passing, but for the moment I can only focus on the slim glimmer of hope that his journal tells us. If what he has written here is true not only has Kirinova risen against my father, but they managed to drive off his first attack just as we of Torgov have.

Whatever my boasts my father may care to make, he can't afford to keep throwing his boyarsky away on battles that achieve nothing but turning snow red. For the moment at least Torgov is safe, it is a week's journey back to Vorostokov, so it will be a full fortnight before he could possibly try to make god on his boasts.

Kirinova is five days march however, it is possible we could visit it, and still return ahead of him. If still more people of this land are rising against Gregor then I must do all I can to let them know that they do not do so alone..." Mikhail reflected.

Luckily his new companions were willing to abide by his habit of frequently thinking out important matters aloud. Mikhail often found it was one thing to simply ponder a thought, to voice it aloud gave flesh and bones to what would otherwise be insubstantial.

"I think it would be best if you came with me. There is safety in numbers, not to mention it was Igor's arrival in your lands which prefaced your own journey to Vorostokov. If there is some mystical way to travel between our two separate worlds it is possibly a secret that only the people of Kirinova know.

One they might be willing to part with if you were willing to aid them as you have aided Torgov." Mikhail pointed out, feeling rather pleased with his shrewd suggestion.

Alexander Diamondclaw favored him with a very long look from his left eye.

"If the choice is between waiting here for your father to return, or going out and possibly doing something useful, well that isn't much of a choice is it?" The silver haired man answered simply.

End Chapter.
jamesfirecat
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Re: Monster Party Book 2

Post by jamesfirecat »

Monster Party Book Two: Wolves will eat your skin, if you let them in!

Chapter Six: All it takes is a spark to ignite my bad intentions.

They set out shortly after noon, Mikhail making sure to eat the heartiest lunch he could manage and pack plenty of supplies.

And so the frantic terror of the battle to save Torgov thus gave way to the dull monotony of traveling through Vorostokov. Practically everything was some shade of white with only a few brown trees not completely covered with snow to break the pattern.

Before long a horrible zilinya neshka, a terrible winter storm where it quickly became impossible for a man to see his own hand held up before his face, descended. The group managed to find some small semblance of safety when, by luck more than skill, Mikhail managed to locate an abandoned bear den for them to wait out the storm in.

As the howling of the winds grew worse however the small fire they had managed to kindle spluttered and died with an ominous speed.

"It's the Arayashka, at this rate we may not last the night..." Mikhail muttered to himself.

"The what now?" Cal reminded their guide that not all of them were familiar with the legends of Vorostokov.

"The Arayashka are the spirits of those who perished by freezing to death. Now, in death they eternally seek the warmth that evaded them in life, and will not be satisfied until they have drained it from all they encounter." Mikhail explained, his teeth starting to chatter slightly.

"Mirri?" Alexander spoke only one word and made a few quick motions with one of his gloved hands.

The dark haired woman nodded and walked out into the swirling snow with a completely blasé air. Mikhail rose to his feet with almost unseemly haste at the sight of her departure.

"Damn it all, you may be willing to send a woman out into that snow storm to face down the snow wraiths on her own but I'll not stand for it." He demanded.

Alexander stood up slowly and got a firm grip on Mikhail's shoulder.

"Miriam Kantar is our expert on all things undead. Be they bodies animated by magic, or spirits bereft of physical form there are precious few more knowledgeable than she. So kindly do not get yourself killed interfering with her work." The silver haired man suggested.

XXX XXX XXX

Mirri left the rudimentary shelter behind her and headed out into the full fury of the zilinya neshka.

Flecks of brilliant white danced around her, while still others soon began to adorn her skin and outfit. Those that managed to land upon her remained pristine for, as a vampire, she lacked the body heat to melt them.

Likewise, she lacked anything to fear, even from the storm's chill. Anything short of magic powerful enough to freeze them into a solid block of ice would find it quite difficult for cold to inconvenience the undead.

Soon enough her keen eyes picked out the sight of misty figures drifting across the snow.

"Ahoy, fellow undead!" She called out to them, though they either did not hear her or did not care.

Mirri advanced closer to the creatures until she was finally able to get a good look at them. They were humanoid enough in shape, with fully formed hands but no discernible legs or feet (just one large mass below the waist) and a head with ice blue eyes but no mouth.

"Well I guess that explains why you didn't call back to me. Tell you what since you can't speak, how about you just raise one finger for yes two for no, and I'll do most of the talking." Mirri offered.

The arayashka paid her no heed.

"Now, I'll be the first to admit that living tend to be a bunch of whiny jerks. They're always so 'I need to eat this, I need to drink that, now I need to excrete some other stuff', and they insist that their lives have meaning just because they're actually alive. Still, the group of living beings you're currently trying to chill to death happen to be frien... acquaintances of mine.

So why don't you float your way along and some other poor helpless victims to drain of heat and we'll say no more on the matter?" Mirri offered.

One of the snow wraith's raised a single finger, but Mirri had a distinct impression that this was a "no" based which finger it had chosen.

"Har de, har, har, it is to laugh. Well you know what's really funny?" Mirri began.

There was a "whoosh" as she moved through the snow elegance, and there was a slight "poof" noise as what had been an arayashka sudden became nothing more than a stain of dark colored snow.

"Death! Death is always hilarious when it happens to people…I…don't…like!" Mirri growled as she stamped upon the puddle of black slush she'd turned her opponent into.

"See one of the great things about being a vampire is that I can kick your ectoplasmic asses from here back to the Core, without needing to get fancy about it. I swing with a part of my body, and I connect as if you're made of flesh and bone.

Now then, do you five want to learn something from your friend's example? Because we can either do this the easy way or the fun way." Mirri offered.

For creatures without mouths the snow wraith's were somehow still able to utter a spectral wail as they started to circle around her.

"Fun way it is then." She reflected.

XXX XXX XXX

"So then I had a nice polite conversation with them and they realized just how much needless pain they were causing by making others suffer the same fate that they once had." Mirri explained calmly as she sat before a once again roaring fire back inside the cave.

Having concluded her story she moment to brush some darkly colored sludgy snow off of her shoulder.

"Amazing!" Mikhail gasped, scarcely able to believe that the woman had somehow managed to talk the arayashka into giving up.

Still, why would she lie? More to the point, given that they had once again been able to kindle a fire to hold back the zilinya neshka's chill there could be no doubts that the snow wraiths were no longer inflicting their icy curses upon the group.

"Well, the secret you need to understand is that deep down they're still really human. After all, they weren't born undead, they had to live a proper human life, one that typically came to an abrupt termination.

So it's just a matter of knowing how to appeal to their sense of humanity. Once you know how to do that, you can bring them around to seeing things from a more reasonable point of view.

It wasn't terribly much of a bother, not compared to the time I quite eloquently convinced a vampire to step out into the sunlight rather to continue to victimize others by drinking their blood. Even that was a great deal easier than you might expect, in the end he found my arguments quite impossible to refute." She reflected almost wistfully.

"Like Alex said, nobody knows the undead better than Mirri!" James boasted proudly.

Mikhail began to slowly unscrew the lid on one of his canteens and held it aloft proudly.

"I'll drink to that, though of course it's only water in this case..." He reflected before taking few slow sips of the stuff, not wanting to flood his system with too much ice cold fluid.

Contrary to the stories about how strong spirits would "put a fire in a man's belly" Mikhail knew that the stronger the drink the colder it would make a man's blood run. Besides, a zilinya neshka was no place to have your thoughts clouded, too many things could go wrong too easily if you were not careful during a such storm.

The other members of the group joined him in alternating between praising Mirri's abilities and once again tending the roaring fire.

XXX XXX XXX

With the fire to keep them warm the group was able to outlast the zilinya neshka and continue on their way with the rising of the sun next morning. They made good time and managed to reach the outskirts of Kirinova a little sooner than Mikhail had expected since he'd thought his outland companions would move less swiftly than they had ended up doing.

With that pleasant surprise behind them the group was just about due for an unpleasant one however. Sure enough as they crested the hill a series of howls broke out behind them.

"Why are they only showing themselves now? Wouldn't they want to attack us while we're further away from civilization?" Cal pointed out before making one of his many routine checks of Phoenix to make sure it was still in working order.

"Somehow I'm beginning to suspect that rational thought doesn't have much at all to do with our current situation." Alexander reminded him before he took off running for the town.

"If there are wolves, they won't dare come into the village proper..." Mikhail noted hopefully as he started running also.

The others followed not far behind.

XXX XXX XXX

Alexander was the first to set foot in Kirinova proper, and thus the first to discover exactly what little safety the town offered. Everywhere he looked doors were left wide open swinging listlessly in the wind, until he noticed one in particular that was still shut.

"I promise I'll pay for your new door!" Alexander half cried out to the world at large, then he braced himself against the door before dealing it a firm blow from his elbow. He could feel that the thing was starting to give way, and another strike sundered the door enough for him to force his way inside.

Instantly his nostrils were filled with the scent of death and decay.

He emerged from the home a few seconds later as the rest of the group was catching up with him.

"What did you find?" James Firecat wanted to know as he shifted back and forth trying to sneak a peek.

"James the wolves have overrun this place. What did you think I saw?" Alexander replied still somewhat shaken by the sight.

"Wait... you mean the wolves have ATTACKED the town? But, they're just wolves, they're not an army..." Their guide babbled trying to comprehend what he was being told.

"Mikhail, we don't have much time so let me put it this way, wolves would never attack a town the way that a human army would. They're not smart enough and even if they were they wouldn't think that way.

If they're not just wolves though, if there is a Loup Du Nuit in charge..." Alexander pointed out.

"So where should we go now?" Florence asked gripping her staff in preparation for a fight.

"The church we saw coming in. It's the biggest building, and if anyone is still alive they would have fled there." Devi suggested.

Alexander nodded in agreement and the group took off yet again.

When they managed to make it into the building they found still no more living occupants, but they did find one small clue.

An elderly priest lay on the church's wooden floor, his guts having been torn out by some kind of animal. Death had not come too swiftly for the old man however as he'd managed to scrawl four words in his own blood.

"Black fur... black hair..." Read a cryptic message upon the church floor.

"What does it mean?" Mikhail asked in confusion.

"Something that I already expected. A coward who will let his men do his fighting for him in one shape will do the same thing in another." Alexander answered slowly.

"I am no coward." Announced Gregor Zolnik as he entered the church.

In his wake came wolves, more and more wolves, nearly three dozen of the beasts.

"What... father what are you…how are you..." Mikhail gasped in further shock, unable to figure why Gregor wasn't still on his way back to Vorostokov let alone already in Kirinova...

"Mikhail... you calculated how fast Gregor could move if he marched like we did... but about how quickly do you think a wolf could run back to Vorostokov?" Devi suggested.

Comprehension finally dawned in Mikhail's Zolnik's eyes, and a terrible rage came with it.

"You... YOU FATHER, YOU ARE THE BLACK WOLF!" Mikhail shrieked in rage.

He was so angry that he wasn't even able to defend himself properly when one of the wolves as it raced forward and jumped on him bearing it to the ground. It snarled in warning, but did not actually try to hurt him…yet.

"You were never bright Mikhail, well meaning, but never very bright." Gregor reflected.

End Chapter Six.
Last edited by jamesfirecat on Wed Feb 04, 2015 10:08 pm, edited 1 time in total.
jamesfirecat
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Re: Monster Party Book 2

Post by jamesfirecat »

Monster Party Book 2: Wolves will eat your skin, if you let them in!


Chapter Seven: Keen to the scent, the hunt is my muse.


Alexander looked around, everywhere he turned there were snarling lupine faces glaring him back at him. Gregor had not been lying when he'd been talking about gathering more warriors, there had to be least thirty of the wolves now.

Thirty werewolves against himself, his companions and Mikhail; those were odds that were not easy to dismiss. Not when they were standing in the middle of an otherwise unremarkable church with not a single piece of vegetation in sight.

“If you wanted us dead you already would have given the order to attack. So what is it you want Gregor?” The silver haired man demanded.

“It's quite simple. To start with, I wish to have a chance to reconcile with my estranged son.” As Gregor spoke two of the wolves circled around Mikhail and began to prod him towards the Boyar with their muzzles.

Having no choice between obeying and starting a lopsided battle Mikhail allowed himself to be guided to his father's side, his eyes burning with hatred all the while.

“I always thought it was your inaction, your foolishness that led to my mother's death, but I suppose I was wrong father. You chased her into that ravine yourself didn't you? Tell me, was the flesh of the woman who loved you at least sweet to taste?” He asked sneering magnificently.

Gregor slapped Mikhail hard enough that a red palm imprint became almost instantly visible on the hunter's cheek.

“Impudent little brat! You know nothing of my love for Sasha! She was true to me and worthy of my love in a way that bitch Ireena never was! I warned her to keep safe within the walls of my hall during the night, but your grandmother's poisoned tongue slipped treason into her ears!

While I was welcoming your brother Alexi truly into the Zolnik family personally she came upon the rest of my boyarsky, who had been ordered to prevent anyone else from discovering our secret. They were the ones who chased her. They were the ones who killed her. I had nothing to do with it!” Gregor insisted.

“Nothing to do with it except making monsters of all the men who follow you. Nothing to do with it except refusing to tell the truth to the one who you swore to protect. Nothing to do with it except finding your dirty little secret more worth more than a human life. No, I suppose you had nothing to do with it at all.” Mikhail replied, and this time he openly spat in defiance.

WHAM!


Gregor did not bother to slap this time, he bunched both of his hands together into one great fist and slammed it into the side of Mikhail's head knocking him flat.

“I have left you alone for far too long my son. It is not good for a father to let his children grow up without a hand in their raising. It all but insures they will become disobedient and foolish. Still, you are more of a man than I expected.” Gregor reflected.

Mikhail spat again, and this time his saliva left further red marks upon the church's wooden floor.

“Tell your beasts not to interfere and I will show you just how much of a man I've become father.” Mikhail offered as she pushed himself back to his feet.

“It doesn't matter if you hate me or not. We are of the same blood Mikhail. Do not tell me that you have never felt the pounding in your heart during a chase, the pleasure of a well-deserved kill, the desire to be strong and free.” Gregor reflected.

“Strong enough to resist the wolf you so happily turn yourself and others into!” Mikhail replied at once.

“You will never be that my strong pup.” Gregor promised him, and then he made a slight hand motion.

A moment later Gregor's brother Alexei entered into the church as well, in his hands a wolf pelt.

“The time has come to cast away the false and the unneeded; the time has come for you to embrace the truth.” Gregor commanded as he reached out grabbed hold of Mikhail's heavy furs tore them from his body.

He did the same to every layer of clothing beneath, until Mikhail Zolnik was left bare from the waist up and then Alexi tossed his burden over Mikhail's shoulders.

The instant the pelt touched his skin Mikhail howled in pain and collapsed to the ground. He thrashed and screamed in as his body changed, in moments nothing remained of Mikhail Zolnik, instead a great gray wolf stood in his place.

The wolf snarled and snapped at the others of its kind who encircled it, before sailing over their heads with a powerful bound taking it out of the church and darting off into the city itself.

Gregor gave no orders for his followers to pursue, in fact he openly laughed at the sight.

“He will be back.” The Boyar informed them before turning to face Alexander once again.

“With that unavoidable bit of family business taken care of, now I will deal with you.” He declared.

Alexander's grip on Wolf Claw tightened.

“I challenge you Gregor Zolnik. You are old and weak, you have lead your pack to naught but hunger depredation. If you submit to me this day can end without anyone being killed.” Alexander growled.


Gregor just threw back his head and laughed.

“You would challenge me outlander? You have not the slightest bit of standing for such an action; I would give more weight to such words from my own rebellious son than from you! The only reason I have not given my boyarsky the order to attack yet is that you already killed an irritating number of them.

Thus, I will see if you cannot make good those losses. If a challenge you wish, then a challenge you will get.

If you or any of your followers can reach my hall in Vorostokov I will let you live as my boyarsky, if you fail to, then it must have been luck alone which let you prevail in the past. I shall give each of you an hour's head start, and know that you may find my hall a day's journey to the southeast, on the banks of the River Trau.

If you manage to evade the initial hunt but fail to show up at my hall, well remember that I have your scent, there is nowhere you can go in Vorostokov where I cannot track you. Granted if you wish to outrun my wolves you will have a better chance without those weapons to weigh you down, best to remove those heavy furs as well...” Gregor 'suggested' with poisoned politeness.

Alexander stared at the dark haired man for a few moments blinking in surprise. Then he relaxed his grip on Wolf Claw and tossed it away. The sword tumbled end over end before burring itself blade first in the floor. A moment later Alexander removed his black jacket (revealing a simple white undershirt beneath) and cast it off as well, doing so with careful and deliberate skill so that it settled upon his sword's hilt.

“A wolf run, well it seems like language isn't the only thing you and the Core have ended up sharing.” Alexander muttered as he also removed his gloves.

“I trust you'll allow me to keep my eyepatch?” He asked with a sardonic cheerfulness.

Reassured by their leader’s example the others began to cast aside their weapons and heavy winter protection.

James removed his jacket, and several knives that he had strapped to his ankles, waist, and back. Devi added her flail to the growing pile, as did Florence part with her staff, and Cal was forced to lay down Phoenix, his hold pistols and every one of his potions.

Mirri alone contributed nothing as she had neither heavy furs nor weapons about her.

“Take good care of my sword Gregor, I'll want it back before long.” Alexander promised the ruler of Vorostokov.

“I doubt it, but for that jibe you have just earned yourself the honor of going last. That way you may watch your followers flee helplessly without you, and be certain that you have no chance to catch up with them before my boyarsky do.” Gregor commanded.

XXX XXX XXX

One by one the adventures were told to set off into the wilderness, each one with a gap between when they were told to leave long enough that snow had erased the footprints of the one who came before.

Cal first, then James, then Mirri, then Devi, then Florence, and sure enough finally Alexander.

The silver haired man struck out clad only in black boots, pants, a white shirt, and sure enough the eyepatch that Gregor had allowed him to keep. Alexander headed south east figuring that he'd want to send about fifty minutes running and the next ten to whenever his pursuers caught up with him preparing.

XXX XXX XXX


The boyarsky were hot on their prey's scent, there were four of them and they had very clear orders. Gregor did not want this particular warrior reaching the hall, no matter what they were to make certain of his demise.

So they followed their noses and the small traces of his passing that only their keen eyes could detect. The scent came to an end near a single large tree. The boyarsky wheeled around it in confusion, how could the scent and the tracks just suddenly stop here? If the prey was hiding up in the branches they would have been able to smell it, and see him for sure!

Looking closely at the tree one werewolf was just barely able to make out something that reeked of the prey's scent. It was a black eyepatch hung forlornly from a tree limb.

The boyarsky who first spotted it signaled to the others to inspect the object as well. While they were doing so the monster struck.

A creature that had been lying in wait erupted from beneath the snow, sailing through the air only to land atop one of the boyarsky and force it to the ground. Their comrade's neck snapped from the sudden unexpected impact and with that there were only three of Gregor's boyarsky left.

Before the remaining trio stood a beast that had to be at least nine feet tall if it was an inch. It was covered from head to toe in thick silver fur, and though the monster stood upright like a man it's 'face' was much more like the head and muzzle of a wolf. Nothing about it was right, even its eyes were mismatched, the one on the right a deep orangish yellow and the one of the left was bright green.

“He really shouldn't have let me keep the eyepatch.” The nameless thing barked in cruel mocking laughter.

The werewolf arched their backs and attacked.

One of them died almost instantly as large hand swung through the air and struck with force that could knock even a fully grown wolf aside, slamming it into the trunk of the nearby tree; shattering countless bones in its body.

The aberration having slain the closest of the three werewolves promptly jumped backwards stay just outside the reach of the remaining pair. Rather come directly at it again, they began to warily circle a horror that gave the distinct impression it was hunting them instead of the other way around.

“This can end two ways.” The towering figure of muscle, fur, claws and jaws informed them.

Both werewolves responded by digging their paws into the snow and growling in hatred. The freakish thing said no more, instead it simply charged at one of the boyarsky which too late realized that since it and its partner had been trying to circle their target from opposite sides they couldn't quickly come to one another's aid.

That was the last truly rational though the shapeshifter had before its skull was pulverized by a mighty fist. The last remaining boyarsky hurled itself toward its foe's back, hoping it would be fast enough to strike before the thing could turn around.

It wasn't.

A pair of long powerful arms ending in jagged claws seized the wolf about the neck and held it at such distance that its paws could do little more that kick feebly at empty air.

“What does an alpha have to do to get his jaw rubbed in this place?” The silver thing pondered before wringing the werewolf's neck and tossing it to the snow.

As it fell its body twisted and altered becoming of that of a human being draped in nothing but a tattered wolf pelt. The silver beast tore the pelt from its dead man's shoulders and then began to inspect its other victims.

All three of them were now dead humans wearing wolf pelts that they were swiftly deprived of. Finally, it sought out the tree, and reaching up removed the hanging eyepatch.

It slowly and gently slid the piece of fabric back over its right eye.

Then the monster began to twist and reform, its muscles shrinking, its fur retracting, and mystically clothing growing in its place.

Alexander Diamondclaw brushed a few flakes of snow from his silver hair, made sure that his eye patch was on straight and spat on one of the four pelts he still held.

“I'm getting tired of killing motherf**king omegas in this motherf**king domain.” He snarled.

XXX XXX XXX


The boyarsky followed the scent of the woman with blond hair into the woods. That was where they lost all trace of her. Paradoxically beneath the covering of the trees where snow reached the ground less frequently tracks should remain longer making her trail more obvious...

Yet there was no trail for nose or eyes to be found however leaving the werewolves swirling around in confusion. They spread out to try and see if they could find the trail again. When they met back together again there were only two of them and still no sign of the trail.

Those two stuck more closely together, and yet still could not catch scent of the creature they were hunting. Just as they were thinking about simply heading out of the forest and reporting back to Gregor that they had failed, it happened.

One moment the two wolves were side by side, the next there was only one wolf, and a series of horrid sounds. Craning its neck upwards as best as it could the other werewolf caught sight of its companion. Strange green things like needle colored snakes were wrapped around it and hoisting it into the air!

It made this discovery just in time to suddenly feel something pull tight about its midsection.

Another strand of the odd material began to knot about its neck bu the wolf bit through it easily. That was a preciously small victory however as suddenly the vines began to wrap about the wolf's paws now.

The wolf snarled and tried to slash through them, but its restraints had been arranged in such a way that it's legs did not have the range of movement needed to reach one another's bindings. There was a powerful tug and the boyarsky was yanked into the air hanging their upside down.

It snarled and tried to bite through the green strands encircling its legs without success as it could not get its jaws across the distance between them. Then as it hung there helplessly even stranger things began to happen, bright green leaves the likes of which had not been seen in Vorostokov for decades began to draw near.

They affixed themselves them to the back of the wolf's neck, it's belly and other parts of its body that it had no hope of dislodging them from. After they did that.... things started to get rather hazy....


XXX XXX XXX

THUNK THUNK THUNK!

In perfect synchronization many vines relaxed and released what remained of their captives. A trio of exsanguinated corpses belonging to men draped in wolf pelts fell to the ground.

The vines and the leaves connected to them, then began to twist and writhe together as they slowly but surely reformed themselves into the body and clothing of Florence Bastien. She reflected that hopefully Mirri won't mind the dryad taking a page out of her book as she wiped a few flecks of werewolf blood from her lips.

“It is well that dispensing Gaia's justice is so terrible, otherwise I should grow far too fond of it.” Florence admitted to herself.


XXX XXX XXX


The boyarsky were hot on the scent no matter how cold it was getting. Their prey had sought to lose them by running into a storm but not even winds could hide its scent and even the arctic chill did not break through their thick wolf fur.

To their surprise, the werewolves found their prey leaning casually against a tree, snowflakes landing upon her pale cheeks every now and again.

“Took you long enough.” The prey mocked them.

The boyarsky snarled in anger getting ready to pounce, and yet their prey refused to show them respect or fear.

“Heh funny story... more stab-stab funny than ha-ha funny of course. Anyway, when you snarl at me I can see the white of your breath, cause your alive and warm. You probably can't see any of that when I talk though, because I'm, well dead.

I'm cold as the snow itself right now. So I have to ask, if you're going to hunt in the middle of a snow storm, how cold are you ready to get?” The prey chuckled darkly, and that was when the boyarsky saw them.

They had no scent, but between the swirling snow they could just barely make out the glowing eyes. Their prey, had lead her hunters not just into a zilinya neshka, but a group of Arayashka as well!

“These guys aren't much for conversation, but don't worry I do enough talking for all of us. To start with, right now there's at least a hundred degree difference between the air inside and outside your lungs. My new friends seem to find that sort of thing personally offensive, and I don't think I'll be able to change their minds on the matter....” She warned them with obviously false concern.

She gave them an offhand shrug and went back to filling her nails as the snow wraiths drew closer and closer to the werewolves in an ever tightening circle.

Mirri turned her gaze to her fingernails and took a few moments to work the snow and dirt out from under them having nothing more important to do at the moment.

“I'm Ms. White Solstice, I'm Ms. Snow. I'm Ms. Icicle, I'm Ms. Ten Below. Friends call me Snow Mistress, whatever I touch, turns to snow in my clutch!” She casually sung.

Having finished her minor hygiene related task she looked up, and found a trio of werewolf corpses who had with their last moments discovered that the chill of the grave claimed all regardless of how thick their fur or how tightly they tried to bundle up.

“Well that was fun. You guys keep, well you know, ghosting it up and I'll be on my way.” Mirri offered.

As before the Arayashka could not possibly have paid her any less attention, it was as if to them she was the ghost. It was not a thought she cared to ruminate on for long.

XXX XXX XXX

The prey had not been hard to track down. Despite its skill at leaving precious little in the way of tracks to follow its scent was strong.

They were scarcely two hours into the hunt when the two boyarsky found their target. He was sitting down in the middle of a small gathering of trees attempting futile to warm his hands over a small fire that he must have somehow managed to make for himself.

Such foolish prey, trying to stay warm in Vorostokov without the proper clothing or a wolf's fur was a waste of time. It had been given precious little time to waste and it had still squandered. Yet for all that, it greeted the boyarsky with a friendly smile.

“Hey feeling the chill? I was so I decided to spread a little warmth in the world.” The prey told them.

The boyarsky growled and approached one from either side of their prey. Then they pounced. They both landed on empty snow, as the prey rolled away from them. A moment later they both struck by the intense burning pain in the sides.

As he dodged their pounces James had grabbed a pair of burning wooden branches from the fire and jabbed each wolf in the side with one of them before letting go.

“Now it seems like you're probably in a bit of a pickle. You see, I used pine sap to help get this fire going, and there was a fair amount of it on those branches. Pine sap is hard enough to get off your hands or gloves, it's the mists own to get it off your fur though. So, the only way you're going to lose those things is if you turn back into humans.

But if you turn back into humans, we'll you probably have even less in the way of winter gear than I do, and are you sure you'll be able to turn into wolves again without your bosses' help? If you ask nicely I'll let you share my fire you know...” James offered.

The wolves took off racing away as quickly as their paws could take them yelping in pain all the while as the flames continued to lick at their fur. James sighed heavily sad to see his offer of help be rejected, though at times like this he always found a good song could help cheer one up.

“I'm Mr. Green Solstice, I'm Mr Sun. I'm Mr. Heat Blister. I'm Mr. Hundred and one! They call me Heat Mater, whatever I touch, starts to melt in my clutch!” James declared happily as he went back to stoking his blaze.

XXX XXX XXX

Devi Skye was getting chased by werewolves.

All things considered and just how long a life she had lived, she'd been chased by much worse things in the past.

She headed for the trees, when in doubt the trees were going to be on her side. After all, they might be friends of Florence's.

Once she was under their branches took some time to remove her blue gloves. That was hardly the best way to keep her hands warm, but a visual aid would help her think better.

Beneath those gloves she had had on one ring for every finger, and each one provided her with access to a different magical ability. The question was, which one should she be using to get her way out of this one?

Lightning bolt was always a handy go to way to solve your problems, but given that she was alone out here this might be a situation that called for more in the way of finesse. Left index finger, as fun as it was to use right middle, left index was what a situation like this called for... Devi decided.

So she simply put her gloves back on headed deeper and deeper into the woods. The wolves were kind enough to keep right on howling as they tried to track her down, she waited until her ear suggested that they were getting close.

Then she rubbed the ring and said the necessary word before getting back to her business. The wolves kept coming and she kept walking. Unsurprisingly they continued to gain ground on her.

Right up until they eventually caught up with where she had been when she'd first made use of her magic. Then it went from hunting howls to growls of confusion.

“The problem with infected lycanthropes, aside from the part where they tend to try to kill and devour all those who are important to them, is that they're no smarter than ordinary animals. If they can't catch a scent, or find your tracks then they'll get confused, really confused.

A human might realize just how easy it use to use magic to deal with that kind of thing, but infected werewolves, well what are they gonna do?” Devi reflected as she continued to walk ahead.

Just to drive the point home she casually brushed up against a tree and then kicked at a rock, and took an especially firm step forward.

Despite her actions she left no foot prints or scent marks behind.

XXX XXX XXX

Cal Wright panted heavily as he felt the slight “squish” of his snow caked socks with every step he took, as he staggered through the forest.

This was not going to end well for him, he was sure of it.

He could hear the howling of the wolves growing closer with every passing second, and he was getting very, very, tired.

“Mists take you Boss, is this really how you're going to let me die?” He groaned wishing he hadn't wasted the energy to speak almost instantly.

Cal Wright wasn't going to outrun regular wolves let alone werewolves. He collapsed face against the trunk of a tree, he could either keep running until they caught up with and tore him limb from limb or try and stand his ground and get torn limb from limb; because ordinary humans do not win when they try to take on wolves with their bare fists.

“Okay, those two options both suck. Are there any better ones?” Then Cal suddenly realized that one was literally staring him in the face.

He summoned up what remained of his strength wrapped his arms around the tree and started climbing. As he somehow reached his goal with strength born of pitiful desperation the howl came again and suddenly three wolves burst into sight.

Their yellow eyes glowed like hateful coals as they tilted their heads upwards to gaze at their prey.

“Suck my opposable thumbs you stupid flee bitten lycanthropes!” Cal cried out while prominently displaying a decidedly different digit from atop a thick tree branch.

The wolves snarled and snapped their jaws at him but even their best leaps could not bring them within striking distance of the blond haired man.

“Hah! See! You're never gonna get me now!” Cal boasted while very pointedly trying not to think about what he'd do when little things like hunger or thirst might compel him to come down from the tree.

Hopefully the wolves would get hungry or bored before he did. That, and hopefully they wouldn't be willing to revert to human form and try to climb up after him.

“BEGONE!” A voice suddenly shrieked out.

A moment later a snowball of all things sailed through air and struck one of the wolves squarely in the muzzle. The wolf in question let loose with a yowl of surprise and backed up, veins of ice spreading out ominously from where the snowball had struck.

More snowballs were hurled and as ice began to encroach upon the wolves' fur they slunk away from the tree Cal had sought safety in. As they departed his rescuers arrived, they were a pair of the ugliest women Cal had ever seen in his entire life.

Huge flaring noses, crooked teeth, skin marred by boils of various colors, heavily wrinkled skin, eyes that were too far apart on one face and too close together on the other, truly there was no deformity they lacked for.

On the other hand, so long as they weren’t planning on eating Cal, he didn't care if they had faces those faces literally could crack glass.

“What have we here Elena?” Cackled one of them.

“Looks like an especially large squirrel has gotten itself stuck in a tree Natalya.” The other answered.

“If I'm a squirrel you should be careful I don't drop nuts on your heads.” Cal responded not very fond of being mocked, no matter how deplorable his current situation was.

“Bad little squirrels go into our pot, good little squirrels get to warm up on the rug. What kind are you?” They addressed him in perfect synchronization.

“I'm the best f**king squirrel you ever met.” Cal answered instantly.

When separated from your friends and lost in a forest earning the ire of mysterious women was a great way to make sure you didn't survive the experience.

“He is a smart squirrel whatever else.” The first of the two women to speak reflected.

Cal slowly and awkwardly began to climb down from the tree, his breath still coming in unsteady gasps.

“Smart, smart, smart. That's me. What exactly can I do for you two fine ladies, other than standing here showing of my dashing masculine figure?” Cal offered.

The woman who evidently went by Natalya (she had an eyepatch not that it made her any more (or less) ugly than the other) reached out and wrapped the back of his knuckles with a surprisingly strong hand.

“A truly smart squirrel would already know the answer to that. Now then, come along with us back to our cottage, unless you'd rather freeze your tail off out here...” The crone chuckled.

Cal bobbed his head in silent agreement. Returning to (no doubt secluded) domicile of these two was another one of those choices that seemed unlikely to be conductive to the living of a long life, but on the other hand, what other choice did he have?

End Chapter Seven
Last edited by jamesfirecat on Sat Mar 07, 2015 10:55 pm, edited 1 time in total.
jamesfirecat
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Re: Monster Party Book 2

Post by jamesfirecat »

Monster Party Book 2: Wolves will eat your skin, if you let them in!

Chapter Eight: Scent and a sound, I'm lost and I'm found.

The two ugly womens' home was not made out of gingerbread, or any other sort of consumable material, at least for those who didn't look at life with a termite's dietary interests, so that was one thing going for it.

It was also warm, that was another.

They lead Cal inside, and motioned towards an already roaring fire. Sure enough. in front of the fire was a large pot with something bubbling in it. Well aware that this was the part of the story where somebody was bound to get shoved into said pot, Cal decided that he didn't want to be warm quite THAT baddy.

So instead, he kept his distance and just paced around the cabin rubbing himself. The women were clearly surprised at this but they didn't bother to give him any further orders, in fact they didn't say anything else at all.

They just made sure that he was no longer freezing and then they left without even bothering to speak. They returned about, well Cal wasn't really sure (his timepiece had been in his coat and thus now Gregor's possession) but it couldn't have been a full hour they returned with Devi in toe.

Cal instantly raced to his elfin girlfriend and gave her a great big hug.

"Baby you won't believe how glad I am to see you." He gushed in a rare display of real and open affection.

"You're just happy to have somebody else to warm rub up against." Devi suspected.

"Hey your body is hot, that makes it wonderful to rub up against in all kinds of ways." Cal reflected honestly.

That honesty (or her own desire for warmth) kept her from pushing away. The old women left again, and one by one they returned with the other four members of the group. Alexander, Mirri, and Florence arrived with wolf pelts that they soon fed into the fire.

Once all half a dozen adventurers were gathered together James (who had been the last one of them be brought in) began to look around the cabin.

"Nice place you have here, but it's a little cramped." He reflected. Sure enough the cabin was starting to feel a bit tight now that eight people were there.

"We don't often entertain guests..." Natalya answered.

"For some reason locals seem to think that we're witches..." Elena added.

James looked around their home, the bubbling cauldron, the secluded wooden cabin with only one way in or out, the shelves lined with various herbal ingredients, pitifully squeaking mice trapped in cages, and promptly came to a conclusion.

"Well that's just silly, you can't be witches, there are only two of you!" He reflected.

There was a very long, very awkward silence.

When Natalya spoke again, it was not even with mocking cruelty it was a voice as cold and serious as the weather of Vorostokov itself.

"We also can't be witches because we don't have a cat. Perhaps you'd care to help us with that problem?" She suggested.

Elena might have added something as well, but Mirri slid in front of James, placing herself between him and their hosts.

"Sorry weird sisters, this Kitten is mine. He may not the smartest, he may fall over himself looking for people to help, he may even not even have much in the way of whiskers, but all the same he's mine, and nobody messes with what's mine." She growled.

Once again there was silence until their hosts relented, slightly.

"There were three of us..." Elena began by putting a restraining hand on the other woman's shoulder.

"Antonina... our mother." Natalya clarified still further.

James was about to say something in response, but Mirri promptly slammed a gloved hand across his mouth without even bothering to look in his direction.

"How did she die?" Alexander asked much more tactfully.

"That's a story for seven guests not six." The two chorused together and then they departed from the cabin.

Soon enough they returned once more.

"And here is our young nephew to complete the family gathering..." Cackled Natalya as she lead a large gray furred wolf into the cottage, only a slim piece of rope for a leash.

"He doesn't quite seem himself..." Added Elena as she surveyed the pair's lupine guest.

"Or is is he more himself than he ever before?" They reflected together.

Then each of them placed a hand atop the wolf's head. The animal let loose with a howl of anguish and slowly it returned to the form of Mikhail Zolnik, now naked except for the wolf pelt he awkwardly sought to conceal some fragments of his dignity with.

Taking pity on their guest Elena offered him pants and a tunic which he quickly slipped into as he looked around the room in confusion.

"Aunt Elena, Aunt Natalya, where am I? The last thing I can clearly remember we were in the ruins of Kirinova, and then my father... my father..." He gasped in horror as some memory of a most unpleasant nature struck him.

"The Zolniks apparently has some odd ideas about family bonding..." Cal noted dryly.

Mikhail said a word that somehow the normal convergence of Balok and whatever the locals in Vorostokov called their tongue didn't cover. Not that it especially needed to given the tone of voice in which he said it.

He turned, ready to cast the wolf pelt into the small cottage's fire, when Alexander suddenly snatched it from his hands.

"Fire... fire is needed to purify an object of such fowl magic, isn't that what you said?" Mikhail insisted.

He was still shaken from his recent transformation and thus could not free the pelt from Alexander's grip.

"This one, it isn't like others, I can tell the difference. There's no magic to it, it's just a wolf pelt... Mikhail... the 'magic' is in you." The silver haired man insisted.

Mikhail made one last grab for the pelt... and then his shoulder's slumped in defeat.

"If my father... if my father is that black furred beast, then yes... but how? In my mother's stories the pelts had to be special, had to be magic, how can an wolf's skin be all it takes to unlock the beast within me?" He gasped in horror.

"Wolf fur born of magic is entirely different from the stuff born of blood Nephew..." Natalya warned him while she pulled up a stool close to the fire.

"The time has come for you to know the truth of your family..." Elena insisted as she likewise began to warm her heavily wrinkled hands upon the fire.

"Yes of course... but please just a moment." Mikhail begged.

"It's like, like my entire life my nose has been wrapped in a piece of damp cloth, and only now has it been taken off. All the smells are so much stronger, there are so many I didn't notice before it's like..." His search for a proper analogy came to an abrupt end as his eyes suddenly focused on the man dressed only in a simple white shirt once more.

"Wolf... there's so much wolf in your scent that it's amazing I didn't spot it until now. How, how can you do it? You must teach me to be able to control the beast like you do and not be a slave to it like my father!" The woodsman begged.

Alexander threw his head back and laughed cruelly at Mikhail's pleading. Then his right hand slowly reached up towards his face. He did not remove the eyepatch, he did something that somehow seemed much worse.

He tugged at his eyepatch, and shifted it, so that it covered his left eye instead of his right.

A golden amber orb which reflected rather than captured light gazed back at Mikhail Zolnik from Alexander Diamondclaw's face.

"You think Gregor listens to his wolf and you think I don't? You're adorable! Tell me huntsman, what makes you so certain, that I am a man in magnificent control of a wolf... and not the other way around?" He growled.

Mikhail understandably began to jibber in astonished terror.

"What... what kind of wolf are you?" He gasped having trouble reconciling the conflicting information he was being given between his various senses.

"When we first met you thought I was a Loup Du Nuit, I wasn't lying when I told you I wasn't.

I'm a Loup Du Lumière" Alexander proclaimed proudly.

Then while Mikhail was still slack jawed and spectacles he returned his attention to his hosts.

"Now then, I think you owe us something of an explanation about who you are and why you brought us here." He suggested his eyes momentarily locking on the same bubbling pot Cal had noticed upon first entering the cabin.

"I am Natalya Zolnik, and this is my sister Elena. As we said, young Mikhail here is our nephew, because his father Gregor is our brother." The two eyed member of the pair explained, her voice now seeming completely human and bereft of melodrama or menace.

"As my sister said, there used to be three of us, Antonina Zolnik... our mother. Once, even blighted as we are, we were a family. Until our brother slew Antonina and the two of us barely escaped from Vorostokov. Gregor considers us no threat to him, so he will not waste his boyarsky to try and finish us off.

So, here we spend our days brewing minor potions and trying to survive the chill like anyone else." Elena added in an equally earnest tone.

"The start... I need to know the cursed history of my family from the start, please." Mikhail gasped from the floor.

Natalya began to approach the bubbling pot and started to stir it with a long handled wooden spoon.

"It all begins over three decades ago, during a time when Vorostokov was only a minor province of a larger empire instead of the greatest human settlement in the entire land. There were still seasons then, though winter would come with biting cold, eventually spring would arrive to break its icy grip.

Then came one year when the winter was especially fierce, it arrived sooner than normal and with brutal strength. Crops that had yet to be harvested shriveled and perished, animals needed careful tending less they do the same and even those that lived provided little in the way of milk or eggs.

If the village of Vorostokov was to survive, it would be because the hunters were able to provide us with a steady supply of meat from slain animals. Back at that time Gregor Zolnik truly was the greatest hunter in the land, yet even he was lucky to make one kill a week, most hunters could find little more than the rotting remains of animals the wolves had already devoured.

During once such failed hunt, Gregor came upon a great black wolf that had been badly injured and left behind by its pack. Gregor coveted the hunting prowess of the wolf, and so gripping his dagger tightly he set about butchering the beast.

He committed a powerful ritual with the dead wolf's body, and in doing so he would gain the wolf's strength and shape whenever he donned its pelt. In the shape of this mighty wolf Gregor was able to successfully hunt again, and again, dragging his kills back to Vorostokov.

Where originally he had thought simply to feed the four members of his family, Antonina convinced him to use this power for the good of the entire village. So in the shape of the wolf Gregor hunted again and again, and the larders of Vorostokov filled with meat allowing us to survive the terrible winter.

When spring came the leader of the greater empire we were a part of, Duke Andrei Vladimir came to inspect his holdings and was shocked that Vorostokov had managed to withstand so well against the horrible winter.

The entire village agreed that it was only because of Gregor's skill at hunting. The Duke had brought his beautiful daughter Ireena along with him for the journey and she and Gregor fell in love and were promptly married." The crone recalled.

"Ireena? My mother's name was Sasha..." Mikhail interrupted as he slowly began to regain his composure.

Natalya withdrew the spoon from the pot, and used it to wrap Mikhail's knuckles in disapproval.

"Don't interrupt your auntie when she's telling a story!" She insisted, though it was Elena who now continued the tale.

"So it was that Gregor, Ireena, and Andrei left Vorostokov for the duke's castle. Gregor wanted for nothing there, nothing except the strength that being a wolf brought him, for he had left his magical pelt behind in Vorostokov.

After two months he could bear it no more and and claimed that he needed to visit his family returning to Vorostokov to claim his prized pelt. Making sure to keep it well hidden he stashed it someplace secure so that at night he could sneak off and hunt for the sheer joy of hunting.

Ireena soon enough noticed how many times when she awoke late at night her husband would be gone from their bed. She assumed that he had departed her chambers to tally with some trollop, and to spite Gregor took a lover of her own.

Gregor when he learned of this flew into a rage and swiftly donned his pelt, and easily murdered the man in his home. Ireena not realizing a connection existed between the black wolf and her outraged husband took another lover.

This time Gregor had his revenge while the man was in the Duke's castle, before turning his fangs upon Ireena as well. Her dying screams drew the attention of a maidservant... Suffice to say, one thing lead to another and a large black wolf was the only living creature to emerge from the castle.

He returned to Vorostokov, and as he did he brought winter with him, the green of summer vanishing over the course of a single day, never to be seen again.

That was when the mountains rose, that was when the three of us began to change from ordinary women into what you see before you, and that was the day when Gregor discovered that no matter how hard he tried, prey that traveled on four legs would always elude him.

Vorostokov was not the only village to be swept up in the endless winter though, and Gregor reasoned that if the right steps were taken one would hardly be able to tell the flesh of humans from that of any other animal.

Despite his failures at hunting traditional prey Gregor refused to allow anyone to rise to prominence above him, those who tried, would soon become his next prey.

Our mother eventually convinced him that it would be better to take a softer approach. After murdering those who stood against him directly, Gregor instead infected the others, so that when they donned wolf pelts they would transform just as he did, into wolves under his control. Thus did he create his boyarsky, and hunting with these other wolves he had more success against normal animals, for a while.

It was during this time that he met the woman who would become his second wife, Sasha of Torgov. Sasha showed Gregor much more in the way of trust than Ireena and did not try to discover why her husband would vanish some nights.

She suspected nothing at all, until the night when your brother Alexi was old enough to become a member of the boyarsky. Your grandmother could no longer allow her to live in such ignorance, and so she told her to go into the woods and see what her husband did there.

Sasha discovered the truth, and managed to remain hidden until Gregor and Alexi departed. As she was leaving however she alerted the rest of the pack, who gave chase. The hunted her to the edge of a ravine into which she fell and perished. Gregor was furious when he returned and discovered what had happened.

He found Antonina's scent fresh and strong upon Sasha's body and wreaked his vengeance upon her.

You must understand this young Mikhail, this was not the first time that Antonia had died, but before her death at Gregor's jaws whatever strange power keeps spring at bay would return her to life. This time, this time she stayed dead.

In Vorostokov, only a Zolnik can kill another Zolnik.

Young Mikhail, you are the only one who can gain vengeance upon Gregor and end rule of Vorostokov." She concluded.

Mikhail shuddered and looked at the wolf pelt he was awkwardly holding in his hands.

"You said that those Gregor infected, he could control them when they turned into wolves. I may not have been bitten by his jaws, but all the same he is the reason why I am like this, how long do I have until I too fall under his sway?" He shuddered.

"Hard to imagine that Gregor never thought much of your brains. You have until the dark of the moon, the night when the sky is bare of all but stars. That will be in three days time, but to help you on your quest we also have this..." Natalya gave the pot a few more stirs and then watched its contents start to bubble up.

"When the potion we have prepared is ready, drink of it and you shall be without scent. It will allow you to journey to even the heart of Vorostokov itself without your father smelling you coming." Mikhail looked at his wolf pelt again, shook his head and turned to Alexander.

"Above all else, I am the marshkovik of Torgov, I must insure the village's safety. Against the boyarsky, against a pack of werewolves, Torgov has no chance. Since we can not defeat the werewolves we must break Gregor's control of them... and I can think of no way to do that other than his death.

Whatever he may say, while he may not have slain my mother himself, or even given the order to do it, it is still his callousness for the lives of others that lead to her death. In truth, I can think of few men who have done more to deserve death than Gregor Zolnik. I would be lying if I said I would feel sorry to imagine him dieing at my hands..." He paused for a moment and slowly look around the cabin.

"At my paws..." He growled.

Then he slowly approached Alexander.

"Whatever I am, whatever you are... I need your help." He pleaded. "You never ceased to have it." Alexander promised him.

"You wouldn't be the first True Lycanthrope that Alex has taken under his wing." James confided to him as he removed his his hat, revealing a pair of furry red cat ears growing from the top of his head.

Mikhail blinked a few times and then decided that he simply was going to put this particular revelation aside for later.

"I mean, I knew most of the stuff I could do before I met Alex, but since you're a werewolf and Alex is... of a lupine persuasion himself he's bound to be able to help." James failed to clarify with all his usual exuberance.

Alexander just sighed and buried his face in a his palm for a moment.

"If you two women happen to have some extra heavy furs Mikhail will be needing them, that way the two of us can go outside and talk some in private." He suggested.

XXX XXX XXX

Elena and Natalya were able to provide them with the necessary clothing, though Alexander had chosen to remain clad in nothing but his pants and white undershirt.

"How did you become a Loup Du Lumière?" Mikhail inquired as soon as he got a chance.

"There are three, well four paths to having a human and animal spirit fused into the same body.

The first path, the one you and James have ended up following, is to be born to parents who already have that power regardless of the reason. The second, like the boyarsky, is those who have been scratched or bitten by someone who has the ability. The third is to preform some dark ritual which invites the power upon yourself, that is your father's route. The fourth... the fourth is when someone is cursed by another to have an animals spirit lurk beneath their human flesh." Alexander explained.

"Which path did you take?" Mikhail asked, though he suspected form Alexander's tone of voice that he already knew the answer.

"The fourth." The silver haired man spat out quickly.

"I take it the exact hows and whys are a somewhat sore subject?" Mikhail ventured.

"How readily would you care to explain to some random person that you are the offspring of the Black Wolf which has haunted this domain for so long?" Alexander shot back sardonically.

"Well enough for an answer. What can you tell me that will help me fight my father? Mikhail pleaded.

"Three days isn't much to work with, not to mention the time we'll have to spend traveling to Vorostokov. So we're going to have to get as much done as quickly as we possibly can. To start with, I want to see you put on the wolf pelt, and not transform." Alexander instructed.

"Not transform? But the pelt is what causes me to transform!" Mikhail insisted.

"The pelt is what helps you transform. With sufficient willpower and training a Natural Lycanthrope should never transform unless he wishes to." Alexander insisted.

Mikhail looked like he was tempted to argue but then bit his tongue. He began to remove his heavy fur cloak and hang them from the branches of a nearby tree. He stripped himself down until he was wearing nothing but a loin cloth and only then pulled the wolf pelt tight around him.

He held it there struggling to fight off the cold that Alexander was ignoring without any sort of difficulty though his current outfit was only marginally better suited to their environment.

"When, when can I..." Mikhail chittered, clearly in the mood to either be wearing his heavy furs or a 'proper' wolf skin so to speak.

"It's been long enough, you can transform now." Alexander reassured him, and after a moment he began to do so himself.

Hands thickened into paws, tails grew forth from tail bones, spines shifted and altered, feet grew shorter but wider, blunt nails lengthened and sharpened into lupine claws, and flat teeth became jagged as faces elongated into muzzles. Mikhail transformed into the large gray wolf again, and Alexander became a silver wolf which was slightly bigger.

"Is... is this it...?" Mikhail whined in surprise.

"The first time is always the hardest, we have to completely loose control before we can realize how important it is. Did it hurt to transform?" Alexander replied, the two having no more difficulty understanding one another as wolves than they had as humans.

The surreality of their situation was only added to by the fact that while the rest of his clothing had been pulled into his body and vanished, Alexander's eyepatch still remained. Thus, he had ended up looking like a decidedly nautical themed werewolf at the moment.

"Did it hurt?" Alexander insisted.

Mikhail shook his head and then rather pointedly looked away.

"No, it didn't hurt at all, if anything it almost felt like I... does it feel that good for you?" He suddenly asked so that he wouldn't have to worry about finding a proper end for his analogy.

"It feels like my body is tearing itself in half every time I transform... thanks for asking." Alexander replied in a tone of voice which suggested it was time to change the subject right this very moment.

So Mikhail did exactly that.

"If what my aunts told me is true, then when the time comes, I will have to fight my father. How can I hope to defeat him? He has had years of experience as a wolf, and much as I hate to admit it, they were right, I am but a pup compared to him." Mikhail worried.

"To be exact, they only said that you needed to kill him, it might work just fine if I hamstring all four of his legs for you first. Either way, remember Mikhail, you were born to this power while Gregor stole it for himself.

If you're going to beat him, you should start there." Alexander would have continued the lesson but a moment later a howl echoed in both of their ears.

Seven lean and hungry looking wolves began to approach the larger pair.

"Our territory! Why here?" The lead wolf barked.

Mikhail whimpered and quickly backed up behind Alexander putting the silver wolf between himself and new arrivals.

"What... what are they?" He asked in an unsure voice.

Alexander rolled his singular visible eye.

"They're wolves. What did you think they were?" He explained to Mikhail wondering why an otherwise intelligent man needed such an obvious fact spelled out to him.

"You pup's sire?" The largest of his new arrivals demanded.

"His beta. You his beta also." Alexander insisted.

The other wolves all began to break into barking laughter at this point.

"Him Alpha?" The wolf was clearly skeptical to say the least.

"Yes." Alexander answered without a moment's hesitation. Then he turned to face Mikhail once again.

"Make him rub your jaw." The silver wolf insisted.

"Rub my jaw?" The woodsman turned werewolf blinked in confusion.

Alexander sighed heavily and then faced pawed.

"Well excuse me for thinking that a man who grew up his entire life in a land where wolves were the predominant apex predator might know a thing or two about their behavior! Look, the traditional way for a beta or omega wolf to show submission to their alpha is for the lower ranking wolf to run the top of its muzzle against the bottom of the alpha's, rubbing its nose against the other wolf's jaw. Like this..." Alexander bent his knees slightly tucking his tail around his rear left leg in the process.

His ears flattened out and his back arched while he rubbed Mikhail's jaw in a show of subservience. Once he had completed the lupine dominance ritual he motioned with a paw towards the watching wolves.

"Now go make them do it." Alexander ordered.

"How?" Mikhail worried.

"Look, most wolf dominance 'battles' are carefully designed around the principle of not inflicting serious injury, because if every disagreement over dominance lead to a seriously wounded wolf pretty soon their wouldn't be any wolves left.

Except that you're not a wolf, you're a werewolf, you don't need to worry about getting wounded. Hell, you can have an entire limb torn off and it will still grow back! So go over there, and make it clear to them that you're not afraid of a fight and have no reason to be. They'll fall in line.

By the way, this is the kind of that INFECTED werewolves can typically pull off regularly." Alexander pointed out, making it very clear that he expected Mikhail to find the task well within his capabilities.

Mikhail took a deep breath and then padded forward to confront the wolves who had been quite good sports about waiting for Alexander complete his explanation.

"You alpha?" The largest of the wolves (who was still smaller than Mikhail) demanded.

Mikhail stood his ground and tried to assume the most upright and assertive pose possible.

"Yes." He declared, hoping he sounded more confident than he really was.

"Prove it..." Insisted the wolf.

"Do you really want me to?" "Mikhail growled back.

The wolf looked at Mikhail again and then back at Alexander.

"Why beta have human fur?" It wanted to know.

Mikhail blinked a few times until he realized that they were talking about Alexander's eyepatch.

"Lost eye in hunt. Druid gave it to him..." Mikhail explained.

He wasn't sure if there were actually druids in the forest of Vorostokov, but he figured it was the best lie he could come up with.

"Druid like him. Druid like you?" The wolf pressed.

Mikhail contemplated how to answer that, then decided that given Florence Bastien's relation to Alexander he could actually answer that one honestly, more or less.

"Well enough." He replied.

The wolf contemplated that for a moment, and then proceeded to wag its tail slowly and rub its nose against Mikhail's jaw.

"Druids strong. One like you, we like you." It promised Mikhail.

"We hunt?" One of the other wolves suggested.

"Yes..." Alexander insisted Mikhail could get a word in edgewise.

XXX XXX XXX

In the end Mikhail was glad that Alexander hadn't given him a choice in the matter. He was used to hunting being the kind of thing that took the better part of a day, to bring down a bull elk wold have required the creation of many careful snares and traps to weaken the beast before going in for the kill.

Hunting as a wolf though, he had his nose to tell him exactly where the prey was, four legs that could swiftly propel him across the snowy landscape, and an entire pack of fellow hunters keeping him pace beside him.

It wound up being almost trivially easy, Alexander and the others had been worked together to cut one animal off from the others, and then as the alpha Mikhail had gone in for the kill.

Not used to doing battle as a wolf Mikhail had ended up getting gored savagely by the beast's horns.

Except that it hadn't hurt! The horns had ripped a pair of gashes in his side, but at the same time he managed to get his jaws around the animal's throat and start tearing chunks of its flesh from its body.

It perished soon after, and Mikhail was left to lick his wounds, figuratively and literally.

Granted they didn't need too much in the way of saliva given that they seemed to be closing of their own volition quite nicely.

"Alpha, hurt?" One of the wolves asked him.

Mikhail took another look at the wound in his side, he would have sworn the hole that the elk had made had once been the size of his fist but now they were smaller than a finger.

"No." He replied, rather shocked by the realization himself.

"Alpha eats first." Alexander prompted.

Mikhail looked down at the dead animal before him, skinning it was out of the question, cooking likewise. He was going to have to eat it raw and with fur still attached. He hesitantly started with a small nibble.

It was glorious.

XXX XXX XXX

After they were done eating Alexander explained to the wolves about how he and Mikhail would need to be passing on.

With his new better nose to guide him Mikhail was able to trace his way back to the spot where they had left Mikhail's outfit behind before they transformed. He put it back on and they returned to the cabin where sure enough the potion which would hide them from Gregor's nose was ready.

"Mikhail, I'm not normally very open about this kind of thing, but as you probably know right now we're on a rather strict time limit, so I won't waste time beating around the bush." Alexander informed him.

"Werecat." He said while pointing a finger at James.

"Vampire." At Mirri.

"Dryad, nature spirit." At Florence.

"Elf, has magic rings." At Devi.

"Asshole." He concluded with Cal.

The alchemist crossed his arms in exasperation..

"Hey, some of us just have to make the most of what we're born with..." He replied.

"Mikhail, Mirri will hold onto you're outfit. Cal you're going to ride on my back. Devi, I'm sure you've got some magic to help you travel faster, Florence, turn into something tireless and fast. Gregor isn't the only one who can pull off a forced march around here." Alexander commanded.

End Chapter
jamesfirecat
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Re: Monster Party Book 2

Post by jamesfirecat »

Monster Party

Book 2: Wolves will eat your skin, if you let them in!

Chapter Nine: On the quietest night, in the darkest hour...

Two men stood just outside Vorostokov's main entrance rapidly rubbing their hands together as they tried to stay warm.

"I hate the night shift..." Muttered Marksha, son of Oleg the woodcutter, his teeth chattering all the while.

"We only have to stand guard because we're the newest among the boyarsky. Soon enough we'll be able to spends our nights in Gregor's Hall with the others." His brother Sturm reminded him.

Both sibling were large of stature, dark of hair, and thick of beard like many of the men of Vorostokov. They were also wearing the traditional outdoors outfit of thick heavy furs, but they were still not enough to truly keep out the night's chill.

"Why does Gregor even need anyone out here in the first place? Vorostokov is the largest village in the land, and Gregor is its greatest warrior, who would be foolish enough to try and invade?" Marksha grumbled.

Sturm nudged him none too gently with the hilt of his sword.

"It's not really about keeping the village safe from invaders. This duty is Gregor's way of making sure that we are willing to suffer in his service. After spending several nights standing alone out here he'll know that we are truly loyal." Marksha explained.

The brothers might have argued further but suddenly the sound of snow crunching under foot drew the attention of both men.

"Halt!" Shouted one.

"Who goes there?" Added the other.

A vision of almost ethereal grace materialized from the swirling snow like some sort of arctic nymph. She was dressed in a simple white white jacket and black pants cut along masculine lines, but out at night in Vorostokov she might as well have been covered by naught but a few well place pieces of foliage.

"The most beautiful woman in the world." The ruby eyed figured answered as she paused before the brothers fixing each one with a long inviting glance.

"Wouldn't you agree?" She added with an expression that hinted invitingly of the full smile which might lay beneath.

Neither Sturm or Marksha needed to be asked twice, in seconds they were both full of praise for the woman, and her quite revealing (for even a jacket and masculine pants are revealing next to the three to four layers layers of clothing most women wore) outfit gave them all manner of subjects upon which to comment.

"Thank you, thank you, it would be such terrible fate to be left alone in the world with such a beautiful face and no one to share it with..." The woman praised them.

At the same time, other figures began to approach into sight, some male some female but none as beautiful as the woman who was before them.

"Who are they?" Sturm insisted, vaguely recalling that he was supposed to be standing guard and once more raising his longsword assertively.

The enchanting woman placed a hand tenderly upon his arm, her touch alone was enough to send shivers (both of delight and cold) up his spine.

"Why, they are my followers. I'm sure you know one of them of course. Come forward Mikhail..." She ordered.

A few moments later a man approached to stand before them, dressed in traditional Vorostokov furs. Both guards recognized him of course, Mikhail Zolnik had spent at least some of his life growing up in Vorostokov after all.

"I'm sure you know the story of how Gregor and his child have been at odds recently. It saddens my heart to hear of such strife, so I intend to see it banished. But I beg of you, do not tell the Boyar that his prodigal son has arrived in the village until the time is right for them to be properly reunited. It would spoil the magnificent surprise I am planning..." She explained.

Once more the brothers all but tripped over their own tongues promising that they would not breath a word of what they had seen.

The woman repaid their promises with a kiss upon the cheek for each, her lips frosty with cold yet fiery with passion.

Where was the harm of in such a pledge? Mikhail and the others went so far as to show that none of them were carrying weapons. What was the worst that seven people could do with their bare hands?

XXX XXX XXX

"You've a heart as cold and cruel as a zilinya neshka." Mikhail reflected once they were a safe distance away from the recently bewitched brothers.

Mirri turned and bowed as if she was a diva on stage accepting flowers from her adoring public after her latest performance.

"You're much too kind Mikhail. That was actually rather banal in all honesty. If I'd had more time I could have laid out how I promised to marry whichever one one of them could bring me the head of a slain moose with the greater number of antlers.

My charm gaze alone isn't powerful enough to make people simply run themselves through on their own swords, but there are so many wonderful ways that people can be convinced to kill themselves in the name of love. Alas, when guards vanish from their posts, suspicion is bound to follow." She reflected wistfully.

Mikhail's face was promptly squinched into a look of revulsion.

"That isn't the only reason you're not doing it though, right Mirri?" James Firecat inquired as he draped an arm across her shoulder.

"Of course not Kitten, given that love is one of the most beautiful and pure of all demi-human emotions it would be horrible indeed for someone to abuse it for their own ends." She suggested in a voice devoid of emotion.

Then, looking away from James and towards Mikhail she opened her mouth a pointed a finger towards it while sticking her tongue out in a near universal gesture of one who is tempted to vomit.

"We can worry about such matters later. Mirri's wiles combined with that scent deadening potion we drank means that for the moment Gregor has no idea we're here, but we can't count on staying unnoticed forever.

Mikhail, you recently mentioned that Gregor used to live in a normal house in Vorostokov?" Alexander pointed out for the benefit of those who hadn't been able to take part in their wolf to wolf conversation during the journey.

"Yes, but I'm not sure what good it could possibly do us to go there, Gregor will have taken all of his magical artifacts and important possessions from the place when he moved into his hall." Their guide reminded him.

The silver haired man shook his head slowly.

"I'm not looking for anything that dramatic Mikhail. When you go to war against a Darklord every scrap of their past you can discover is a piece of ammunition. I'd be a fool and a half to turn up my nose at a chance to go poking around in one of his old domiciles.

Besides, you said that the locals won't dare to go inside it for fear of angering him so it'll also make a good place to hide out while we plan strategy. Now then, point the way..." Alexander insisted.

Mikhail did as he was told.

XXX XXX XXX

The wind moaned eerily within the silent ruin of what had once been Gregor Zolnik's home.

The door had been left open and snow had drifted in across the floor. There weren't much in the way of furnishings left, just an old rocking chair by the window, and a few hides hanging on the walls, while some random pieces of junk like clay jars, iron pots, knives, needles and thread littered the floor of the house.

As if sensing that a place left long abandoned was being freshly disturbed the wind began to howl still more fiercely through the house bringing a chill to the bones of all those (living) who had entered.

Alexander slammed the door shut, but the gusts had already set the deserted chair to rocking back and forth.

Except that the chair didn't seem quite so deserted anymore.

A ghostly glimmering white crystal net made of spectral ice was taking shape. A pair of pale hands appeared next, working on the net, weaving it. In a moment the rest of the apparition became clear.

It was an ancient crone who was rocking back and forth cackling and muttering as she weaved her frosty 'fabric'.

"Welcome home Mikhail." She whispered.

"Come and give your grandmother a kiss my boy." She added her voice growing louder and more sure of itself.

Instantly Mikhail's face went slack with terror.

"Bolzhoimoi! It is Antonina!" He gasped in shocked.

"Do you know what your father did to me? Of course you must otherwise why would you have come.." The ghost hissed half to herself.

"There's a power in this land that sustains his curse, that makes him all but invincible. Even if you kill him as a wolf it might not stick. His greatest strength is his greatest weakness though..." The incorporeal crone cackled with wicked delight.

"His own wolf pelt. He can't transform without it. If we were to steal it from him..." Mikhail guessed.

The speed of Antonina's rocking increased dramatically.

"You were always well meaning even as a child Mikhail, well meaning, but not very bright. Do you really think that something as simple as physical distance can truly separate Gregor from his wolf pelt after how long they have been together?

No! No! No!

Be it at one at one end of Vorostokov and he the other, his 'death' as a man will always summon both his body and his pelt to the same place. They will return to the secret cave three miles south of this village, the place is marked by a rotted oak tree, it is where he first hid the pelt. There he will transform to a wolf once more.

What you must do is sprinkle the pelt with salt and wolfsbane. If you can do that, then when next he dons it he will still become a werewolf, but only an 'ordinary' werewolf, devoid of the dark blessings which can turn aside the strongest blade or sharpest claw.

Then, then Mikhail you must serve your father the same bitter fate he gave me. Death at the paws of one's own offspring." She instructed.

"If I do these things, it will break the curse of eternal winter on Vorostokov, it will lift the curse of the wolf from the boyarsky and the Zolnik bloodline?" Mikhail asked, desperate for an answer.

He found himself addressing only a vacant chair, his grandmother's spirit had departed even more swiftly than she had arrived, leaving only a mocking laugh in her wake.

When that sound finally finished echoing about the cabin Alexander had a broad smile on his face.

"Well that simplifies things tremendously wouldn't you say? Step one, sprinkle salt and wolfsbane on the pelt, step two kill him as a human, step three kill am as a wolf." He reflected laying out the apparition's advice in the most blunt manner possible.

"Don't forget step two and a half, profit by stealing everything that isn't nailed down from Gregor's Hall, then time permitting, the nails." Cal added, determined that he'd have some metal to show for all the trouble Vorostokov had put him through.

Alexander shrugged away the alchemist's suggestion.

"That will be your call. Given what we just learned, I think our original plan needs a little revising. Florence, you're going to be in charge of the kids for a bit, Mikhail you and I are going to leave Vorostokov and head south.

I don't know how long it will take Gregor to recover from being killed as a human, and I don't intend to wind up giving him a three mile head start. No, the moment he walks out of that cave we're going to be waiting for him." He promised Mikhail licking his lips in anticipation.

"Are you sure your companions will be able to handle their half of the 'plan'? They have no weapons, and neither the salt or the wolfsbane that your plan requires." Mikhail worried.

Devi looked down at her side, where the group's bag of holding would normally rest if she hadn't been forced to hand it over back at the church.

"Wolfsbane was a common enough anti-werewolf measure, and salt a useful enough spice that I always kept some of both in my bag. Still, that means we'd have to recover our possessions inside Gregor's Hall, assuming he hasn't buried them someplace out of the way, and do it before he becomes aware of our presence. Better if we can find another source of both." She pondered.

"Gregor's Hall is big enough to have a kitchen right? If so they've probably got salt in there!" James suggested eagerly.

Alexander nodded in agreement before fixing his gaze on Mikhail.

"That will take care of one of the ingredients, as for the other... Mikhail are there any wizards, wise men, alchemists, hermits, or so on or so forth, no matter how minor in Vorostokov?" He inquired.

XXX XXX XXX

Marik made his way over to the door slowly despite how urgent the knocking was. A man of his years tended to do everything slowly, and the cold (and it was always cold in Vorostokov) made his bones ache all the more.

"Are you the one who doesn't eat the Boyar's meat?" A voice asked.

Marik sighed heavily and opened the door, it was a question that he had been expecting to to be asked sooner or later, it was only the tone of voice, and the nature of the man asking it to him that came as a surprise.

Rather than being more or less shouted at him gruffly by one of the boyarsky in heavy armor, it was spoke in manner more curious than angry by young man with red hair dressed in clothing so scarce he should have already frozen to death.

Marik dragged the figure who he didn't recognize (and his eyes were not THAT far gone) inside his house and slammed the door.

"I have no idea who you are outlander, but I would prefer not to say such things in public. In private... the meat the Boyar brings us... that which he doesn't steal from others... he claims that it is deer meat, but it takes like boar... and not very much like boar at all..." Marik explained, even in private he was not willing to go any further than that.

"Then I wasn't mislead. Would you happen to have any aconite on you? I'd be willing to trade for it..." He offered in a amiable enough manner.

Marik squinted very carefully at his visitor. How many years had it been since a genuine outlander had visited Vorostokov?

"Aconite? I don't what you're talking about." Marik insisted, turning his back on his not exactly welcome guest.

"Maybe you only know it by its more colloquial title then... it's also called wolfsbane." The youth 'clarified' though Marik was perfectly aware of both titles for the herb in question.

He spoke the word "wolfsbane" with an energy and passion that Marik was surprised by. Whoever this outlander was, more than mere whim drove his desire for one of Marik's most prized possessions.

"Speaking purely theoretically, what would you be willing to trade exactly? Assuming I had the item you wanted..." Marik pondered as she slowly turned back around to face man gazing deeply into his brown eyes.

"Well while I was asking around if there was a wizard in the village, the other villagers told me that they have a name for you because you won't eat the meat the Boyar brings..." He began.

Then he unbuttoned the simple red shirt he had on revealing his bare chest and the belt he had draped his shirt over.

"They call you Marik the Mouse Eater." He spoke that title not with derision, but with compassion, nearly boundless compassion.

Compassion that he had clearly not shown to the well over a dozen dead vermin which were hanging from his belt, tied to it by their own tails.

"You're not the only one who has ever needed to get by on eating rodents... but being a lot younger than you, is it much of a surprise I'm way better at catching them?" Marik's newest acquaintance reflected while offering him a very self satisfied grin.

The wizard took a few moments to consider all the deceased vermin, and the confidence with which his guest held himself. He would be able to do more with the wolfsbane than Marik ever could...

XXX XXX XXX

James Firecat left Marik the Mouse Eater's house without several of his most recently caught prizes, but with a small bag of wolfsbane.

XXX XXX XXX

Vladislav had once been a simple trapper a few years back. Except that he'd also been a close friend of one of the many men who had tried to challenge Gregor Zolnik, and seen Yuri been killed for his troubles.

His own fate had been even crueler, being forced to live under Gregor's curse. Next to being a mindless animal forced to serve a beast, it was not so hard at all to bear up under the cold chill as he stood guarding the gates to the Boyar's Hall.

The only problem was that fool Pytor (who was still blissfully blind to Gregor's true nature) the smith's son insisted on trying to trying to strike up a conversation with him.

"Say Vladislav, that cat has fur the same color as your hair!" The younger man noted, pointing in the animal's direction.

Sure enough, Vladislav's hair was an unnaturally bright shade of red among most of the people of Vorostokov, and the cat that was wandering their way had fur of a not too dissimilar hue. As it drew closer Vladislav was willing to admit exactly one thing about the creature in question.

"That's got to be the biggest barn cat I've ever seen... are you sure it isn't some sort of feral crossbreed?" He warned his fellow boyarsky.

The feline in question had to be something like three feet from nose to tail, and surely weighed over twenty pounds, perhaps even something approaching thirty! There were a few cats in Vorostokov, but they tended to be only slightly better fed (after all Gregor didn't try to regulate which of them could hunt and when) than its human population.

This one however, there was no trace of even a single bony ribs in sight, only whipcord lean muscle. It must have been a terrific mouser to keep itself so well fed, in fact a cat that large could probably have moved from hunting mice straight into rats and possibly even a few small weasels as well.

If someone in the village owned a cat so fierce Vladislav was certain he would have heard of it before now. Yet, it must be domesticated, for the cat certainly seemed far too friendly for a wild beast.

It strode toward the pair of armored men, meowing pitifully, giving them a soulful look from a pair of large brown orbs.

"Strange eyes..." Vladislav rumbled, but then what about this cat was ordinary?

As if it understood how wary Vladislav was of it, the cat struck out for Pytor instead and began to rub itself tenderly against his legs.

"Heh, look at his paws, they're so big it is like he's got snowshoes!" The younger of the two guardsman joked as he examined the creature up close.

When Vladislav looked up from the strange cat that his companion was so entranced by he noticed that a strange sort of snow was approaching.

"What manner of storm is this?" He growled in surprise as a ominous white mist swept over them.

It was far too precise for anything natural, and also as it began to fully engulf them Vladislav realized to his surprise that it was also much too warm! The stuff wasn't exactly as hot as smoke fresh from the fire, but it was still nowhere near as biting as the chill he had expected.

"Vladislav..." The red haired man heard Pytor call out to him a voice full of worry and concern, before going silent with a terrible suddenness.

Vladislav began to try and take a few steps through the white cloud to see what had happened when suddenly he felt an arm slide around his throat.

"There are exactly seven bones in the human neck. Seven, do you feel lucky enough to find out how many of them I can break in under five seconds? If not, I suggest you stay very... very still." A voice whispered in his ear.

It was female to Vladislav's surprise, though that was the least of the surprises he was suddenly receiving.

The white fog which had seemed so ever present only moments ago had vanished as quickly as it had come. Pytor now lay sprawled on the snow, a gentle trickle of blood leaking from a new gash on his head from where it had evidently been slammed against the stone wall hard enough to knock him out cold.

A man stood over him dressed all in a simple red shirt, Vladislav tried to fix the man's features in his mind, but his vision was starting to glow blurry as black crept in at the edges. As the grip on his on his neck tightened the world faded away from him.

XXX XXX XXX

Mirri dropped the unconscious boyarsky to the snow letting him join the one that James had already knocked out.

"You know for werewolves these guys aren't a patch on you Kitten." The vampire reflected.

James just smiled back as he easily grabbed one of the fallen men with either hand showing strength far beyond what his slender frame would suggest.

"That's cause they're not natural lycanthropes, Mom taught me all about this kind of stuff! A natural lycanthrope like me is a lycanthrope all the time, but these guys, unless they've transformed they might as well be ordinary humans." James answered.

Then he tossed one of the boyarsky a quickly approaching alchemist.

"Have fun storming the castle!" Cal offered as he, Devi, and Florence dragged off the guards, they'd need to be kept somewhere warm or else they would freeze to death after all.

As for James and Mirri. they both began to transform once more and headed deeper into Gregor Hall's.

XXX XXX XXX

"Tip toe... through the werewolves..." James chirped to himself, an action which was doubtlessly unconducive to the living of a long life.

Luckily, none of the sleeping boyarsky were roused by his words. On the other paw it was unlikely that those who had decided to bed down for the night inside the kitchen to bask the in the warmth of its fire would think much of the sight of a cat meandering about the room.

At least they wouldn't think much of it until they realized that none of the boyarsky kept cats as pets, (James hadn't picked up the scent any other feline scents nearby) and certainly not as brightly colored or large as this the werecat.

In feline form James carefully stalked through the kitchen, while his animal form was a little slower than his other two (matters of scale meant that in the long run cats couldn't move as fast as humans) but it was easily the most inconspicuous.

Inconspicuous was the name of the game when trying to invade a Darklord's lair in the middle of the night and kill its owner without having them sick several dozen angry (or at least mind controlled) werewolves on you.

He managed to reach the edge of the kitchen counter and glowered at it. The vertical leap he was now faced with would be a bit much even for him at the moment, so he'd have to take another approach.

He leaned forward and there was a surprisingly quite popping of bones and twisting of muscle as he went what was effectively halfway to his normal hybrid form before in a show of morphological control that would do James' Great, Great, Great, Grand Father Jalal (who if you believed his mother's stories (and of course James did) was the very first natural werecat in the family, who supposedly had hailed from far distant lands of Har'Akir) proud, he managed to reverse his transfiguration before he even completed it.

The net result was that he didn't so much jump to the counter as slink and ooze his way there by altering the shape and size of his body. That done, he turned his attention to the pantries. Paws weren't exactly great for opening such things, but much James had always been adept at the art of the handclaw. Handpaws were basically the same principle in reverse (making a cat's paws more like human hands instead of making human hands more a cat's paws), and so James managed to alter his shape enough to open them up and start poking around.

His whiskers twitched as they detected what he was looking for. He jumped into the cupboard that he had opened up, and after knocking over the half a dozen or so other spice bottles (still thankfully making no sound not loud enough to wake the room's occupants) found the one he wanted. He seized it about the neck with his jaws in an awkward grip and hopped back down to the counter.

The jump back to the floor was longer still, but going down he could make it with no great difficulty. Then he simply retraced his steps out of the room and back into the hallway. He spat out the tiny bottle of salt and gave a soft purr as Mirri ran a hand down his body from the back of his neck to the tip of his tail.

"Another flawless victory Kitten, these dumb doggies don't have a chance against us." She congratulated him as he returned to human form.

Then she offered James back the red jacket he had been forced to part with in Kirinova. The werecat all too happily slid it back on and began to rifle through its pockets reacquainting himself with everything it held.

"Check... check... check... and check." He muttered to himself reassuringly glad to see that none of his prized possessions had been removed from the jacket and stored elsewhere.

"Gregor didn't even the have the sense to keep our stuff locked up properly, he was storing it in the same room he kept his prized hunting trophies." Mirri explained, not that she didn't have plenty ways on her own for dealing with locks.

"We've got the wolfsbane, we've got the salt, we've got our stuff, now lets go get Alex his darklord." James concluded.

XXX XXX XXX

A small fire blazed in the hearth of Gregor Zolnik's room. Both of its occupants were awake and certain that something was going wrong but neither could be sure what.

Then suddenly the door was kicked open with such force that the two figures who burst through it had to do so quickly before the door swung itself closed again in their wake.

"I should have known that there was more fight in you yet..." Growled Gregor Zolnik.

"Dmitri here thought you had found a place to freeze to death in the forest, but I didn't believe you would die so easily..." He promised gesturing towards his personal bodyguard.

"We'll handle the matter personally this time..." Dmitri Dneprov promised readying his axe.

James Firecat and Mirri Catwarrior sized up the darklord of Vorostokov and his retainer.

"Well numbers-wise the fight is looking a lot more fair this time around." He pointed out withdrawing a silver dagger from his jacket with either hand.

"Yes, this is it, a fight to death, just you two intruders against Dmitri, myself … and my BOYARSKY!" Gregor screamed at the top of his lungs.

The cry reverberated throughout the room, but vanished into nothingness with sudden abruptness as it reached the only door leading out of the room.

"To be perfectly honest we'd hoped you would be asleep when we broke in. Still, we took the time to pour one of Cal's Oils of Silence all over your door just in case." Mirri added cheerfully and both Dmitri and Gregor became noticeably more bug-eyed at this revelation.

Gregor's gaze turned towards a large black wolf pelt hanging above his bed.

In the time it took for his eyes to flicker in that direction James had transformed and pounced on Dmitri driving him to the ground. The boyarsky managed to hang onto his axe, but with the two laying practically on top of one another, it was hardly the most ideal weapon.

A fact that was highlighted by how James' hands had remained human enough to hold onto his daggers which slashed out wildly even as at the same time his feet had become catlike paws that were raking any part of his foe's body that they could reach.

"No pelt no wolf..." James growled as he waited for blood loss or common sense to force his foe to submit.

Gregor made some kind of dramatic hand waving gesture and a moment later Dmitri's black hair began to turn a somewhat lighter shade, while becoming much, much, thicker.

"Or maybe not..." James ruefully amended as under Gregor's direct control his bodyguard began to transform into a large wolf.

Luckily starting that particular transformation had caused Gregor to take his attention off of Mirri, a decision he was soon to regret.

The vampire crossed the distance between the two of them with incredible speed and just like Jame she dragged her foe to the ground, determined to make sure he never got within arms reach of the black wolf pelt.

Gregor worked to win his longsword free from his belt while Mirri didn't even bother to attack, she just did everything in her power to keep him from being able to. As the seconds ticked past Gregor's struggle began to grow weaker even as his blade managed to slice a deep gash in Mirri's arm.

"Llyana, heal me..." He gasped, finding it hard to breath, harder still to speak.

The sword in his hands glowed blue with magic, but the wound he had made in Mirri's arms seemed to be closing much quicker any of his own, wait did he even have any wounds? If he didn't, why did he feel so weak?

"Heh, you honestly thought that would help you? It might have... if I was trying to kill you the conventional way..." Mirri cooed in Gregor's ear as her grip tightened and there was a sudden ominous sound of bones cracking.

His ruined hands let go of the sword and Mirri kicked it away.

"You'd be surprised how few 'evil' people bother to defend themselves properly against intelligent undead. Funny thing is, when they realize too late what is going on, they all end up with an expression on their face... just... like... yours..." Said Mirri as she let go of her prey.

Gregor Zolnik's corpse fell to the ground his lifeless body now covered by cracks like a battered piece of pottery. The sound of Gregor calling out for help from his blade had managed to achieve one noticeable thing though, it had ended up distracting Dmitri.

The fully animal aspected werewolf and the hybrid werecat had been fighting back and forth in a much more equal battle, but his moment of surprise allowed James to land a solid kick to Dmitri's midsection. Solid enough to send the boyarsky flying, right into the room's hearth.

Sparks crackled and caught on the werewolf's fur as James shifted his stance, now ready to fight a defensive battle before the fireplace simply to keep its occupant from breaking free.

Mirri was utterly certain that James could handle things on his own (her Kitten wasn't going to get taken down by some pathetic pathologically lycanthropic puppy) instead set about taking care of the other reason they had broken in here, smearing Gregor Zolnik's wolf pelt with a mixture of salt and wolfsbane.

As she began to do so, mist drifted into the room from no obvious source. It began to coil around the dead darklord first and his pelt second, until both were completely coated in the stuff. The mist then began to seep away, leaving no trace of what it had taken behind.

There was more left of Dmitri Dneprov, but not much more. and the ashes of a dead wolf, human, or werewolf all tended looked exactly like the ashes left behind by burnt wood. James casually tossed another log on the fire and reverted to cat form.

"Time to get out of here?" He mewed.

Mirri answered by silently turning into a cloud of white mist.
jamesfirecat
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Re: Monster Party Book 2

Post by jamesfirecat »

Monster Party Book 2: Wolves will eat your skin, if you let them in!

Final Chapter: The time has come to welcome spring and all that's warm and green, but it's also time to say goodbye...

After departing from the village Alexander and Mikhail had struck out for the cave where Gregor had once hidden his wolf pelt.

They searched in wolf form, or at least Mikhail used his wolf form, he had no words for the monstrosity that Alexander was able to transform into, it was larger than even the black wolf his father could become. The massive bipedal shape ate up distance easily with its long strides, though it was an ungainly thing to watch in motion.

After spending nearly two hours searching they finally found a small cave overlooked by a single tree. There was nothing out of the ordinary about it, but unless coincidence was playing a horrible trick upon both of them, it marked the cave where his father would be sent to after being 'killed' in human form.

Mikhail temporarily crawled inside it and returned to human form. Alexander tossed him the bundle of normal clothing he'd been carrying and Mikhail quickly (there were a great many reasons for his haste) dressed himself and walked out of the cave.

"Now, now I suppose there is nothing to do but wait for him." The hunter reflected as he tried to steel his nerves for the coming conflict.

"Nothing to do but train a little more, unless you feel you're ready to face the Loup Du Nuit himself in combat." Alexander pointed out.

Mikhail shivered in a way that had nothing to do with the cold and turned his eyes upwards.

They had moved so fast, but had it been fast enough? What if Gregor had already been here and fled? He drew some small solace from the fact that it hadn't snowed for a few hours and there were no sign of fresh wolf tracks leaving the cave.

"What is next then? We can't risk another hunting expedition, we need to be here, both to us, when my father does arrive." Mikhail told him.

Even if they had gotten here on time, Gregor's arrival was still far from certain, without him and Alexander to help Gregor might not be slain in human form, or his pelt might not be smeared with the eldritch mixture which would rob him of his invulnerability.

"Nothing so dramatic is necessary this time around. All I want from you is to figure out how to achieve your hybrid form.

Gregor may have seen James', but I don't think he has any real idea what a difference it can make when the base creature is a wolf instead of a housecat." Alexander explained.

"Hybrid form... is that what you call that great silver beast you became?" Mikhail asked only to be answered with a simple nod.

"To think, I was just getting used to wearing clothes again..." Her reflected, wishing that he would be able to bear the chill as easily as Alexander did.

Nothing ventured nothing gained on that front actually...

"How do you stand around wearing so little and yet look so at ease?" Mikhail asked.

Alexander had still not yet been reunited with his black coat and so was the next best thing to completely exposed to the elements from the waist up.

"I already told you how I feel whenever I transform. Next to that, what's a little frostbite?" Alexander clarified.

"Now, unless you have any other questions, you had probably best get down to practicing. For better or worse, the hybrid shape ended up coming rather naturally to me, but I make no promises about how swiftly you will achieve it." He warned Mikhail.

XXX XXX XXX

Another hour later and nothing but failure after failure later Mikhail sat with his back against a rock he had cleared of snow and watched the cave. Alexander had decided that any further practice only risked leaving him exhausted in the face of the fight to come. Now the pair simply waited for the return of Gregor Zolnik, so that they could put an end to this madness where it had first started.

XXX XXX XXX

Dieing was not such a terrible experience all things considered.

The very wounds which brought about the condition in the first place tended to render the body incapable of properly comprehending exactly what was happening. It was rather like slipping into a deep sleep, or so at least Gregor Zolnik had discovered.

He did not fear death, not when he had what came after it to worry about.

On moment he was collapsing upon the stone floor of his hall, the next he was back in his cave, mist billowing all about and his wolf pelt already on his shoulders. This, this was always worse than dying.

Something halfway between a human scream and a lupine howl left his lips as the change overtook him.

He had been barely "alive" when he had first woken up, his body devoid of energy, and the new source of it came with a terrible price. He was forced to endure the pain of his bones not so much changing shape as snapping themselves in half, then slowly pulling themselves together as he transformed. The horrific sensation of his skin being forced to stretch, the terror of his teeth growing faster than his mouth could so that they perforated his lips.

Pain was everywhere, eclipsing his knowledge of all else, leaving him horrifically aware of what had to be done to set his body right. Not easily did death release Gregor Zolnik from its grasp, in returning to life he suffered as much as any dozen men did dieing. Somehow he managed to hang onto his sanity amidst an raging ocean of agony until finally it subsided and he was whole and mended once more.

He trotted out of his cave on all fours, and only then, only when it was far too late to matter, did his nose finally tell him that he was not the only wolf who had been inside to the cave recently. That wasn't right, the wolves both natural and unnatural should have known better than to approach an area so saturated with his scent.

All the wolves except for two, a large gray wolf, and an even larger one with silver fur.

"So..." Gregor huffed unable to find any other words, unwilling to say anything more less it betray that finding these two here was a worse shock than dying had been.

"So indeed..." Proclaimed the silver wolf as it began to pace through the snow, head held high, tail flipped up, eyes locked dead on the black wolf's, point for point perfect alpha posture.

"You know Gregor, even now, it doesn't have to end this way. You could, just, stop. When an alpha is growing too old and infirm for his pack to find prey reliably, it is just and natural for him to step aside so that another may take his place and usher in better times.

If you were able to hunt quadrupedal herbivores with any regularity then you wouldn't need to keep stealing from and serving up meat from bipedal omnivores instead. All it will take to end all this unpleasantness is for you to do the right thing, do the wolf thing, and recognize when the time has come for a sire to stand aside and let his pup take his place." The silver wolf offered, waving a paw in the gray wolf's direction with an insultingly casual air.

"What would he know of wolves? He still fancies himself a man, or have you finally come to recognize my dominance?" Gregor demanded of the gray wolf.

"Neither father. You were right, there is too much wolf in my blood for me to resist its call. I am as beholden to it as you are... but I can choose my alpha!" The gray wolf growled angrily before coming to the silver one's side and rubbing his the top of his muzzle against the larger wolf's jaw.

Both the silver and the gray wolf were smaller than Gregor... but they were not THAT much smaller.

"Since you insist on being depressingly pigheaded about this particular matter, I think it would be best if you ceased to bore us with your platitudes. The time for talk is over... now is the time for you to run." The silver wolf demanded.

"RUN?" Gregor spat unable to believe he had heard correctly.

"That's right. Allow me to return your earlier hospitality, you may now consider yourself cordially invited to take part in MY wolf run!

Unless you would rather spare us the pretense that a worn out mongrel who can't even chase down a caribou could possibly outpace two virile specimens in the prime of our lives? Granted you won't be given anything near so long a head start, but on the other paw I think you'll find I'm a great deal more honest about the rules.

I'll give you a one minute head start for each of my paws, and another one for each of my beta's. After that... we will chase you down and tear the wolf pelt you have stolen and perverted from your very bones." The silver wolf promised.

"One." It declared emotionlessly. The black wolf was out of sight before he got to ten.

"He's actually running... he's actually afraid of us." The gray wolf reflected in amazement.

"Don't be so surprised beta... I knew his bark was worse than his bite from the moment he sent his packmates into the fray while he did naught but watch. Now, if you could leave me to my counting for roughly another seven minutes..." The silver wolf suggested.

XXX XXX XXX

Alexander Diamondclaw ran what he considered to be the fairest wolf run in all the Core and most of the lands beyond it as well.

No hidden packmates, no suddenly changing the rules halfway through, and in this case no one chasing but himself and Mikhail.

He counted out the eight minutes he had promised (even picking up right where he had been before he'd been interrupted rather than skipping ahead) and then they were off.

His nose had never lost Gregor's scent, and even if he had, the lack of fresh snow made Gregor's paw prints easy to spot.

The silver and gray wolves chased the black one across the white snow.

A howl which had no simple human translation rose from Alexander's throat, and Mikhail found himself echoing it. Once again the hunter from Torgov found himself growing strangely euphoric thanks to the the boundless energy that accompanied his transformation into lupine form.

It didn't mater that he was chasing his own father, it didn't matter that he was chasing the beast that had brought so much suffering to Vorostokov, all that mattered was that he was chasing. So long as he was chasing could there be any doubt that all was right with the world? He was chasing, could there be any doubt that sooner or later he would catch up to his prey?

XXX XXX XXX

CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK, CRACK!

Gregor's claws scratched across the icy river only to have a section of it break free almost taking him with it.

With a whine of surprise he rolled away from the fracture in search of more solid ground. What was going on? He'd crossed this river in wolf form dozens of time before, why was it suddenly proving so much flimsier all of a sudden?

"AWWOOOOOOOHHHHH!" For the first time in over two decades a wolf's howl was capable of bringing fear to Gregor Zolnik's heart.

He slowly turned about and found that while ahead of him lay thin ice, behind him were two wolves, one gray one silver.

"Force the river or face our jaws you jackal in wolf's clothing." The silver wolf demanded.

Even as the words were barked Gregor could feel his own footing growing weaker, as if it might give way beneath his weight him at any moment. His only hope of finding solid ground was to head back towards the riverbank, back towards his pursuers.

Gregor kept his head held high as he approached the pair of lupine figures waiting for him. He would not allow himself be reduced to cowardly slinking, but walk calmly with all the regality he could manage.

The silver wolf replied to this show of defiance, by advancing to the very edge of the river, and slamming one of his paws hard against it.

Cracks raced out from that impact and across the frozen river.

Gregor's pace increased dramatically.

Before the fight could properly begin however there was yet another wolf howl.

Another gray wolf, larger than Mikhail but smaller than Alexander came rushing towards them. All three wolves instantly knew who the new arrival was once they had his scent, it was Alexei Zolnik.

"Father I am here!" Announced the newest arrival.

"Why that tyrant inspires any sort of loyalty from ANY of his children, I have no idea." Lamented Alexander.

"I suppose like will call to like. Mikhail, deal with your father, it seems that I have a few more lessons left to teach the Gregor's children about what it means to be a wolf." He vowed.

XXX XXX XXX

"He was responsible for your mother's death. He has failed time and again to hunt herbivores that are not the least bit magical. He refused my well founded challenge for position of alpha. Worst of all he subscribes to the heretical belief that you are an alpha OF your pack, rather than a an alpha FOR your pack... So with that in mind..." Alexander didn't get a chance to finish before Alexei leaped at him teeth gnashing, claws slashing.

WHAM!

Alexei did not even lay a single paw on Alexander, as the gray wolf attacked Alexander had simply transformed to his hybrid form and backhanded Alexi away from him.

"I will feed your pelt to the flames..." Alexander Diamondclaw vowed.

XXX XXX XXX

"So... it looks like your outlander ally is otherwise distracted, it is just the two of us now. You said you'd show me a thing or two if I didn't have anyone stand between us. Go ahead pup... show me..." Gregor Zolnik growled.

Mikhail felt uneasiness welling up within him, this had not been the plan. Alexander should have been there to help him, he shouldn't have needed to do this on its own.

Even as the thoughts raced through his mind, he sudden realized the true nature of his fear. He was fighting alone, he was afraid, the exact same way that he was so certain his father was, that was why Gregor had done everything in his power to avoid having personally take part in their previous battles.

He was still doing it right now even! He was trying to talk Mikhail into defeat rather than actually fighting him!

Mikhail would not let that fear defeat him, he would be a better man and a better wolf than his father. This was his chance, he would take it for all it was worth.

"Believe me... I have much to show you." Mikhail charged forward and snapped at Gregor's neck but the larger black wolf jumped backwards out of the way.

Sure enough, he had let Mikhail attack first, Gregor was still afraid.

The pair began to circle one another, fur puffed up and ready for battle. Mikhail was certain that Alexander should be more than a match for Alexei, given enough time it would be two against one in his favor again.

He knew it, and he suspected that Gregor knew it as well. He could not let fear cause him to back down, but he could not let anger drive him wholly either. He needed to keep Gregor from fleeing, but not necessarily defeat him.

"How long do you think my brother can hold out against that beast? How long do you think you will?" Mikhail growled.

His attempts to goad Gregor into launching the next attack were wildly successful, more so than he wanted.

Almost as soon as the words left his mouth Gregor became a black blur hurling himself forward.

Mikhail snapped back, once again going for Gregor's throat. A long claw scratched him across the muzzle even as he managed to lock his jaws around his father's other front leg.

Yet Gregor's unorthodox block had worked, denying Mikhail a grip on anything vital as he managed to drive his son to the ground pinning him beneath his greater bulk.

"Still so human, you know nothing NOTHING about how to hunt as a wolf!" Gregor mocked him. He could afford to loose a leg, not even a lycanthrope could survive having its throat torn out.

"I know enough not to drag a fight out onto thin ice." Mikhail answered spitting out his father's limb.

The black wolf's golden yellow eyes went wide as much too late Gregor realized that his pounced had taken both of them back onto the river.

Mikhail's body twisted and writhed as it began to transform still further. He was growing larger and heavier, and before Gregor could say anything else the ice gave way beneath their combined weight and both of them plunged downwards.

A wave of frosty water knocked them apart and they were forced to reorient themselves, getting ready for the next round of the battle. Both of them were probably having trouble seeing one another though, all Mikhail could make out for certain was a large black blob in the otherwise clear water.

Swimming was not an easy thing to do in Vorostokov, you had to be half out of your mind to practice it, because it was only possible in rivers were the waters flowed too swiftly to freeze over.

Mikhail had never been very bright though, and for all that his body looked like a monstrous blend of wolf and man, its general bipedal shape made swimming not so different.

He struck out towards the black blob as it seemed to spin around wildly. A first Mikhail thought it was just a trick of the way that the water was playing with his eyesight, but then suddenly he knew.

He knew... that his father Gregor Zolnik might have gone swimming himself as a youth before... but he had never gone swimming in a quadrupedal body.

Well wasn't that just too bad for him?

Mikhail pushed himself past the black blob, not launching an attack, just drawing close to it. Gregor lunged out at him, but with all the water getting in the way he wasn't fast enough to connect.

Mikhail then spun about in the water, and came up behind his father. He didn't actively attack, he just wanted to gauge his father's reaction time again, get a feel for how long it would take him to be able to turn his body about underwater...

Gregor did, but then rather than trying to attack a second time, he began to try and force his way upwards.

That was another surprise, but suddenly another idea struck him. With his transformation, Mikhail was larger than his father now, larger didn't always win fights... but larger did always mean larger.

Larger meant that your lungs could hold more air, that you could stay underwater longer.

He reached up and grabbed hold of Gregor by the tail and yanked him down.

The black wolf was pulled deeper into the water, and Mikhail dived down after him. Much as he expected Gregor was starting to orient himself so that his head was facing up towards the surface again. That was fine, with his body set up like that (with his head (and jaws) facing away from him), it became much easier for Mikhail to get behind him and pull him down a second time.

The two repeated their bizarre underwater dance again and again, Mikhail doing all he could to keep Gregor as far from the surface as possible. As the seconds ticked by, Gregor's struggles began to grow weaker, Mikhail could feel his own lungs starting to burn, but he could worry about that later.

If he died down here... if he died, well that wouldn't be so bad, not as long as he made sure his father did as well. It would almost be like something out of a play, it wouldn't be a clean sweep of the Zolnik family because his two aunts were still alive, but father an son locked in combat, buried forever at the bottom of a lake...

He fought for all he was worth to achieve that effect, every fiber of his being determined that Gregor Zolnik would never draw another breath of air.

Finally, his sheer determined won out as the black wolf's motions began to grow feeble and listless. It might be a trap, but given how empty his own lungs felt if it was Mikhail had already lost.

He darted in for an attack.

His claws tore through his father's fur, and shockingly it came away with incredible ease in his hands. He hadn't wounded Gregor, not really, instead his claws had torn the wolf pelt from Gregor's body.

His father was no longer the black wolf, he was just a naked defenseless man helplessly trapped near the bottom of a river. It wasn't a fight now... it wasn't a fight, but that didn't stop Mikhail from ending it as quickly as he could just to be sure.

Then with the black wolf pelt held tightly in one hand he began to kick his way to the surface. The world was starting to get desperately blurry for Mikhail. He had no idea where the hole he'd fallen through was now, no idea how far along he'd been carried by the river.

If he was going to survive, it was because he'd have to make a new way out. He headed up, and up, and up until he came to the icy surface of the river. Three firm blows of his free hand against the ice above cleared a path for him towards open air.

Now he just had to hope that he could pull himself out with only one hand, and that even if he was strong enough, his weight wouldn't expand the hole he'd just made and plunge right back in again.

Still, if he could just get properly out of the river for even a few seconds he might be able to fill his lungs again and think straight...

He struggled upwards thrusting a hand outwards looking for something solid to hang onto.

Before he could find it, something else found him.

A huge silver furred hand seized his arm and yanked hard.

With one titanic tug Alexander Diamondclaw extracted Mikhail Zolnik from the river.

He said nothing, he just took off running back towards the solid riverbank rather than further tempting the ice with the weight of two hybrids werewolves so close together.

Mikhail followed him.

Only when the tender cracks of ice gave way to the far less worrying "crunch" of snow did they stop.

That was when Mikhail noted that just like himself, Alexander was holding a bloody wolf pelt in one hand.

"That's my brother done for then?" Asked Mikhail, flanks heaving, lungs still burning, as if amazed that they were once again being allowed to breath in as much air as they wanted.

Alexander answered with a simple nodd.

Mikhail didn't bother to comment further, it was hard to say if Alexi was truly dead, his aunts had said that only a Zolnik could kill a Zolnik, but maybe it was just that only a werewolf could? It didn't matter much, his brother was no true threat, not with his father dealt with.

"Looks like you gave Gregor more of a fight even I expected." Alexander declared with glee as his own eyes focused on the contents of Mikhail's other hand.

The hunter turned werewolf spat out water, but the fluid that left his throat also had a noticeable red tinge to it.

"He knew how to fight as a wolf better than I did... but both of us only knew how to swim like a man." Mikhail answered in between a few more gasps.

A large smile split Alexander's fanged mouth as he rested one of his handpaws on Mikhail's shoulder.

"Well done beta. You've killed your first Darklord. Lets hope there's no need for you to make a habit of it." The silver furred wolf creature reflected.

End Chapter.
jamesfirecat
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Re: Monster Party Book 2

Post by jamesfirecat »

Monster Party Book Two: Wolves will eat your skin, if you let them in!

Epilogue: I need to be the remedy.

Two wolf creatures sat at the banks of the river.

The cracks that Mikhail and Alexander had inflicted upon it in the process of defeating Gregor Zolnik had been only the beginning, now they had spread so far that the few remaining chunks of ice were being carried downriver by the current.

"So now what?" Asked Mikhail Zolnik, still holding the bloody pelt he had torn from his father's body.

Gregor Zolnik was dead... very, very dead. There was little doubt of that, and it would be a trick indeed to come back to life after Mikhail had been finished with him.

"The Mists crave suffering, but not always of the virtuous. It is the suffering of the darklords that sustain these lands, and at the moment Vorostokov is without one." Alexander answered.

If his recent battle hadn't pushed Mikhail to the brink of death he would have had more energy with which to be horrified at those words.

"What... what are you saying? What happens to a land that is no longer 'sustained', what happens Alexander?" He demanded angrily.

It wasn't fair, wasn't fair to think that in killing Gregor he might have destroyed Vorostokov, might have consigned it to some fate even worse than eternal winter.

"The death of a darklord is a rare thing Mikhail. I know more of it from stories and legends than actual experience. One of three things typically happens; if the death was too simple, too mundane, not properly executed, than the darklord will return no matter how improbably, say better impossible it should be.

Before you raise your hackles I am quite certain that it will not be the case in this instance. Which leaves us with really only two possibilities; the land will find a new darklord, or it will be let go.

I would be remiss if I did not admit to you... quite frequently the new darklord is whoever killed the prior one." Alexander answered.

Mikhail Zolnik was finding this conversation considerably more taxing than he had expected.

"No... no... I refuse to walk down the same path my father did, no matter who or what tries to make me. Alexander what must I do to be sure to avoid that fate? Whatever the alternative... it must be better..." Mikhail worried.

Alexander rested one of his large furred hands on Mikhail's shoulders.

"Becoming a darklord is not something that happens by accident Mikhail. It is the result of a lifetime of ill-deeds, capped off by one of so foul, one that creates so much suffering... that the Mists can not bear to part ways with you.

Mikhail, I've gotten to know you fairly well over the last few days. All you have to do to avoid being a darklord, is be yourself." Alexander promised him.

Mikhail nodded slowly, very slowly.

"Anna... Anna will be expecting me back from Kirinova in a few days. I don't want to disappoint her." He decided.

Alexander nodded and slowly stood up.

"Yes, you do that, meanwhile I will take Gregor and Alexie's pelts and burn them, then go find my own companions." He explained.

Mikhail rose to his own feet also.

"How do you plan to find them?" He wondered, still wanting to offer Alexander whatever help he could.

"The potion we were given, it deadened our scent to Gregor and all of his line... that probably includes you also, but never fear, I still have their scent." His former alpha reassured him.

"The last thing you said might happen... What will become of Vorostokov if it is 'let go' as you said?" He wanted, he needed to know before they parted ways.

Alexander could only shrug.

"It's sent away from the Mists. Maybe back to wherever you were before Gregor slew his first wife, maybe someplace different. Wherever it is though, it will be some place where you will finally get a chance to know spring." Alexander promised.

"As they began to part ways, Mikhail's companion called out one final piece of advice for him.

"By the way... you might want to retrace your way back to Gregor's Cave. I suspect it will be much easier to get back into Torgov if you have some clothing to wear..." He advised.

Mikhail was glad that he had fur to hide his sudden flush, true enough he had not even thought of that...

XXX XXX XXX

"Eye patch emergency?" Asked James Firecat.

"Eye path emergency." Answered the gigantic silver wolf creature in Alexander Diamondclaw's voice.

The werecat quickly produced another black eyepatch from one of the pockets of his red jacket.

Alexander slid it on over his right eye and began to return to his human form, as Florence presented him with his jacket, gloves, and most important of all, Wolf Claw.

"Wonderful..." Alexander declared as he slid the blade back into the scabbard that had lain empty far too long.

"Well then, now all we have to do is head towards the mountains as fast as we can, I'll explain why along the way..." He ordered.

XXX XXX XXX

After what felt like a lifetime since he'd departed Mikhail Zolnik returned to Torgov.

He carried no weapons, and though the fur he was wrapped in was thick, it was also damp, something any experienced traveler in Vorostokov would contemplate as perhaps being worse than no furs at all.

He didn't bother to go to the tavern where most of the villagers gathered, he did not go towards his own home, he instead headed for one small house, the one which marked the northernmost point of the village.

He closed the door with almost unseemly abruptness once he was through the threshold gave the house's other occupant a look that suggested whatever sort of a journey he had been on since leaving Torgov it had not been a pleasant one.

None the less, no sooner did he begin to slowly and carefully shed his furs than he was embraced by the house's owner.

"Mikhail! You're all right! I prayed for you every day, but part of me was afraid that if your father's men had not slain you then the wolves must have!" Anna Karelia practically babbled as she clutched desperately at her fiancee.

It was only after holding the hug for close to a dozen seconds that she realized the state of her swain's clothing.

"Mikhail, what are you doing wearing these wet furs, get out of them at once, and come warm yourself by the fire! You need to tell me everything that happened! There are so many rumors, Kerin even claims that he saw a flower starting to bloom somewhere outside the village. A flower in Vorostokov, who could believe such a thing?" Words flowed from the woman's mouth in a torrent as if she sought to make up for the fact that her guest had still not said a single word.

Mikhail wiggled free from her arms and trudged to the small fire with all the energy of a sleepwalker.

"Anna before I take these furs off... you must know why it was I managed to survive the trip back here. You must know that the Boyar is dead, slain by my ja... by my hands. The Black Wolf, likewise I have laid to rest, no more will his howls resound throughout the night. Finally, Anna, light of my life, you must know that I will never, ever hurt you." As the words left his mouth, Mikhail Zolnik finally parted the damp furs that he had held so close to his body despite the chill they brought with them.

When he did, a wet but otherwise unremarkable wolf pelt fell to the floor. Anna gasped in shock at the sight.

"You say that both Gregor Zolnik and the Black Wolf are dead, the two greatest terrors for Vorostokov done away within the same week. My heart should leap with joy, but... that wolf pelt... Mikhail my love what have you done to yourself?" She insisted, her previously breathless tone of speech now slowed to a timid stutter.

"Would but that I could put your fears to rest, when in truth all I can do is confirm them. The pelt is no more and no less than what you think it to be." Mikhail admitted gravely.

Anna gasped in horror at his admission.

"You've met with a terrible fate, haven't you? " She whispered.

The hunter nodded in unflinching agreement.

"You must understand Anna, it is not simple chance that the death of my father and the death of the Black Wolf take place so close together. It happened because they were one in the same.

Would that I was stronger, but in the end I made the exact same bargain he did, to make a wolf of myself to protect all who were dear to me." Mikhail explained.

Then he slowly bent down and picked up the wolf pelt as if he could not bear to see it left simply laying upon the ground.

"Anna, it is a glorious and terrible thing, too glorious for me to turn away from on my own, I am too weak. It must be you, it must be you who burns this pelt..." He pleaded with her.

Anna took the pelt from Mikhail's trembling hands. In her fingers it felt no different than any other animal skin she'd handled before.

She looked towards the crackling fire.

She made her decision.

She pushed past Mikhail and then laid the wolf pelt lovingly upon the fireplace's mantel.

"One does not make a dog out of a wolf by trying to chase it away or ignoring it. It must be invited in out of the cold, it must be accepted. If this is who you truly are Mikhail Zolnik... then I will find way to accept it.

We will leave your pelt here so that I will always know when you have need of it." She informed him.

There was silence and stillness in the small house, and then Mikhail took Anna up in her arms and gave her an almost bone crushing hug alongside a kiss so deep it might have slain a less stouthearted woman.

XXX XXX XXX

A kiss (even one like Mikhail's) is a tiny thing, but very big things only happen because very tiny ones take place first.

In the wake of Mikhail's kiss tiny tremors started throughout Vorostokov.

They rumbled together in harmony, gaining strength from ones another's resonance, accomplishing together what none of them could have alone. They ebbed and flowed in strength, their power increasing with each passing moment.

The land of Vorostokov for all it was used to the horrors of winter was not very familiar with earthquakes. Yet earthquakes came now, unleashing a fury that would not soon be forgotten.

They shook the snow covered mountains that had ringed the land for a generation into nothing more than a fine white powder. Yet strangely despite the incredible changes they would wreak upon the local geography, in their wake no one would ever be able to find even a single person who had been hurt by them.

Peaks that had seemed to unassailable were laid low in moments while simple wooden homes were left untouched. Such was the fickle nature of the gods, for what other explanation could their be? As the earthquakes abated a great rolling cloud of mist descended down upon all of Vorostokov... Mist that was all too familiar to some of the land's occupants.

XXX XXX XXX

As the shakes began to die away six adventurers raced forward with everything they had, knowing that things were about to change very drastically very soon.

A sudden gust of warm air announced the fact that they had just crossed the boarder of Vorostokov. Even so they had almost been too slow for the mists surged forward in a great rolling tide and moments later the boundary between one nations was nothing but a rolling fog bank.

Then it cleared slightly, enough for them to see what was on the other side at least. It wasn't Vorostokov, wherever they were looking at it wasn't winter, and they were no longer alone either.

Alexander and his companions found themselves looking at a group of seven people who were gazing intently back at them. Their leader seemed to be a 'man' with reddish brown hair. He was dressed in carefully crafted leather armor, and had a bow slung over his shoulder. Over his shoulder's was slung a brown cloak, but with its hood pulled back it was possible to see that his ears were slightly pointed, though not to the same extent as Devi's.

At his side was a man taller than Alexander (and far more visibly muscular) who looked like he must have bench pressed farm animals for fun growing up. At the massively muscled man's side was a thin man with a pale blue eyes who half leaned upon his staff, half upon his larger companion.

There was black haired woman dressed in a fashion every bit as masculine as Mirri's, though she favored battle ready armor as opposed to the vampire's more casual attire.

There was what could only be a very young elf judging from his diminutive size and pointed ears. He was holding a strange combination of staff and sling, and his brown eyes were open as wide as they could get while he gazed out at the six adventurers from the lands of the Mists.

So great was his interest (or his lack of sense) that he might have plunged head first towards the group were it not for the fact that a black bearded dwarf was keeping a very firm hand on the young elf's collar. Much in the same manner that Cal had a steady hand upon James', lest the werecat discover just how literal the old saying about what curiosity did to those of a feline persuasion could be.

Finally there was a black haired man dressed in thick and obviously well cared for (if equally well used) platemail with an emblem of a rose engraved upon it. His chin was clean shaven but he had a mustache that any man from Nova Vaasa would have been proud to call his own.

The "elven" leader of the group shouted something.

Despite the fact that the group spoke nearly every language of the Core, the words that reached their ears as complete gibberish, either because of some trick of the strange boarder between them, or because it had been a brand new language to start with.

"WHAT WAS THAT?" Alexander shouted back, but in turn his cry brought only consternation to the other group's faces.

Either way, when it was clear that no words could be exchanged between the two groups someone decided to make do without them.

The heavily armored man kissed the hilt of his blade and then raised it upwards in an unmistakeable salute. Alexander kissed the hilt of Wolf Claw and raised it in turn, matching the man's gesture of respect like for like.

Then the mists surged again and there was no sign of the other group, or anything at all, just an unbroken wall of white mist.

"Who were they?" James asked as his hat shook back and forth from the twitching of the ears it rested upon.

"Adventurers. Same as us. Probably from whatever word Vorostokov ended up getting sent to." The silver hair man explained.

"Wonder if they have darklords over there..." Cal pondered as he looked askance a the wall of mist, as if considering letting go of James and joining him in chancing it, even though it was clear whatever temporary bridge had existed between worlds was now surely sundered.

"Probably not. Folks probably have it easier over there. Shame they couldn't stay long or speak the language." Alexander admitted.

Cal turned his gaze away from the wall of mist to focus on his commander.

"Boss, if they don't have to worry about having some darklord come down on them on them like a ton of bricks wherever they go, why exactly didn't we try to join them again?" Cal demanded rather irritably.

Now it was Alexander's turn to wrap an arm around the alchemist, half in a show of companionship, half to keep him from making a break for it.

"Because I'd be willing to wager that this world needs us a lot more than that one does." The silver haired man answered with great conviction.

Cal hung his head and looked down at the ground.

"You know one of these days I'd love to visit some place that wanted rather than needed me." He muttered bitterly.

James meanwhile was gazing out towards the mists though they revealed no more glimpses of distant lands and the bizarre people who lived there.

"Wonder if they have werecats over there on that side?" He pondered.

"Or vampires for that matter." Mirri noted as she took over Cal's task of restraining James, though she did it primarily by running her hands tenderly through his hair and caressing his ears.

"I rather liked the look of that black haired lass, seemed to know her business. I won't be surprised if she goes far in her world." Mirri reflected.

"If you want to find out that badly, why don't you try writing them a letter and tossing it into the mists?" Devi offered just a touch sardonically.

Almost instantly James began to rummage about in his outfit for a small ink bottle, quill pen and piece of parchment.

"Nah, there's no way that'd work. Though I do know someone I should be writing a letter to!" He declared proudly.

XXX XXX XXX

Dear Dame Renier

This week I learned what horrible things happen when people don't trust each other. I saw what lack of trust did to the entire realm of Vorostokov (don't worry if you haven't heard of it I don't think its even part of our world any more, long story wait for my next letter). First Gregor Zolnik felt that he couldn't trust the members of his village with his secret, then he couldn't trust his first wife with it either. That lead to her not trusting him, and him killing her! They brought the blizzard to their homeland by not trusting each other! It's a good thing we came along and finally managed to bring spring with us. At the end of the day, no matter what our differences, we're all demi-humans.

PS: It just goes to show that if you don't trust someone, then you don't have any right to expect them to trust you! That's why I'm so glad to know I can trust you with any secret and I don't have to worry about trying to hide the truth from you. Life is so much simpler when you just tell the truth!

PSS: I promise I'll never complain about our winters again. If that's the kind of weather my maternal ancestors had to put up with no wonder they decided to move someplace warmer!

PSSS: Before Gregor died we snuck into his home and Mirri managed to shovel some of his stuff into Devi's bag of holding and Alex is making her share it equally with all of us. I of course originally planned to give my share of the stuff back to Mikhail Zolnik who is a really nice werewolf, since they're his family's relics and all that. It's just that the entire "doesn't exist in our reality any more" thing kind of gets in the way of that plan. So as soon as I find a trustworthy courier you can expect another shipment from me. Maybe you can start building a museum just for the stuff I've sent you? Cal it the Longhair exhibit! No wait, that would let people know I helped make it, just call it... hmm... I'm not really sure. I hope you're better at naming things than I am, that's part of being a the Grande Dame isn't it?

Your Faithful Servant

Longhair.

End Book.
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