The Malignant-the spawns of the unholiest union of Lilith, first wife of Adam, and Kaen, first son of Adam; they are the foremost of the Mayaken, the marked peoples of Kaen the forsaken, and they are the deadliest too for they lead the hosts of Kaen to wage war on the human world. Three sons did the Mother of Sin bear to the father of murder, in the peculiar method of the Mayaken. One of them Mordrael, was known as a child of one of the ageless ones and considered a Nephilim by humanity- as a son of Murs-Malael the teacher of all magicks, he was revered by humanity for his great powers of sorcery before he was taken under, to the dark world of the Mayaken, by Lilith. Cruel Malivaeus, another of the Malignant, was a rival king to Kaen at the birth of cities; having lost a terrible war to Kaen and the Mayaken, with the aid of Lilith, he was cursed with the features of a bat, the creature his fledgling race had held sacred and offered sacrifice, in a more depraved and dark version of the ceremony wherein Anubis and his colleagues where made the guardians of Ægyps. And Meophust the Anakim, was a great ruler among a dying race at the time of the birth of cities, the race of giants- they waged a war of bloodiest attrition against the hosts of men but were overwhelmed eventually for Kaen, in honoring the ancient enmity of his former existence, had sided with man against the Anaks, supporting from the shadows and the hours of night. Meophust was bound by Lilith’s darkest and most powerful enchantments, for the minds of the Anaks were older and more difficult than the minds of men, and the great King of Jotunheim walked with and ahead of the Mayaken forevermore.
The Great Hall
SkollWodin Keep (Skollvurn Forest)
The great towering wolf-man seemed to be smiling to Rollo; while many in the crowds had turned and fled once the bells clanged, Rollo had remained seated, almost spellbound by the transformation that occurred before the assembled host. Many around them had boiled with panic and erupted with their emotions in charge, but Rollo who had spent the best part of the night standing before the dais and staring at the great marble statue of the half-man, half-wolf, was more intrigued by the convulsing Viscount than repulsed; Rowalder had been horrified and anxious for his son, but though he had stood in the initial surge, he stood behind Rollo through the horror, a hand on his son’s shoulder. He only realized later that he had fought his innermost instincts with everything he had, not to flee and leave his only son behind in the madness of the hall that midnight- his mind had resounded with admonishments against the risk of standing down a wild animal, one he had not seen yet but could have sworn was of enormous proportions; yet he stood by Rollo with eyeballs shrunken to points to signify the height of his terror.
The youth Rollo could not explain his excitement either; cold sweats dripped down his forehead and down his neck, wetting his back with tingly fingers of chill. On close examination, his fingers and the rest of him trembled ever so slightly, shivering like he was amidst the chill of a harsh winter night. But his inner curiosity had completely taken over his psyche; the world seemed to move slower and the hall around him seemed extra focused to him as he saw clearer and breathed purer in the adrenaline coursing through his veins. The slight hint of danger, mixed with the chaos and frantic emotions of others around him, fuelled his desire to experience and be a part of whatever secrets the tri-fortresses held and protected within their long stone walls and battlements. Unknown to the young boy, a small smile was pulling across his features- he looked around for the briefest of moments and caught eyes with Hilda, the yellow-haired northern girl he had met at the gates earlier in the evening. Hilda was seated a little down the table and across from him, and she too bore a wide smile across her face; she was seated, cross-legged on the actual table itself, wide as two great beds as it was, and her hands rested on her feet. She swayed lightly back and forth and seemed more than most to be enjoying the outcome of events that night in the great hall. Her grey-haired father sat on the table beside her, behind her more like to Rollo’s perspective, but his eyes were closed and he looked to be dozing in the commotion as his head bobbed and jerked suddenly from time to time, but his lips in motion, looking like he was whispering some self-reassuring mantra, belied his supposed sleep-state. As Hilda caught Rollo’s eyes in her direction, her smile widened to display little white teeth and the impression of barely suppressed mirth she carried swelled stronger in the mind of the lad. Then they were both looking back at the stepped-dais where Katwulf still stood unflinching and immobile as a tree, and where now a great big yellow eye stared out from what used to be the Viscount’s skull. Then there was the deep howl... and the world stopped ever so shortly.
**
Odo Radagastius stood before the great hall in wolf form, heaving slightly from the exertions on his body during the quickening of his transformation. As their lord and superior, he still had mental and traditional sway over every creature in the great space, but more importantly in his current mode, that authority surpassed all they could ever imagine a territorial lord having over his subjects. So now the Viscount simply thought of a command to be still, an easy enough command and one as mundane as anything a parent may say to their child. His howl earlier once he had achieved Therian-Forma had been infused with a command for every panicking villager to stop at once and behold their lord. Even those broken utterly by their fear, babbling in fright as they stumbled to safety, had stopped at once, against their brain’s most urgent wishes, and turned back to behold the creature on the dais. Now as Radagastius thought of the command ‘be still’ he growled a long, slow growl to fill the nooks and corners of the great hall; even the ants and spiders on their webs and with their various burdens stopped in their tracks and moved more. The villagers seemed spellbound, scattered across the hall as they were now, as all stood his ground, immovable like a part of the fortifications and almost lifeless but for the bulging eyes that fought against the greatest mental strains and a primal command that seemed to issue from the very air itself.
“The Fidelity Oath has not begun yet” growled the Viscount, in a more baleful, gravely version of his former rich voice. At this, some of the weaker minds in the hall collapsed as their eyes rolled into their heads from too much mental strain- some foamed at the mouth, convulsing slightly as they slipped into the dark embrace of unconsciousness. There were gasps of shock and pure unfiltered awe shone on the faces of many; a delighted giggle escaped from the crowd of those who had managed to remain more or less at their spot on the table, and Radagastius pinned out the laughter as belonging to a little girl with the brightest yellow hair, who was curiously seated on the great table- she seemed a lot older than she looked, he thought to himself quickly. Then he turned on his hind legs and stalked back up the steps back towards the high seat of his office. When he was leveled on the dais, with his back turned to the hall, he continued his speech.
“The Theriantophals were indeed birthed by Anubis Anhekis and that demigod was also responsible for the creation of my great sire Odo Fenrir in the likeness which you all see looming over you” he pointed a hairy, pawed limb armed with lengthy, curve claws in a sweeping gesture towards the Lycanthropy statue. “In the likeness which you, who are all now still conscious, also see me.” He paused then, as the shock ran through the groggy minds of the awestruck villagers. The fact that an animal was speaking slipped unnoticed among the abounding fantasy of the moment they all now shared. Towering over the wooden chair which had shaded and couched his form previously, Radagastius was now a wolf of immense proportions, even if imagined on all fours as should have been the natural posture. His claws were easily the length of a youth’s palm, each; the black armor added more bulk to the mountainous form though the wolf hung his head low between his shoulders. Several mouths in the crowd had not been shut for minutes on end, and the looks of deepest confusion were acquiring greater uniformity.
“Odo Fenrir is not the first Therian, but we Lycans have scouted and stood watch over the woods of Skoll for over two and a half centuries and our history is a deep and rich one. Think us not an abomination or adverse mutation, an abhorrent stain on the face of the earth; for we have an ancient mission to accomplish, an ancient charge to protect from the deadliest foe- which now renews its efforts at penetrating our humble forest groves and wooded paths. And they do not come for just our land or treasure, but our very souls- for these foes have no pleasures in daylight frolics and displays of opulence, but in simple death, destruction as a perversion.”
As the Viscount spoke, Katwulf quit his position just below the dais- he had stood so for over two hours, and had maintained the general position since he led the entrance into the great hall and towards the formal introductions. He now advanced up the steps, lithe and graceful like a stalking predator, approaching the great wolf-man from behind. Now and then, here and there about his body as he walked would wink miniscule red lights like fireflies and soon a reddish, ochre mist seemed to surround the commander, till he stood just behind the lord Radagastius, like a red flair on the great bushy, swaying tail. A sudden dull bright flash, and behind the great wolf now stood a commander-Katwulf-sized red Fox with a great bright and bushy tail that outshone the wolf’s and reached the standing fox’s neckline. At this sight, more in the crowd dropped to stone floor in convulsions, foaming at the mouth- the fox-headed man turned and chuckled audibly at the sight of so many succumbing to mental fatigue. Someone in the crowd whispered “Master Special-Fox!” audibly enough, and then came a giggle. Radagastius thought he knew just which freedwoman or lass had just said that; Katwulf, in his half-turned stance actually looked Hilda in the eye for the briefest of moments.
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Then the great towering wolf turned and looked towards Katwulf, who now stood in front of his lord, a man-sized fox, standing on lengthy hind-legs just like the wolf-man before him; they clasped hands or paws as it were. Then, both looking towards the towering statue of Odo Fenrir, Radagastius continued solemnly
“In the presence of Anubis Anhekis, ‘DemiDeo’” and suddenly, the soldiers and the officers, on both adjoining tables chorused “God of the Therians”. Radagastius continued “And with sanction from the Imprinted Witnesses, Odo Fenrir, ‘Lycanus Maximus’” and the troops chorused “The Greatest Lycan” “Orion the ‘Avian Ursus’” and there was echoed “The Great Sky Bear” “And Lupus Lycanus the “Canis Rex” and once more the hall resounded with “the Wolf King”. “I Odo Radagastius, fourth Count of the Lowlands by lineage, third Viscount of the Lower reaches and the Skollvurn Forest vales by might of arms, thus hereby entrust all civilian freedmen and women, lad and lass present herein, whether conscious or under, with all senses or lacking some and all, in truest truth and ablest spirit, the knowledge of the Theriantophals and their existence in antipathy to the Mayaken and their breed. Here today, in the great hallways of the Keep of SkollWodin, you are all hereby inducted and re-celebrated in the secrecy of the Therians, and with acceptance of this Oath may be bound in bonds of mutual Fidelity and brotherhood: what is precious to one is precious to the other, one’s treasures are the other’s, one’s secrets will be held by the other, and one’s life must be protected by the other at all costs. Accept the Oath of the Therians under the guardianship of the knights of the Skollvurn Forest and rise as vassals of Odo Fenrir, Lycanus Maximus.” And then the officers first, then the soldiers following afterwards all testified “I accept the Oath!” in one hearty sound, like one great mass. And silence.
The villagers, those of them still in their senses enough to comprehend when they were spoken to, stammered and stared, starting to look for all the world like they had just awoken from the deepest trance. They looked from soldiers to officers, then looked between themselves, like the words they sought flittered around them like tiny mites. Almost a minute passed in this near awkward silence, till the white haired officer Bredda spoke aloud, looking in the direction of a young lad who had slowly climbed onto the tabletop perhaps the better to be noticed. The boy had his right hand hoisted into the air, fingers wiggling.
“Speak your question, lad.” The commander’s voice had drawn the eyes of the Viscount and Katwulf back on the quiet crowd of villagers- now Radagastius saw a lad with low cut sandy colored hair and bright blue eyes. Behind the lad, and on the stone floor stood a broad shouldered and tall man who had the same sandy colored hair but with great blonde streaks running through the length of his shoulder-length hair; this man looked like the god of anxiety, and there could not be more nervousness displayed on a human face. But the way the man stood, solidly and unshaking, belied an inner fortitude which could weather the greatest calamities and still come out laughing and light-hearted. The boy displayed such fortitude, mixed with innocence in his young eyes, as he now looked to the two on the dais for answers. He had regarded commander Bredda with a quick look and a respectful bow of the head; he was also very conscious of his Da behind him and his fast swinging hands, which he always tried hard to avoid.
“May we all be made into wolves and foxes like you two?” Rollo spoke slowly and haltingly, he had never been mid-center of such a crowd before, but he took relief in the fact that their little gathering was not even complete yet; Gwoenfer and Anslem, as well as many other families where still on the way to the keep, escorted by soldiers most likely. Behind him, as he spoke, he first felt the lull of quiet as his Da stopped breathing for a moment, then exhaled quietly before whispering “Your name Rollo, tell them your name first.”
“Erm, my name is Rollo Rowaldson” he intoned quickly, feeling slightly embarrassed with a hand on his short hair, rubbing.
For a moment, villagers in the crowd looked at Rollo as the light of his question soaked into their lethargic minds, then they looked between the Viscount and the young lad, willing without speaking it, an answer to the youth’s question as they now felt it concerned all of them. And Radagastius observed the youth Rollo for a moment longer; then he stepped forward a little, centering himself on the dais.
“That is a matter for another night, an entirely different Oath in a different ceremony. Quite perceptive, young lad! Thank you for your question. Now if you would please answer mine?”
Rollo blinked for a minute, and without understanding why or what inspired the action, he looked back at the yellow-haired Hilda, as if for ascent, when really that should have been his Da assenting. She smiled less, but beamed with an inner happiness or was it humor, and in the tiniest of nods, she indicated to her new friend her answer. He sighed, then turned and without looking at his Da for confirmation, he answered. And as he did, Hilda did two, seconding his voice and opinion in a melodious chorus of two.
“I accept the Oath!” said young Rollo and Hilda simultaneously, to the stunned amazement of many villagers, most of all Rowalder, who now looked like he might lose consciousness from this turn of events. The man with blonde streaks actually spluttered, and looking subdued, he sighed loudly before chuckling lightly. The grey haired man, Hilda’s father, still had his eyes closed but he whispered and tottered no more. And eyes closed, he roared much to the shock of many villagers and the renewed mirth of Hilda “I accept the Oath too!” Then Rowalder actually laughed openly; he rubbed a hand over his face in tired expression. Then he walked well into the wide aisle between tables, which was dotted here and there with former runaways standing agape and collapsed bodies, sprawled carelessly. He cleared his throat and putting a hand on his son Rollo’s shoulder again, he began speaking.
“If the protection and security of the villages and their people is the primary concern of the castles and their keepers, and if the ownership and tranquility of our forest are at this moment being threatened by outside forces we know nothing of, but which you soldier are very aware of, then it follows that acceptance of the oath is in our very own interests. For our families back in the vales and for ourselves here; to make meaning of the summons and the journey here, it is rational to accept the Oath, so that together this battle can be completed with the greater chances of success and we may all be quickly restored to our former lives and activities. We have lived beneath the castles and their shadows for generations, enjoying a serene peace and little contact with strangers, especially of hostile intent. But the world is large and populous, and conflict is only to be expected. Men and women of Skollvurn forest, this is a time to be courageous and honorable. I say we stand with our defenders and accomplish an historic feat. Here I ask you all to do the same, as I myself accept the Oath!” At this there was loud cheering from the soldier table, and some of the officers clapped hands and cheered congratulations, as slowly but surely the villagers began to raise their arms and proclaim acceptance of the Viscount’s Oath of Fidelity to the secrets of the tri-fortresses. And shortly there was much cheering and clapping in the hall, as Rowalder picked up and hugged his son Rollo in a huge embrace; many in the crowd who were acquainted also showed physical displays of affection, because of the relief and release of the moment. Many wondrous things had happened, and a talking wolf and fox still stood at the head of the hall; many ponderous things had been said and not everything was to be understood with immediacy, but there was a sense of filial belonging and camaraderie now at sway in the hall and it soother many anxious and confused souls present.
But the merriment and light-hearts were not last; outside the great gates of SkollWodin could be heard opening once more, and there was much shouting and hollering out in the grounds. Many footfalls could be heard approaching the great hall and the trampling of horses hooves added to the cacophony. It seemed like the night had awoken and the aforementioned battled had commenced while they talked and idled in the great hall. Just as panic began to make a re-entry onto the recently calm and merry scene, the great doors into the hall burst open as soldiers carried in litters with bloody bodies on them; carts were pulled in too, containing more casualties. Curiously, none of the wounded sported any armor, chainmail or other protective clothing, immediately identifying them as civilian villagers, perhaps those on their way to the summons of their lord. This was the disaster Radagastius had feared and hoped to intercept by venturing into the field himself; now the lord of SkollWodin quietly cursed propriety and ceremony- lives could have been saved while they talked and invoked memories. And shortly the hall was in commotion as neighbors and friends recognized each other, ran to the aid of the injured and bloody, and the war seemed to have arrived before time at SkollWodin.
Just then, Rollo noticed little Anslem standing by his own next to a litter; before he could point, he felt the air shift as his Da rushed towards the spot down the hall in the vast space between the tables and the doors into the great hall. Many carts and litters jumbled the movement in the space and there was greater confusion among the villagers now than at the transformation of the Viscount; finally they reached Anslem who was soaked in blood but appeared otherwise uninjured. Rowalder knelt next to the youth and pulled him into a hug, but Anslem’s eyes were unfocused and continued to stare. Then Rowalder and Rollo looked upon the litter and beheld a ghastly sight; the tanner Hamish lay dead on the litter, his neck a bloody and grizzled hole which still leaked blood in slow rivulets. His jaw and beard, as low as his hips were stained in the darkest blood, so he almost seemed clothed in black. Anslem had been whispering over and over to himself. Rowalder asked him, as Rollo found tears begin to stream down his features
“Where is Gwoenfer my boy? Where is your sister?” He had to shake the young boy severally before Anslem could focus on the face of those who accosted him in his grief. But he repeated the same mantra he had been saying, the only one his pain and horror-addled brain could construct.
“He took her…He took my sister. He took her…He took my sister.” Over and over, the young boy repeated this phrase, and sorrow and loss ran rampant in the halls of Odo Radagastius of SkollWodin.