A world of warm fluff folds all around me, cradling me and comforting my cold, tired bones. I feel myself smile, yawn, and beg for just five more minutes before the sun comes up…
Then, as I nuzzle into the soothing warmth of the fur I’m surrounded by, I open my eyes to see the amber slits of a predator staring at me.
AHHHH!
[Doggie Dash]
LVL 2 effects: Improved distance (70ft)
I zip round the room as the snarling creature of hair and teeth tries to bite at me, fails, and becomes angrier by the second. Without even looking I roll beneath the beast’s feet and aim for the dark tunnel that stretches out from this small cave dwelling I seem to be trapped in. Flying through the cave like a bullet, dodging the rending claws of my tormentor, I finally make it to the mouth of the cave and –
URGH!
I fall back, my energy depleted, having crashed into a familiar form…
Yes…it’s coming back to me…he’s – he’s – Witherfang! The old wolf with the scarred face.
And behind me, desperately trying to restrain herself from feasting on my innards is-
“LOOK – Don’t you DARE think this meant anything! I swaddled you under the orders of the Elder, that – that’s ALL! You hear me?”
“Peace, Snappingjaw,” Witherfang says to the flustered wolf.
And now my eyes saw the truth – she was flustered. She was frustrated. She was…embarrassed?
About what?
With an indignant HMPF! snorted in my face she merely walks off and leaves me alone with the great old wolf.
“Do not pay her threats any heed,” he says as I adjust myself to an upright position, balancing on my butt-cushion. “She does her duty, even if she seems to despise it.”
I shake my head of the water spilling from above – this little cave must be deeper in their mountain dwelling. Damp stalactites glisten above me, sparkling in the darkness, and it all starts coming back – the goblins, the plants, my own name…
Current [Main Quest]: FINISH THE-
Ok! I get it! I get it.
Witherfang drops down beside me, his haunches low and body soft to the touch.
“How are you feeling?”
“Meh. I’ve been better,” I bark in response. “And it’s a little cold in here. But at least I’m outta that cage. Anything’s better than being food for those hungry little green men.”
Witherfang’s sharp teeth shine as he smiles.
“You are thinking positive. This is good.”
I lick my paw to clean a splinter from my pads, becoming lost in thought.
“Don’t get me wrong,” I say. “I’m resisting the urge to scream at the top of my lungs and sprint from this place with all my might. But I think you would probably stop me.”
Witherfang sighs. “You would be right.”
“Why?”
He looks at me with old, tired eyes, but eyes that are still filled with the fires of purpose.
“Because you are not as you once were,” he says with conviction. “You have become something more – something miraculous. And, right now, that’s exactly what our world needs.”
I fall back onto my side, literally collapsing under the weight of his statement.
“Because I can wag my tail, bark at trees, and run away really fast?” I reply with an anxious chuckle. “Not exactly the most heroic qualities.”
He comes to eye me seriously again, looking down at me with severe gravitas. I give a little inadvertent gulp.
“You do yourself a disservice,” he says. “You – a mere pup – defeated five greenskin warriors in combat, using your wits as well as your brawns. You fought using your surroundings and turned what meagre resources you had into ammunition against your foes. These traits are the marks of one who can right this world. And, most importantly,” he adds gravely. “You destroyed a Seeded One, and showed the minions of the Darkseed that you were not afraid.”
I listen to this whole spiel with one ear closed, the other one flapping around, taking in bits and pieces, but focused, truthfully, one one thing.
Stolen novel; please report.
“Hey, I’m not a ‘mere pup’!” I correct the old one. "I’m seven years old don’tcha know? I’m practically a full grown hound!”
The Elder blinks at me. “Truly? This is the extent of your kind’s growth?”
“YES!”
He muses on this. “Then what the Goddess says rings true: great power does come in small packages.”
I sigh. “You religious types have a proverb for everything, huh?”
He smiles down at me, and gently prods me to my feet.
“Come,” he says softly. “Walk with me to our water hole. Let us share a drink amidst the company of fellow warriors.”
Having nothing better to do, and nowhere to go, I do as he asks, sticking close lest the big bitch (real designation – NOT an insult) tries to rip my guts out again.
Their den is a series of narrow passageways that I’m certain I couldn’t navigate on my own. I realize now that any chance of escape would have been pointless – if the darkness didn’t confuse me enough, the winding passageways of their cave-home would have left me blundering around like an old blind bird.
Witherfang had proven his intelligence. He had been right when he said he wouldn’t have needed to stop me. His home would have done that all on his own.
And I start to wonder: would not he have been a better choice to carry this dumb collar of ‘hero’?
As we walk we pass by the invalid members of his tribe. I don’t see the girl or the energetic one – Swiftrunner – anywhere. All I see, crying out in the darkness of their individual dens, are the sickly pale forms of starving wolves shivering. I see mothers struggling to feed their pups on their dried up teats. I see young ones with shaky stances trying to take their first steps and failing, skittering about on their frail, small legs.
To see such a proud species like this doesn’t bare thinking about. These are not the wolves I know. These are not the free runners of the forests and mountains.
“What’s happened to you all?” I ask dumbly, looking upon all their sad, withered forms.
“The Darkseed”, Witherfang answers, gravely. “Once we ran as packs in the forests and hunted as befits our nature. We survived on our guile and our tenacity alone, as our kind have done for centuries. But when the Darkseed came, it ruined us. As it will soon ruin the rest of our world.”
When we reach what Witherfang calls ‘The watering hole’ I stop, dumbstruck. Their tiny reservoir was barely even five meters wide in diameter, and only a foot deep. It was a shallow, sorry excuse for a pond, and yet each member of the tribe queued up dutifully to take their meagre licks or bathe their pups.
I look cautiously to Witherfang, who regards the scene with the solemn air of a leader who knows his people are dying.
“Go on,” he says. “Drink.”
I look around again at the dejected faces of the wolves, huddling together for warmth, their eyes sunken with despair as they wait for their turn at the hole.
And through parched lips I say, “You guys need it more than I do. It wouldn’t be fair.”
He regards me with severity. “It is our wish to provide for the hero when he comes. That is you. You must be strong for the trials ahead.”
One of the saddest looking wolves noses me gently, their face ashen and drooping, covered in wooden splinters. Through coughs that force it to belch a cloud of dust, he nods towards the water.
“You’re giving up your turn for me?”
He nods, and a tiny smile breaks across his face.
How the hell can I refuse now?
I lap up the water slowly, savoring the taste, using it to wash down the putrid remains of goblin blood that still fester on my tongue. It’s purity was surprising, and as the waters of Witherfang’s clan it filled my belly, I was suddenly overcome once again by the same feeling of weightlessness I had felt down there, just before I emerged from my prison:
-You have earned the title: Friend of Clan Jagged-Tooth-
-You gain the following [Core Skills]:
[Lycan Eye]
Effect:
I stagger back from the pond, overcome with another onset of what felt like the worst migraine in existence, centered on the bridge between my eyes. I close them as it feels like a fleshy worm is flailing between them, trying to push itself out my head, and after a wince of agony I open my eyes to see – well – everything.
The dreary dark of the cave is gone, and I can see them all, now: the wolves of clan Jagged-Tooth gathered around the watering hole to watch me drink, murmuring amongst themselves, staring with total fascination.
As each of their faces come clearly into my vision, what once was merely shadow is now bathed in light. I see not only their despair, but the hope in their faces.
Hope…for me.
“In the oldest tales of our Clan it is said,” Witherfang says, stalking towards me. “That when the world teeters on the brink of doom, and the seed of evil returns, there will be one who shall stand against it. On the eve of the Greycloak’s greatest defeat, a tiny champion will emerge, and when that champion drinks from the ancestral water hole, he shall be one with the Clan, and speak for its people.”
I watch them all – even the sickest ones among them – incline their heads in a bow.
Again – to me. A Corgi with a dumb, lolling tongue and a pasty-white butt that won’t quit.
“You,” Witherfang says. “You taste of the waters, and it gives you sight. You see us, and our plight. I ask you, Corgi who cannot call himself a hero: can you now deny your duty?”
I blink at him.
“What duty?”
He stares back, unmoving.
“You must destroy it,” he says. “You must slay the Darkseed before it corrupts this entire world.”
I back off until I almost fall back into their shallow water hole. Then, I suddenly make the stomach-churning realization that this is what it’s all about.
Current [Main Quest]: FINISH THE FIGHT
Details: The Darkseed has risen. And the call of the Grey must be answered
That’s what this ‘FINISH THE FIGHT’ thing is, isn’t it? They want me to slay some monster, some demon, some god-forsaken world-ending apocalyptic thing of evil.
That’s what their damned ‘hero’ is to them. Nothing but a bloody assassin!
“I just have one question”, I say steadily, sitting calmly, closing my eyes, and assuming the most meditative posture a Corgi can maintain.
“Ask it, Lightborn”, Witherfang says.
And before the whole sorry congregation, I open my eyes and bark madly at them:
“HAVE YOU ALL LOST YOUR GODDAMN MINDS!?”
They cock their heads at me – becoming a collective conglomeration of canine confusion.
“I don’t know if you’ve ever met a Corgi before,” I shout, jumping around wildly, my little fluffy tail whipping up a storm. “We’re made for rolling around and looking cute as heck. That’s it! No fighting. No heroics. No ancient prophecy mumbo-jumbo. Just. Being. CUTE! You get it? AND I HAVEN’T HAD A SINGLE HEADPAT OR BELLY RUB IN...EVER!..I think.”
Witherfang knits his ancient brows in confusion.
“Head…pat?”
“OH, COME ON!”
I am about to press my case when my body gives a start of its own accord. I bolt up, nose in the air, and smell the thick, musky scent of danger approaching.
[Snoop]
LVL 2: Enemy perception distance increased (150ft)
I can see them. Out there. Through the walls of the cave. More zombified goblins. A whole pack stalking towards this den with malice in their bark-covered hearts.
With the intent to kill.
“They’re…” I murmur.
And only then do we hear the screams.
“They’re here,” Witherfang says simply. Then, throwing his head to the ceiling, his glorious mane flying with him, he gives a command that sends all the able-bodied wolves into a frenzy:
“Brothers and Sisters: TO BATTLE!”