“I really appreciate this,” Demy says as he tests the restraints currently set up against the back wall of the Moonpeak Inn’s cellar: Heavy iron chains ending in manacles, embedded into the natural, solid stone wall that serves as the foundation of the building.
“It’s not often I get to help a comrade in this place, let alone one who has become something of a local hero,” Semyon says as he leans against one of the nearby large wooden barrels that holds the tavern’s ale supply. The chains being embedded into the stone are thanks to the Dark Elf, who Demy was pleasantly surprised to learn is proficient with magic.
Upon asking Semyon where he learned such spells, the fellow Phyleran had simply ignored the question and changed the subject.
Demy respected this, knowing that some secrets are best left alone.
“I’m no hero,” Demy scoffs, letting the chains go now that he is satisfied with their security. Not that the inspection is needed, as they have functioned just fine on the previous nights. Logic, however, means nothing to the gnawing uncertainty that is anxiety.
“Your humility would be inspiring were it not rooted in self-loathing,” Semyon remarks.
“Ohh, burn!” Cashew whistles, sitting on top of a nearby provisions barrel, kicking his feet in (although he wouldn’t admit to it) similar anxiety felt for his worrisome friend.
“Y’know, I really don’t need both of you giving me shit,” Demy grumbles.
“Considering how close you are to your friend Cashew here, I assumed that you found the stern teasing to be endearing,” Semyon says with a smirk.
Demy growls under his breath and makes his way over to the cask of ale to pour himself a pint. Semyon watches, but allows him to do so.
“He’s always a little grumpier on days like these,” Cashew says softly so that only Semyon can hear, also watching Demy.
“I cannot blame him,” Semyon responds, keeping his voice low.
“Hey, thanks for not freaking out about–you know. Having a safe place he can count on means a lot,” Cashew adds, locking eyes with Semyon.
“He is lucky that I have known those like him. Many of our compatriots would not be so understanding,” Semyon explains.
Demy walks back over to the two, taking a long draught from his tankard before reluctantly admitting, “It’s almost time, I can already feel it. Cash, would you go get the others?”
“You’re certain about telling them?” Semyon asks, sensing the reluctance in Demy.
“No choice, really. We’re going to be on the expedition for who knows how long and they need to know,” Demy says, already downing the remainder of his ale. He wipes his mouth before adding, “Besides, they’re all… they’re good folk. No matter how they take it, they deserve to know.”
“We’re pretty sure a couple of them already know, or at least suspect it, anyways,” Cashew adds.
Semyon nods, but says nothing. A few moments of anxious silence linger between the three until Demy can’t take it anymore.
“I’m getting some more ale,” he mutters before walking off toward the cask once again.
Cashew sighs and hops off the barrel. “Guess it’s now or never,” he says to Semyon as the two make their way toward the steps that lead up into the kitchen area.
“You know, my father had a phrase he liked to use for situations like this,” Semyon says, cracking a smile.
“Oh yeah?” Cashew asks, raising an eyebrow.
Semyon mutters to himself in Phyleran, finally coming to an adequate translation in his mind before speaking in the common tongue, “In life there is often but one choice: Shit or bust.”
Cashew snorts, completely caught off guard. “‘Shit or bust!’” He repeats loudly, cackling as the two reach the top of the stairs. “I’m stealing that.”
It is Shellan 15th.
The night when the largest moon, Corvega, will loom full overhead.
~~~~~~~~~~
“I’ve never had a ‘meeting’ before this last month. Now they happen all the time,” Dahlia muses as the group of five shuffle through the kitchen of the Moonpeak Inn, heading toward the entrance to the cellar.
“Lucky you. Kaz loves meetings,” Wren complains quietly–thought just loud enough for the Orc to hear.
Kaz rolls her eyes, taking the bait as she quips back, “I’m sorry if I try to foster good communication between us.”
“Which I appreciate, but did we really need the meeting about what constitutes efficient soap usage?” Wren counters.
“Okay, look,” Kaz says in exasperation as she stops walking and turns around, narrowing her eyes at Wren. “That was fourteen years ago, we were just getting used to one another, and you didn’t even know what soap was. I was trying to teach you how not to waste a whole bar in one bath.”
“I had just learned the glory of heated baths and dirt-cheap, good-smelly, disappearing scrubby chunks!” Wren argues. “You could’ve at least waited until I was dry to bitch!”
“It’s wasteful,” Kaz mutters. “You still waste too much soap.”
“It’s a fraction of a copper piece for a bar and I like bubbly-suds!” Wren snips.
From the bottom of the cellar steps, Cashew’s head peeks back into view and he points accusingly at Kaz and Wren. Warningly, he says, “Am I gonna have to separate you two?”
Addy giggles and starts down the steps, followed by Dahlia. She admits, “That still sounds better than some of the early staff meetings back at the university.”
Dahlia, meanwhile, wonders why the Dwarf and Orc are talking about taking baths with the little after-dinner snack cubes that are left on the bathroom counter.
Wren sticks their tongue out at Kaz, though they can’t help but crack a smile when Kaz gives them a rude hand gesture in return. The two are the last to descend the steps to the cellar; Cashew closes the hatch, wanting as much privacy as possible.
“What are we doing down here anyway, Smalls?” Kaz asks, glancing around at the rows of wine bottles, casks of ale, and countless barrels and boxes of various dry goods and other provisions.
“Whoa,” Wren utters, seeing Demy standing near the back wall, wearing heavy manacles that are chained to the stone wall itself. They raise an eyebrow and cross their arms as they vocally decide, “I dunno what’s going on, but I think I’m into it.”
“Have you done something bad?” Dahlia asks innocently, standing off to the side with a furrowed brow.
“Believe me, you won’t be into it,” Demy grumbles to Wren before turning his attention to Dahlia. “This is to stop me from maybe doing something bad.”
Kaz frowns a little and glances back at Cashew, who nods in return. She says nothing, knowing that, finally, it’s Demyan’s time to speak.
“What do you mean?” Wren asks, worried.
Demy fidgets a little, picking at his nails anxiously. He goes to take a drink from his mug, which sits on a nearby box, but finds that it’s empty. He realizes that this is the third time he’s gone to take a drink only to find it empty. With a sigh he sits it aside and, avoiding the looks of confusion (and, from Cashew and Kaz, stern understanding), he starts to speak.
“I’m from a little town called Dredgen’s Fen, in the Eastern marshlands of Phyleris. It’s a mining town that grew up around a bog iron deposit. It was never more than a blip in the middle of a dangerous swamp, but when the mine started drying up, most people left. My family were some of the only ones who stayed.
“So I grew up doing hard labor in the mine. Not much other choice. We were poor and, no, not very religious,” Demy adds specifically for Kaz, staring directly at her. “We offset what little coin we made by hunting, fishing, foraging from the swamp. There’s a lot of life that lives off the death in a swamp, and we lived off of that.”
Dahlia hums in understanding and approval.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
“What’s this have to do with the restraints?” Addy asks curiously, poking at the heavy iron chains.
“Anyone who has spent time in Phyleris will tell you that the swamps are dangerous. Even beyond just the normal plants and animals. Things live in the bog that feed off the people who aren’t careful, who get lost or hurt. After years of being lucky enough to avoid those things, that luck finally ran out.
“I was on my way back to the Fen after a day of hunting, but I spent too long and night fell. Corvega was full and high in the sky, like it will be tonight. It probably was stalking me for a while, but I didn’t notice, since I was just intent on making it home. It jumped me, some big bestial thing, all claws and teeth.
I was near enough to town that they heard me screaming. Some folk came with torches and weapons, managed to scare it off. But I was a mess, barely alive. They bandaged me up and took me home, where the local healer spent what little power she had mending me over the next few days.”
“What was it? The thing that attacked you?” Wren asks, their expression mortified.
“A were-beast,” Dahlia answers, her unblinking gaze leveled at Demy.
He lowers his head a little, but nods.
“A Volkolak, what we call a werewolf. I found out why a few days later, when it was Trydan’s turn to be full. I was still at home recuperating; my wounds were mostly healed, but my parents didn’t want me to go back to work until I don’t remember much, except for the blood. I just, I couldn’t…” Demy trails off, his breath hitching in his throat as he looks away.
Cashew steps up beside him, placing a hand reassuringly on his shoulder. Demy lets out a stuttering breath and gives Cashew a hug with one arm, using the other to wipe at his face. His shaggy, wild hair covers his shame, but does little to hide it.
Demy regains his composure and gives Cashew a thankful nod before letting him go. He continues, “I woke up out in the swamp the next morning. I didn’t go back home, I just–left. I’ve been running ever since. I never stay in one place long. I eventually made it to the coast and met Cash, who was at port.”
“I convinced him to come with me. On the ship we’d restrain him on nights like this and we worked on trying to control that part of him,” Cashew explains.
“I’ve gotten better about it. Apart from the occasional frustration,” Demy pauses, glancing at Kaz, “I handle it okay. I can control it some. But when I get really angry or freaked out, I still lash out. And I still lose it entirely during the full moons.”
An awkward silence falls as Demy stops talking, unable to look at the group.
He feels a hand on his shoulder, larger than Cashew’s. He glances up, seeing that it belongs to Wren, who is smiling softly. The others all look on, not in fear or anger, but in understanding.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Demy mumbles.
“Well, you should be!” Wren says sternly, making him flinch a bit. They continue, “But I get why you didn’t. I’m upset that you didn’t say something sooner, but I’m glad that you finally felt comfortable enough to tell us.”
Demy smiles a little and shrugs, “Well, it’s not like I could keep it a secret forever. I’m glad you’re not too mad.”
“It could be worse! You didn’t eat anyone,” Addy says with a shrug.
“He tried to eat me back at the manor!” Kaz complains loudly.
“You don’t count,” Cashew teases, earning himself a punch in the shoulder that almost knocks him on his ass.
Demy’s chuckling is interrupted by a sudden sensation that has become all-too-familiar by now. He pushes Wren away slightly, feeling his blood pressure spike. His mouth goes dry and his breathing becomes ragged. Barely able to speak, he manages to fumble out, “Get b-back! Shit–”
Wren barely has the time to take a few large steps back before Demy doubles over. The others watch in horrified awe, except for Cashew who just winces and looks away, as Demy begins to change.
It is not pleasant. The stories passed around by word and by book do not adequately convey the process. It is thankfully brief, but visceral. Bones snap, muscle tears, flesh rips. Demy’s groans become screams that become growls that eventually become a rumbling, deep-throated howl that echoes within the cellar deafeningly.
Within minutes, the chained man in front of the group is no more. Instead, there is a humanoid wolf, fur black and eyes red, barely able to stand up fully within the cellar without smacking its skull into the wooden slats above. The shackles and chains, which seemed far too large for Demy, look small now on this monstrous wolf-man, who stands easily a head and a half taller than Demy’s already substantial height.
With a threatening rumble, Demy sits on the basement floor, eyes never leaving the group.
It is Addy who first breaks the hushed silence that follows:
“Puppy!” She shouts, arms wide as she moves to hug Demy.
Cashew, prepared for this, tackles her with a shout of, “No!” His intent to knock her down fails, though he does succeed in wrapping his arms around her waist and anchoring her from moving forward.
“But–Puppy!” Addy explains.
“There’s a reason that he’s chained up, Addy,” Kaz says, speaking for the first time in a while. She steps up with the others, keeping wolf-Demy in her peripheral vision at all times. “He said it himself. He loses control like this. He’s dangerous.”
“He hasn’t done anything dangerous, though. He hasn’t tried to break free or attack us,” Wren argues, much to Kaz’s surprise.
“Doesn’t mean he won’t,” Kaz argues back.
“He can’t be happy in those chains, though,” Addy says sadly.
“Demy will be even sadder if he accidentally hurts anyone,” Cashew says, still holding onto Addy’s waist. “Let alone if he were to infect someone.”
“It’s too much of a risk,” Kaz says sternly. “Nobody is going near him and especially nobody is taking his restraints off.”
“He just poured his heart out to us and we’re just going to leave him chained up in a dusty basement?!” Wren practically shouts, face reddening out of frustration.
“That is exactly what we’re doing because he poured his heart out to us,” Cashew snaps, starting to get annoyed himself.
“But he’s so fluffy!” Addy argues.
Kaz begins to argue back, but the sound of footsteps makes all four pause. They turn, watching as Dahlia steps up to the seated Demy, staring up into the face of the giant black wolf, whose red eyes are locked onto Dahlia curiously.
“Dahlia–” Kaz warns, reaching out, but the Goblin entirely ignores her.
Instead, she holds up her small hand. The four watch in amazement as Demy leans down, sniffing it with his newly-formed snout–before bonking the top of his head gently against her tiny palm.
Dahlia responds with gentle pets. She doesn’t look back at the others, but when she speaks it is directed to them all the same, “He doesn’t like the restraints.”
Addy, Cashew, Kaz, and Wren say nothing and simply stare.
“Do you?” Dahlia asks. Demy whines a little, eyes closed as she pets the top of his head, scritching through the coarse black fur. “We should take them off him.”
“But–” Cashew begins, this time, but she cuts him off.
“He’s dangerous when he gets angry or scared. Like any animal,” Dahlia explains simply. “The chains are to make sure he doesn’t lash out, but they just upset him.”
Dahlia finally turns her head to look at the others. “We have to show that he can trust us, that we trust him. That way he won’t be upset, or angry, or scared.”
“Are you sure, Dahlia?” Wren asks, their tone hopeful.
“Unless we want to leave him here for the expedition, it’s up to us to teach him that he’ll be happier if he trusts us and stays calm,” she says matter-of-factly.
Wren takes a deep breath and steps forward first, despite Kaz moving to hold them back. They carefully, calmly approach, watched by Demy’s bestial eyes the entire way. But when they reach up, he doesn’t snap or react harshly, instead just letting out a pleased grunt as Wren runs their hands through his fur.
“Puppy!” Addy says and starts forward, causing Demy to start slightly. Dahlia holds up her hands to Addy, who understands and tries to calm down slightly. She says, much softer and gentler, “Puppy.”
Demy does not flinch as she makes her way over and gives him a hug, unable to wrap her arms completely around him.
“Well fuck me blind,” Cashew mutters, watching.
“Did you never try to approach him like this?” Kaz asks.
“No. Neither of us wanted to risk it,” Cashew explains. He steps forward and gives Demy a few pats before digging the key to the restraints out of his pocket. He glances back at Kaz for the go-ahead.
Kaz considers this before finally nodding the affirmative. She remarks to Cashew, “You two weren’t wrong to be careful. But Dahlia’s right, we’re his friends and if we want him to come on the expedition, we have to show him that he can trust us.”
Cashew cautiously begins undoing the restraints. “What if he freaks out on us?” He asks, still a bit uncertain.
“Then Demy has to trust us that we’ll stop him from doing anything bad, if he gets worked up,” Kaz says, staring at Demy. He stares back, seemingly understanding, though it is hard to know for sure.
Cashew sighs and, sincerely hoping that this isn’t a horrible idea, unlocks the manacles. They fall to the floor, metal chains clanking rhythmically as they go limp.
Demy responds by–
Licking Cashew’s face.
“Eugh! Gay!” Cashew sputters, wiping the drool off his cheek.
The tension in the air breaks and the others laugh, reassuring Demy with scritches and pets. Ultimately, the giant werewolf ends up laying on Wren, who isn’t too plussed about being a pillow to their bestial friend.
“Puppy puppy puppy,” Addy repeats cheerfully, running her hands through the fur.
“He might be hungry,” Dahlia says as she sits atop Demy’s broad back. He does not seem to mind.
“Shit, I’m hungry. We all still need to eat dinner,” Cashew adds.
“I don’t think bringing him up into the crowded tavern is wise,” Kaz says sternly.
“It would just overstimulate him,” Dahlia says.
“Well, I don’t think he’s gonna move,” Wren says with a bit of effort, partially squashed under Demy’s weight.
“We can eat down here so he isn’t lonely!” Addy says happily. “We can have a slumber party! Oh, we’ll get blankets and make a fort!”
“You’re gonna see my fort and be like, ‘Oh shit Cash, that makes my fort look like balls!’” Cashew says, cackling.
With a roll of her eyes and a sigh, Kaz relents. “Fine, we’ll bring food down and go from there. Addy, can you help me carry some stuff?”
“Okay!” She says, ruffling Demy’s fur a bit before hopping up to go help.
Demy, for his part, lets out a pleased whine. Some part of his mind, some bit of personality that remains intact despite the transformation, knows that he is safe in the company of his friends.
For the first time in years, full moon or not, Demyan Volkov isn’t afraid.