For in the land of Nivinend lived the manbeasts who gluttoned themselves on human flesh. Their grotesque lifestyle perverted the order established by the Sun God. For this offense, the Sun God sent his most loyal follower, Gabriel, to subdue the beasts.
The Book of Xial 3:21-23
The embers from the campfire danced in the early night sky. The rustling of a mother deer along with its fauns could be heard foraging. These critters pranced in the shadows, the valley of trees acting not only as a source of food but as a natural defense against the armored men who established the makeshift tent blockading their usual feeding grounds and who would not hesitate to make both mother and child into a late-night snack. The birds too kept their distance as they partook in their late-night choir practice singing their beautiful songs to cheer up Mother Earth and her offspring. As for the men, the bird songs reminded them only of home which produced a variety of conflicting emotions among them.
A silent atmosphere clouded the eleven men. They ate their roasted rabbit and drank their mead without so much as a word to one another. So far only the cleric’s son had uttered a single phrase when offering his thanks to the gods of transportation for the current respite. The other men, though quiet inwardly, were immersed in thought over the morning’s events. None of them could truly vocalize the group’s emotions. However, if nothing was to be said, the damper mood that permeated tonight’s supper would persist throughout the entire journey. With this realization in mind, one of the younger men decided to speak.
“It was truly devastating what happened to Balem. He was a brave adventurer...I would argue the bravest in all the Kingdom of Aries. Neither was there a greater fighter nor a greater gluten, as we have come to know him, than Balem. His skill with the sword was truly admirable and his valiant battle against the bridge trolls for our safety mirrored the legendary King Ramos as he defended his kingdom against the Death Riders. Let us remember him and praise his efforts. His strength, his bravery, his valor will be supremely missed as we continue our journey.” The man took a brief pause before continuing.
“However, in doing so, let us not fall into despair. Would Balem not feel disgraced by our prior mood? He, who championed the merry adventure lifestyle, would find our present sadness distasteful, almost mocking to his legacy and sacrifice. For his sake, let us rejoice in the newness of life for we should all now know how fleeting that feeling is. Let us go back to our usual banter so that we can truly honor Balem and so that his spirit can return back to the Earth Mother.”
At first the man was met with silence though he expected this. Then the voices that prior dwelled in the mind resurfaced in yells, in weeps, in tears that would rival a divine flood, and soon the entire forest was ablaze not in fire but in the burning remorse felt by all the adventures.
“Oh, Patrocolus,” said the cleric's son. He used the sleeve of his red robe to wipe at his tears. “I am ashamed of my behavior. You speak the spiritual truths that I should have said, and yet my emotions clouded my judgement.”
“Indeed,” said another man. He gripped his orange beard as if he was trying to pull it off. “How foolish was I to drown myself in my own sorrow instead of honoring the legacy of my friend. Much like your father, you speak so reasonably.”
“Yes, yes,” said the other men joining in. Soon all of them were as alive as they were yesterday, chanting praises, and laughing, and crying, and doing all those actions that living men do. All but one. A man draped in shadow for, as he himself would say, he was born of it. His pale snake-like skin and his thin exterior resembled more of a skeletal beast than a man. He sat with his head bent down to the floor as if at any moment he would sink back into the earth. A walking, talking dead man. His name was Callen. The others soon noticed his silence, and one of them, a giant of a human the size of a grizzly bear, approached him. While characteristically a teddy-bear, one would be wise not to underestimate him, especially when it came to his allies.
“Your silence speaks volumes, Callen.” Callen gave him no heed, not even lifting his head to address him.
“How disgraceful! You call yourself an adventurer, and yet you show no respect for the profession, nor the men employed in it.” Callen still stared down at the ground. In his hand, he twirled a small worn dagger that he obtained from his mother before he went out questing. A strange artifact likely imbued with nefarious magic.
“Did you not love Balem like we did? Did you not feel for his sacrifice? Grieve for his bravery and selflessness? Or is a worm capable of such emotions, I wonder?" The bear man’s voice continued to grow until even the birds’ singing was masked by his tirade.
“Calm down, Ursus,” said Diocletian, the man with the orange beard. “Let us not fight amongst ourselves right now. Let us be joyous for Balem’s sake.” Diocletian placed his hand on Ursus’s shoulder which calmed him down. Ursus walked away from Callen who continued to tinker with his dagger oblivious to the outburst he caused.
“Now then,” said Patrocolus as the mood among the adventurers settled down. “I’m glad that most of us have been able to properly mourn and praise our friend,” He glanced at Callen. Much like Ursus, Patrocolus could not stand the skeletal man. He lacked the emotion fit for an adventurer; he was more fit for a lich’s apprentice. And yet, he was still their fellow adventurer, which meant for at least as long as the journey lasted, they would have to play nice. Patrocolus was no novice when it came to acting for appearances.
“Now that we’re back to form, let’s get back to our midnight traditions, shall we.” The other men applauded.
“Who will tell the story this time," said a man with a star-shaped scar on his forehead.
“Let Lenny tell the story,” said Ursus. He nudged the cleric’s son with as little force as possible which still caused the poor guy to fly off the log he was sitting on. “His conversations with the spirits provide the most interesting stories.”
“No,” said Diocletian. He stood up. “Given our conversation concerning the heroics of Balem, I believe that we should start with a different sort of story. A monstrous one, if you will.”
“How monstrous?” asked Ursus.
“The Tale of the Wolf Devil." Everyone’s ears rose after hearing that. The Wolf Devil was a tale popularized in Farmouth which spread in parts and pieces to other kingdoms during times of peace. However, only an accomplished storyteller from Farmouth could give the complete story. Luckily, Diocletian was such a storyteller.
“Listen carefully everyone." His voice deepened as he evoked the Temptresses, the orator spirits that ordained the telling of all fairy tales. Now let me tell a tale that will separate the men from the boys. A chilling, harrowing tale of a furious monster who some say still haunts the Kingdom of Farmouth today. Do not fear my friends, for her evil majesty can smell terror like the aroma coming off a freshly baked apple pie, and she’s far hungrier than any normal man for she is a beast, wolf-born.” Lightning crackled in the sky. Everyone paid attention to Diocletian. Even Callen looked up from his dagger to listen to the famed orator’s story.
Long ago in the Kingdom of Farmouth there was a noble king, Julian, and his powerful wife Queen Emilia van Thresa. King Julian was an average citizen at first, as average as any of us, when it came to nobility. However, he was a valiant soldier, self-trained in the art of the sword. He enlisted in the Queen’s army of knights and soon grew to become a warrior of great renown, even slaying the Great Stone Dragon that terrorized the vassal states off the river of Tibres. He quickly rose through the ranks and eventually garnered the Queen's attention. The two were betrothed in Moonside Palace, where the stars danced and the greater forest spirits dranked along with men.
However, their marriage was met with controversy. Julian had no noble blood, which many considered made the marriage and therefore their future children illegitimate to the throne. As if the gods above had felt the same way, it became soon known that Queen Emilia was incapable of bearing a child. The married couple tried everything they could within human means. The Queen even resorted to using her latent magic ability, but to no avail. The king was distraught and so looked to the elder spirits for help. The forest spirits that attended the Queen’s marriage came to the Ling offering him one chance to procure a child.
“Go to the sacred woods at night and offer upon the Theslia’s Grove droplets of your blood. From the mound of Earth shall appear a woman made of soil. You must kiss her on the lips, but in doing so do not let an inkling of lust cross your mind lest the Earth Mother swallow you up for your infidelity. After this is done, the dirt woman will disappear and in her place a long sprout will emerge from where she once stood. Take the sprout and feed it to your wife, and she will surely bear your child.”
“I shall go tonight,” said the King.
“Be warned. For there are many creatures of the dark that lurk in these woods. Keep your sword at hand.”
The king thanked the forest spirits and after the royal dinner went by himself into the sacred woods. When he reached Theslia’s Grove, he drew a knife from his pocket and slashed his right thigh, letting the blood drizzle onto the muddy earth. From where the blood dropped, a mound of dirt emerged that slowly condensed into human form. Long, wavy hair of branches, a girdle of palmate leaves, a voluptuous lady with jungle green eyes and a seductive smile.
“Have you come to bed me, hero?” asked the lady. Her arm reached out to caress his shoulder. Her earthen flesh was soft and smooth. She spoke with such a sultry, almost hypnotic voice. “It’s been a while since I’ve had my fun with a king before.”
“Pray not." The king kept his royal composure despite his thumping heart. “I ask only for a kiss in exchange for the herb of fertility to give to my wife. “
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“How boorish." She shoved the king down on the ground. Before he could rise, the lady was kneeling over him. Her chest pressed into his.
“What does she have that I don’t? Us earthen spirits know best how to satisfy a man.” The king suppressed every nerve in his body. He disallowed any lustful thoughts from entering his mind.
“Off me spirit." He shoved the lady aside. She sank back into the earth only to reappear behind the king.
“Faithful to the end. How amusing.” She walked slowly to him. “Fine then. Do as you wish.” The king lifted the earthly woman’s chin and kissed her on the lips. As soon as the kiss was completed the lady sank back into the earth and where she had stood a sprout sprung from the soil. The king reached out for it, but before he could grasp the plant, a monster born of beastmen blood emerged from the darkness and struck at him. The king was prepared for this and threw the dagger at the monster who barely managed to dodge it. The king unsheathed his famed scabbard and lunged at the creature cutting off its arm in a blinding swing. The creature howled and leapt back into the darkness. The king cut off the stem and went back to the palace where he offered it to the Queen. As the woodland spirits fortetold, the Queen became pregnant with a son.
“Praise to the queen,” said Urusus. He shaked his glass of beer.
“Shut it you drunk oaf,” said another of the adventurers. “It’s rude to interrupt an orator when the Temptresses speak so clearly through him.”
“Sorry.” Urusus hid his face in shame. Diocletian continued as if nothing happened.
However, the king had made a terrible mistake, for the blood he drew from the woodland beast also drenched into the earth below. The earthen woman appeared again only to be met by the prior beastman who held nothing against her. As a result, the beastman was swallowed up by the Earth, and all that remained of him was another sprout that grew from the misplaced earth. Another woman, a witch from a faraway kingdom, came by an ate of the sprout. She, like the Queen, became pregnant, only instead of a human, she birthed a horrible monstrosity of man and beast. A female wolfbeast.
The king’s son named Julian II grew to be an even greater warrior and leader than his father. He subjugated the Great Mountain Apes at Norielum and expanded the kingdom far beyond its previous borders. The prince’s skill with the sword was unmatched. His blade became legendary for its cutting ability. His diplomacy too was outstanding as he made peace with the kingdom’s many vassal states and formed alliances with the warring neighboring kingdoms. He was destined to make Farmouth an empire; a nation to challenge even the Sun King’s domain. And yet, as the good blossoms, so too does the malignant flame of evil burn ready to devour.
The devil dog grew under the care of the witch whose eldric spells served only to intensify the creature's hate for all things human for it is only natural that a perverse creature is destined to hate what is natural. The witch, who lived in a hut overlooking a swamp, was a conniving trickster. She would use dark elemental magic to disguise her hut into a grand palace and entice tired adventures into her home. She asked them for nothing except for them to tell her there stories over a decadent meal as she smiled ever so happy to finally have company. When the adventurer asked why she was alone in such an establishment, she would say that her nobleman husband had recently died and left the estate to herself, lonely and afraid. The foolish adventurers, ever so taken by the poor woman’s condition, took her on her offer to sleep soundly in her bedroom upstairs. They would never awaken. The food, which was actually a magical sleeping serum that paralyzes the body, would prevent them from even screaming as the devil dog tore into their flesh.
Over time, however, the wolf child would grow tired of eating the flesh of men. Her desires became ever more carnal. She was a beast and yet due to her human blood desired the company of men. The witch would not allow it for the looting of adventurers was quite the profitable venture. And so she died, mauled to death by her own demon child.
The wolf child would then enter the Kingdom of Farmouth searching for a man of her fancy. This is when she met Julius II and immediately fell into lust. However, the devil dog was just as crafty as her mother, and came up with a plan to snare the prince into her trap. She used a dark charm made by her mother to disguise herself into the most gorgeous woman in the kingdom. She courted the prince. Her magical charms proved too alluring for any man to refuse. He requested her hand in marriage, which she kindly accepted. The rest of the nobility was furious to have such a noble and fair knight marry a commoner, but it was that same prestige that the prince managed to persuade the royals of his love and admiration for the girl.
The devil child, though, knew no such feeling as true love. After the birth of their first child, she had already conducted a scheme to kill the prince and take with her his fortune. In her husband's wine glass, she poured the same magical solution that her witch mother used. She watched the poor soul down the glass after his battle against the giants. She watched him still as he walked tired to the bedroom. She pulled the covers for him as he lay in bed falling straight to sleep. She waited until the other guests and servants were distant from the royal chambers. Then the prince’s wife dispelled the charm that she had maintained for so long. The wolf girl caressed the prince's head, causing him to open his eyes. He tried to move his face to give his wife a kiss only to realize he could not move. Then, he truly saw her. A grotesque monster with daggers for teeth and mingy fur for skin. She stared at him with her blood shot eyes, drool dripping from her maul. The prince tried to scream, but his mouth would not move.
The wolf devil, for her part, had grown more sophisticated when it came to her eating habits. Instead of gouging down on her former husband, she sliced him up into pieces, seasoning each piece with salt and pepper from the palace. On hearing ripping and tearing, one of the maidservants came bursting into the room only to see the eviscerated corpse of the former prince. The maid screamed with enough force to shatter glass as the devilkin jumped out the window taking with her the legendary sword belonging to the prince never to be seen by the kingdom again. They say that at night she haunts the forest in which she was born looking for any young adventurous man to entice with her spell before cutting them up and feasting on their flesh. And so, ends The Tale of the Wolf Devil.
“Truly horrendous,” said Lenny. He gripped his staff. “A beast who can use magic and desires to...to mate with humans. May the gods never allow such a thing to happen.” The other men nodded in agreement.
“What a tale you told Diocletian,” said Patrocolus. “Come now, let’s applaud.”
The men began to applaud, so much so that they didn’t even see the giant creature lumbering behind them. The monster brought its spiked club on top of one of the adventurers, reducing him to a bloody pool. The adventurers turned around to face the giant beast who somehow managed to ambush them. A golden, pig-mouthed troll the size of a small tree with a belly big enough to fit all the adventures in. The beast roared as it raised its spiked club.
“Get away!” said a man before he too was crushed underneath the club.
The other men ran away from the beast and gathered their weapons. Lenny brought out his staff and raised it high, casting a circle of blue light, healing magic, around the adventures.
“Archers,” said Patrocolus, barely able to maintain a stable voice. “Fire at its knees. When the creature collapses, swordsmen, follow me and aim for its belly for its unaturally thick skin is weakest there.”
The four archers did as they were told though their confidence dwindled with the recent death of one of their greatest. Regardless, they released a swarm of arrows towards the monster’s knees. However, the arrows stopped in midair before they could reach the creature and, as if colliding against an invisible barrier, dropped to the ground motionless.
“What in Daragon’s name is going on!” said Diocletian.
“This must be some sort of magic,” said Lenny. “Impossible. A monster as dumb-witted as this should be incapable of Earth magic.”
The troll continued to advance on them, felling man after man. Diocletian charged at the creature; fear drenched so far in his mind that he acted more like a drunken misfit than an adventure. The troll slashed him in two. A yellow glowing spirit exited through his mouth as he breathed his last.
“Patrocolus, what do we do?” The man with the scar begged for help from his leader before the club severed his head from his body. Patrocolus looked on in bewilderment. What could he do? No ordinary swordsman can kill a giant troll and if ranged attacks don’t work on it...” The beast was upon him now. He held his sword high knowing that nothing he could do would work.
“Stand back,” said Urusus. He raised his claymore and charged parrying the troll’s attack. The beast was temporarily taken aback, surprised that a mere human could contest its strength.
“Get out of here,” yelled Ursus. He slashed with his claymore at the beast’s chest only for his sword to nearly fly out of his hands as it edged closer to the monster’s gut. Urusus stepped back in shock. Nothing had even been able to tank his mighty swings before. The troll swung his weapon again which Urusus barely managed to deflect. However, the blunt force of the object pushed him back, causing him to trip over the fallen Lenny. The monster raised his weapon high into the sky and slammed it down with such force that it sent tremors that caused Patrocolus to fall on his back. His hand landed on a dagger, which dug into him with pain far beyond anything he had ever felt. No, that would be incorrect, for Patrocolus felt a greater pain in his heart. All his allies, his friends, were dead. Never had the man felt so lonely. His composed demeanor collapsed. The act of bravery he held since the death of his friend, no since the beginning of their harrowing quest, dissolved in an instance as the troll walked towards him. His body froze in fear as the troll raised his club. He closed his eyes and said his prayers.
A sudden gust of wind blew from behind Patrocolus. He opened his eyes expecting to see the Great Garden above only to see the bloodied arm of the troll collapse to the ground. The club formerly held in its hand fell off to the side. In front of Patrocolus stood a human figure covered in a grey cloak. Orange hair billowed from the cap. The person’s right hand clutched a scimitar whose blade glowed in the dark. The stranger sauntered up to the troll exuding a sense of confidence unmatched by even the greatest of adventurers.
The troll, more enraged than hurt, charged at the hooded figure, its bare hands outstretched to squeeze the life out of the human who dared oppose him. With the quickness of a rabbit, the person sidestepped the beast's grab and swung sharp with the blade towards the creature’s chest. At that moment, Patrocolus truly pitied the man who would soon find out that no blade would work on the magical beast. Therefore, it was an even greater surprise for Patrocolus to see the troll’s chest burst open gushing out blood and viscera. The troll wobbled on his legs before falling face first to the ground. The mysterious person rolled away from the falling troll and, in a final sword slash, lopped off the head of the monster. The person sighed as if dissatisfied with the opponent’s performance. The stranger wiped the blood off the scimitar with a towel procured from a waist pocket before sheathing the blade and turning to face Patrocolus.
Patrocolus knelt before his rescuer. “Thank you for saving me.” The person walked up to the poor adventurer. He tried to look at the person’s face, but no matter how close he looked, the head hidden behind the cloak appeared featureless.
“Are you an adventurer?” That person said nothing. Patrocolus felt a chill aura surrounding him as if caught in a blizzard. Something was wrong. He tried to stand up, but the pain in his hand soared causing him to cry out. The accursed dagger, Callen’s dagger, had pierced straight through his palm, leaving his hand a bloody mess. At the site of the dagger, the mysterious figure pulled out the scimitar, pointing the end of the blade at Patrocolus’ neck.
“Not one more step, darkin.” The voice sounded feminine.
“Darkin, what do you mean by that? I am just your average adventurer.” Patrocolus tried to force his diplomatic voice but was cut off by the cloaked lady.
“Watch your tongue, darkin. I can sense who you are from the blade you hold. How else would a Greater Troll be able to navigate this forest?”
“The blade...it does not belong to me. Another adventurer, a devilish kind of man, was the original owner.”
“Devilish." Her tone was ominous. “What do you know of the devil?”
She took off her cloak revealing her true self. Her furry reddish skin matched her orange mane, canine eyes with a freckled face and razor-sharp teeth, big pointy ears along with a bushy tail that extended from the back of her red and white tunic which itself bulged with the extra muscle afforded by the hideous form. On seeing my terrified expression, she howled as the moon glistened above us.
“Nice to meet you adventurer or should I say it's my pleasure to eat you. My name’s Tayna, the Wolf Devil.”