Wolf - R18+ (You have been warned)

[Rumple C]

*Artwork by our own incredible Twin Axes

[Rumple C]

The start of the end.

Wolf sat across from his father in the small dark bed room. Old dusty shelves held a few mementos, and a very tired looking painting of a boat hung crookedly on the wall. The limited floor space saw Wolf seated on a rickety stool while his father reclined along the edge of the bed looking smug. The room smelt a little stale.

“Well, Wolf, what do you think? Grand is it not?” Eris indicated the room with a florid gesture, and grinned. Wolf cocked an eyebrow and made a show of looking around.
“I am sure it’s... mah-velous”. Wolf thought otherwise, but tried his best to look impressed. Eris seemed amused by his response.

“Why don’t you tell me what you really think, my pup”.

Wolf flicked his index up at Eris “I think you shouldn’t call me pup, unless you want me calling you pap, pa”. Eris grinned and spread his hands slightly, acknowledging his comment, but promising nothing. Wolf shared his grin a brief moment then continued on, “Honestly...”, they both grinned again at that word. “Honestly, I really don’t know what you think you are doing, trading the caravan for this... box”.

Eris looked very pleased with himself “Ah, well, that is easy, it’s both business, and pleasure...” he paused looking to Wolf, who raised a hand and rolled his eyes in mock exasperation for him to continue. “You see, pup, I traded the caravan for this room, for a half year. Your cousin Dimitri made the trade”. Wolf raised both eyebrows this time, the name being new to him. Eris explained “Dim. You never met him, he grew up... well... here”. Eris pointed upwards, and swirled his hand around. “Poor lad, never knew the highways, just the stories, so I made the offer to him”.

Wolf leaned back looking dubious. It was entirely possible his father was telling another tall tale, or hiding something, Wolf was determined to find out the full story. “I never realised you were so generous, sire”. Wolf made a show of looking sceptical.

“Oh Wolf, you wound me, truly you do”. Eris put a hand on his chest, before patting it. “Right here, in my heart of gold”. Wolf said nothing, but leaned back even further on the ominously creaking stool, he still wore his look of scepticism. “Well, my prince, if you really, really must know, I may have one or two acquaintances of the female persuasion in town, with whom I would love to spend the summer with”. Wolf did not think he had ever seen his father looking so impossibly smug.

Wolf started chuckling, but caught himself as he realised... “We haven’t been to Elturel in the last...”.

“Fifteen years” he father finished for him. “And that was the last time I saw Rutha, and Briar”.

“Fifteen years... and what... You think they were waiting by the door for you to return?” Wolf asked incredulously.

Eris smiled before answering “I left them wanting more, little doubt they will still be carrying a flame for old gur Eris Vard, and if not, well, I am sure there are plenty of other lovely, lonely ladies around who are just crying out for a little attention, perhaps a nice widow...”.

Wolf raised his hands in defeat. “Do what you have to do Pa, just remember, I am far too old to be raising siblings again, and you are far, far, far, too old to be siring more heirs”.

“Don’t worry Wolf, i’ll be careful”. Eris and Wolf looked at each other a moment. “You’ll be on your own for the first time, in a long time, son, I know out of all my children, you... well, you are best able to deal with life, and look after yourself”.

“This is beginning to sound like a serious conversation pap”.

Eris grinned at him “Don’t worry, there is a punch line, now as I was saying, you’ll be on your own, I want you to take care, have some fun, be carefree for a while, when you return... well we will see what we can do about making you king”.

Wolf smiled “King of the absent caravan?”.

“King of the Gur. Now come here and give me a hug, and make it a good one, I won’t be seeing you for at least six months”.

Wolf, rose and embraced his father, holding him tight, for it was not often they hugged. Eris spoke quietly as they held each other. “I am very proud of you son, and I love you dearly, we both know I don’t make mistakes... regardless, don’t make the same mistakes I did”. Wolf felt a lump in his throat and tears in his eyes as they disengaged the hug.

“I love you too, pa”.

Eris reached into a pocket, and made a show of producing two small gleaming silver earrings.

“I want you to wear these, out on the road, never hide who you are, never, walk proud, you have the blood of kings, remember that”.

Wolf took the offered ear rings. “I’ll have to get more holes made for these”. Eris smiled at Wolf before reaching into another pocket, removing then opening a very familiar looking sewing kit. Rows of needles glinted defiantly in the poor light. Wolf winced in anticipation.

“I told you there was a punch line”.



*Artwork by Fritz Best

[MaskedIllusion]

This is a really interesting story so far. I am looking forward to reading more of it.

[Rumple C]

The endless summer.

Wolf and his brother Rinke ran alongside the wagons as they slowly wound their way along the highway. The boys darted to and fro, running in front to the grey nags that pulled the wagon, jumping ditches, or swiping at overly large weeds and flowers as they ran past. The gur who guided the caravan called out words of encouragement and dares for the boys, and occasionally words of warning when they spooked a horse, or got overly close to a wagon wheel. Wolf would lead the way, being the elder of the two, and a year or so older. Eventually they would tire of their carefree innocent play, and clamber up onto the rear steps of the swaying caravans, dozing in the afternoon sun, or poking tongues at those caravans behind them.

Eventually the caravans would stop for the day, and a communal camp would be set up. Food was almost always a simple nourishing affair, loaves of brown bread baked in the caravan ovens throughout the day, great soups of barley, and whatever meat the hunters managed to bring down (or not), washed down with skins of cheap red wine. The boys would be expected to fetch water, and peel vegetables, and even to their constant disgust, to wash the pots and pans afterwards.

Their reward would come every night though, as their father would stuck them into their hammock beds in the caravan and tell them fantastic stories until they fell asleep.

Days and years passed in this fashion, with the caravans following the summer north and south again. Pausing at accommodating towns for a few weeks here and there, selling whatever they had acquired along the way, or the services of their tinkerers, or even divinations by the boys aunt, who still gave praise to poor lost Savras.

Occasionally during hard times the men and women and even children from the caravan would endure seasonal harvest work, though all grumbled daily at the degrading nature of the work, and their sore backs. Luckily these hard times would not last long, as the needs of the gur were few. They already had everything they could possibly need in their caravans in any event, so as long as they had food, and wine, then everything was right with the world.

Every now and then a caravan would take a different fork in the highways, and they would say an emotional goodbye to a family or two. However, fortune always seemed to add another sooner or later, and so while the faces and scenery changed, life remained more or less the same. Wolf soon had another brother to call his own, five years his junior, Kristovar.

Every day, week, month, and year was much the same, although some memories last...



*Artwork by Wallcoo.com

[Rumple C]

1346 Year of the Bloodbird.

Eris stood and arched his aching back. He was working bare chested, his arms, shoulders, and chest were a mass of grazes and scratches from the rough timber beams he carried. This… this was honest work.

Feh, a curse on honest work.

Were there any other reasonable way Eris would not be here, selling his sweat for silver… but times were tough. Early in the year a great frost had settled over the heartlands ruining a seasons worth of crops overnight. Stored grain was sold for prices that bordered on obscene, and the common person struggled to feed themselves at all.

Wolf counted himself “fortunate” to have found this work for his people. The work would only last for a few more days until the great roof went on, but in the mean time they were provided food and a pittance for their labour. Enough to restock the caravans for another month in any case.

As he leant to and fro trying to ease the ache he looked around the construction site. His cousins, friends – both under his watchful eye and care, toiled under the direction of dwarvern craftsmen. The barechested gur sawed at large rough cut squared timbers, or struggled to haul them up to waiting dwarves via a complex arrangement of ropes and pulleys. Everyone was a mass of sweat, splinters, and sunburn.

Eris turned his gaze to the large monolithic stone structure. It had been underway for years apparently when the gur had arrived to swarm over it providing labour for the building of the roof. Though the dwarvern overseers were tight lipped about what it was for, and who was behind it, rumor had it as being a temple of some sort. Eris shrugged to himself and rubbed a shoulder. It did not really matter.There was a job, there was pay. That was that. Shame about the temple though he thought, this would have been a fantastic place for a caravan stop, right between Baldurs gate and where the lions way began.

Eris and the other gur laboured bitterly on for the rest of the day. They down tools as the sun sunk low on the horizon, turning the sky a magnificent peach color, and lengthening shadows into infinity. One by one the gur made their way back to the camp, stopping at a communal trough to wash to wash the sweat from their torsos and trade the days happenings. His thrice removed cousin Rumo had managed to drop a beam onto his foot and had been limping since, and that was about as interesting as it got. Everything else was much the same as every other day… splinters, dwarvern bastards, sunburn.

Oh, and offcourse the next few hours would be spent complaining about the food and lack of wine.

Eris moved around, patting backs, pulling splinters, and trying to lift spirits. Only a few more days to go became his mantra. Then they would be off again, north past Baldurs gate, and on to either Secomber, or if the portents were right, they would weave along the serpent river to summer at Highstar lake. After washing the bulk of the sweat from their bodies the gur men filed one by one past surly hired cooks, having porridge unceremoniously slopped into waiting bowls. Dirty looks were exchanged by both sides. Eris was glad there were only a few more days left. More than once insults had been traded, and violence threatened. It was fortunate a few cool heads had been around to keep things from flaring up.

He rubbed his temples. It was not easy being king of the gur.

After eating Eris settled down with his men exchanging stories about the lands ahead, and singing songs. Most turned in early with the long work during the day.

As he rose to leave the campfires Eris frowned and realised he had left his belt with sheathed knife hanging from the scaffolding back at the site. He sighed deeply. Likely it would be gone by the morrow if he did not hurry back to fetch it. He weaved back and forth through the camp around carvans and campfires, tents and tables. As he left the camp Eris waited a moment for his eyes to adjust from the bright campfires to the dim light that Selune shone down. He made his way along the clay track that had been pounded into the grass by countless days of dwarvern masons. Up ahead rose the imposing structure. It was looking more than a little eerie now in the moonlight with the great lattice of skeletal looking scaffolding encasing the structure.

Eris dismissed thoughts of bones and death with a smile and carefully started to climb the scaffold. He reached the spot where he had hung his belt earlier, and found it still there. Smiling to himself he returned the belt to his waist, and turned to climb back down but was stopped by an idle fancy.

What was this place like on the inside? Eris moved a little along the scaffolding until he was next to an open window. No shutters or expensive glasswork yet stopped anyone from entering and much of the roof was still missing leaving enough light to see by.

Eris leaned through the window… just a stone room that opened into a corridor… no door was yet mounted. With a shrug of curiosity he climbed through the window and lowered himself down to the floor level. He was in. The open doorway gave way to a corridor with more rooms opening up. Overhead great wooden beams hid lines of stars, but allowed enough light for Eris to make his way around. He strolled along the corridor pausing at each doorway to look inside. Each room was more or less the same. Eris shrugged. Well that was his curiosity satisfied.

Then he paused. Was that…a noise? Yes… footsteps running… from downstairs… coming upstairs…!

Eris darted into the nearest room and heaved himself up to the edge of the window. Curses! No scaffolding here…

He dropped back into the room and moved to the corner of the room next to the door way, and pressed himself up against the wall, willing himself to present as little a profile as possible. Eris desperately willed himself to calm, and to breath slowly through his nose. He would just wait for the people to pass, and he would return to the other room and back out the window, along the scaffolding, and to the camp. Even if they were to see him, he had done nothing wrong…

He had not convinced himself.

The footsteps grew louder… and to his ear… softer and more feminine. They hurried past the doorway down the corridor, accompanied by a soft whimpering. Eris cursed as something protective stirred within him. He took a few steps and looked and saw a flash of black disappear into a room at the end of the corridor. Eris licked his lips nervously and looked the way she had came… nothing..and no noise. He padded softly in to the corridor and followed after her. Eris paused by the doorway where the dress wearer had run. He risked a glance around the doorway…

A raven haired woman stood framed by an open window, her hands on the sill staring out at Selune. She wore a jet black dress open at the back. It looked like she had been very recently whipped judging from the raised welt on her open back that trickled blood.

Eris hissed “Lady, are you allright?”. She startled and look back over her shoulder. She was beautiful, but in a very damaged way. Kohl ran from under her haunted eyes where she had been crying. She stared into his eyes a moment, tears welling.

Eris lifted a hand to her, what else could he do?

She went to him, and together they left the building the way Eris had come. He left word with his cousins that he was going ahead that eve to arrange their next camping spot, and smuggled the woman out in his caravan.

They lay together the next night under Selune. Eight and a half months later, Wolf was born.



*Artwork by Veronica Atanacio

[Rumple C]

1358 Year of Shadows.

The great Gur camp spread out in a great Hub from where Eris stood. He and Wolf had walked around all the wagons this morning, then straight through the middle, counting out a league before they emerged again from the throng of people, wagons, and stray livestock. To Wolf it seemed like the most amazing thing ever, watching people come up and greet his father with laughter, hugs, and occasionally tributes of fresh vegetables. Eris revelled in the attention, and to a lesser extent so did “Prince” Wolf – for that was how Eris introduced him.

Under the amused eye of Eris, Wolf also began rising to the occasion, trying to emulate his father’s easy manner and proud bearing. This earned him amused but good natured chuckles from most and delighted hugs from some of the older Gur women. Eris would tease Wolf as this happened, reminding him not to sire any children until tonight... when the chase began. Wolf blushed crimson and disengaged himself from matronly hugs.

Eris was not just idly teasing the boy... for every five years or full turn of the wheel as the Gur called it, wagons and Gur from all over the realms would congregate at High Star Lake for a month, in a great chaotic sprawl. The highlight of the gathering was the chase, when boys and girls of age would hunt each other out in the Southwood, and unions formed. Those who had been making eyes at each other in the camp (and hadn’t already found opportunity) would now have the chance to be alone... if they could find each other. While the occasional pregnancy did result, most girls had been cautioned by their mothers on the use of herb to prevent such. More importantly to the Gur those boys and girls who came back hand in hand... could be married that same night... if they so chose.

This was how the small groups of Gur kept their bloodlines fresh for the most part. Eris guessed there might be as many as three thousand Gur here now, with more trickling in by the hour. Eris had already cautioned Wolf about coming back hand in hand... he judged twelve as a few years too young to be joined. Aye, the boy needed a few more years of grooming before he would be ready for a wagon and family of his own. Still Eris had taken the time to take Wolf into the Southwood and show him where the girls would typically run and hide. While he did not want to see Wolf joined, he would be proud to see him come back a man.

And given Wolfs lineage he should have no problem finding a willing partner for a tumble that night.

There was an excited undercurrent in the camp that day. This was the culmination of five years of stories, anticipations, and dramatic embellishments. Even the old Gur would reminisce fondly of their chase telling stories of what they got up to (or who they got up). The men folk had been walked five leagues into the woods that day making sure it would be safe for their children that night. Just to be sure, they marked trees with colourful rags as they reached five leagues so the children would know not to go further.

The day wore on and parents met with children for final advice or warnings. There were few rules for the chase other than take nothing which is not offered freely, and keep clear of your first and second cousins. The girls would run first, streaming into the woods with an hour’s head start. Those who wanted to be found would often dress in bright colours and travel in groups, waving nervous invitations to the aspiring men who watched them leave. Those who did not want to be found, or enjoyed the chase aspect more than the catch dressed in darker colours and headed off at speed.

Wolf gathered with the other boys as the Gur assembled. All around him were friendly jostles and bragging. After the kings spoke the chase would begin. It was mid afternoon and lunch sat heavily in his belly. Wolf was amongst the smaller in the group at twelve summers. The eldest stood at seventeen summers. Each boy was promised at least one chase in his lifetime, and some lucky few like Wolf may be able to run in two if they so wished and their years allowed.

Wolf watched with nervous pride as his father and four other kings made brief speeches about the meaning of the chase and the rules (such as they were). Eris gave a no so subtle reminder that nothing was to be taken that was not offered. There were a few amused sniggers from behind Wolf but he ignored them as he focused on what his father was shouting. Perhaps a hundred boys and as many girls stood ready.

With a great cheer the kings yelled as one, and the girls ran towards the woods, and well as a few of the more inattentive boys. With a laugh men intercepted the boys, and sent them back to the group with regal kicks to their behinds.

The chase had begun... with an hour of waiting. Boys boasted of whom they would seek out, and how many girls they would have. Others joked about catching others with their pants down and so on. Some few spoke seriously about whom they planned to walk out hand in hand with. Wolf himself said little even to his friends. He was somewhat overwhelmed with the occasion, unsure of the boasts and what it all really meant in reality. He felt rather small in amongst most of the elder children as well despite whom his father was.

And then... the time for talk was over, the boys rose to their feet as one as the king yelled out again for the chase to begin in earnest. The older lads sprinted ahead, some jokers tripped other boys from behind and gave friends and rivals pushes into other lads. Wolf himself was jostled a little but did not fall. He kept his feet and was suddenly inside the forest realising he had not even looked at his father in the excitement. With whoops boys split of into groups or dashed away by themselves. Wolf chose to disengage himself from a few boys his own age and jogged off into the woods. An excited yell rang out nearby followed by a peal of feminine laughter. Some girls had not been trying very hard to hide or run Wolf noted.

He ignored them, and pressed on into the woods marvelling at the huge trees. The late afternoon sun was filtered out by the great trees. Within a few hours it would be completely dark and those who were still in the forest would be spending a very dark night alone... or possibly with company. Some few Gur men folk who had the skill had left magical orbs of light on strategic trees, providing gathering points for those who feared the dark... or hard trouble finding each other. These trees also had some few sacks beneath them with skins of water and red wine, and lanterns as well for the adventurous.

Wolf pushed on through the bushes, finding no sign of anyone. It had been almost an hour, and the whoops of excitement from other boys had long since been left behind. Wolf judged he must have been looking for more than three hours now, wandering here and there, looking up into tree limbs and down into river beds. Wolf wasn’t tired at all for he had the energy of youth, but he was beginning to despair of finding any of the girls who had run into the woods. This wasn’t going to be much of a story to tell his own children one day. It was getting very dark now, but this let Wolf pick out a glow in the distant trees. No doubt one of the light globes left by the men folk earlier.

Wolf carefully picked his way towards the light, being very wary of tripping in the poor light. Hmm, it would at least give him a tale to tell should he break a leg... but hardly the memory he would have liked. He made his way into the brightness of the light and slumped down against the tree. There at the base of the trunk was a sack, loosely tied with a rough twist of rope. Wolf casually reached over and untied the sack, digging out the wine skin he knew to be within. He unstoppered the bottle and took a shallow swig. The wine had been watered down to half strength, but still made him shudder a little as he swallowed. There was a giggling noise from somewhere above, which drew a startled grunt from Wolf. He leapt to his feet and peered up into the thick limbs of the gnarled tree. There looking down at him was a Gur girl. She poked out her tongue at him

Wolf heart leapt into his mouth and his stomach dropped as dozens of stories about the chase came flooding back to him. She was quite attractive in a slightly broad shouldered way. Wolf judged her a few years his senior perhaps. He steadied himself and called him, willing his voice not to catch in his throat. “I think I have caught you... and I’m Wolf Vard”.

She smirked down at him with a beautifully uneven smile before replying “You haven’t caught me! And you had better save some of that wine for me as well; it’ll keep me warm tonight”. Wolfs vision of having her fall into his arms was dashed then and there, but he was gallant enough to play the gentleman. “We’ll come on down then, and get it before its gone” Wolf said, pulling out the stopper as he spoke then taking another drink, this time masking the shudder at the end of it. “One moment, my prince, I just want to see what this light is all about...” the girl said as she inched her way along the limb of the tree to where the globe hung.

My Prince? My Prince! She knew who he was!... that boded very well for Wolf.

He allowed himself to hope as she reached the light globe and stretched forth a curious hand. As she did so there was a great burst of light which caused her to shriek, and the single globe split in half, then those halves into halves, and so on and so forth. Each new globe shot out into the forest with a burst of light. Wolf shielded his eyes from the incredible bursts of light. When he opened them again... she was gone, and hundreds of large and small globes lit up the surrounding trees. Wolf gaped for a moment, and looked around wildly for her.

This was not meant to happen... and something was terribly wrong. He shouted out for the girl and for help... but heard nothing in return. Wolf circled the tree looking up at the great limbs. Large and small globes clung to the tree, some as large as a wagon wheel, others as small as a coin. Wolf reached out a tentative hand towards a small globe... then stopped himself. Instead he scooped up the sack and drew out the lantern, making his way around the nearby trees, calling out for the girl. There was no reply.

Suddenly as one... the globes began to shake themselves free of the trees and bushes, rising into the air like small golden suns. Wolf froze in the spot terrified of touching even the smallest globe. The globes rose to the sky, rolling around tree limbs, or gently lifting through foliage until they flew up and were taken by the wind. Wolf gaped as the forest became very dark again... aside from one globe that shone behind a distant bush. Wolf dashed for the bush, tripping once and smashing the lantern in the process.

Behind the bush lay the wagon wheel sized globe, within which was a dim and unmoving girl sized figure slumped and curved against the bottom of the globe. Wolf reacted without thinking and swung at the globe with the smashed lantern he still held. The globe popped with a bizarre odour that Wolf had never smelt before. The girl hit the ground and wheezed in a breath, barely able to move.

Wolf carefully gathered her into his arms and held her until her breathing returned to normal, talking softly into her ear, and telling her it would all be all right. After a while she turned, and though he could barely see it in the darkness, he heard both the smile and the fear in her shaking voice “Did you save some of that wine for me?”

They shared names, and wine, clumsy fumbles, and warmth that night. The next day saw them walk out the forest hand in hand... into a world that gods had turned upside down.



*Artwork by David smith

[MaskedIllusion]

Very much so enjoying this story. Kudo's again.

[Rumple C]

1360 Year of the Turret.

It was a beautiful day. Gusts of wind shook the caravan every now and then, and rain drummed down on the roof,. Small weeps of water even snuck their way in as wind occcasionaly took rain sideways, and he had not eaten a full meal in almost a week... but it was a beautiful day. The caravan was warmed by the small cast iron pot bellied fireplace. Binlina lay on their small bed having just nursed their most precious daughter.

Tonight would see the third waxing of Selune since the birth... and tonight their daughter would be presented and named. Theoretically they should have waited until tonight to choose a name but privately they had already agreed on naming her Volgura. Volgura had been the name of Wolfs mother who had passed four years ago, trampled by a horse which in turn had spooked by the great dragon flight over the dales.

Wolf leaned back against the wall of the caravan, tipping the small stool he was sitting upon up on two legs. Every week now the caravan seemed to get a little smaller as Volgara grew a little more. Wolf smiled... for no other reason than he was happy. Truly happy. Binlina noticed the smile... and returned it threefold.

Binlina lifted her hands and placed them over Volgaras ears. “You look like such a smug bastard” she observed with a small laugh. Wolf smiled even more, his cheeks hurting.

Aye, he was a smug bastard, and it was a beautiful day.



*Artwork by Dusan Rakic

[Rumple C]

1363 Year of the Wyvern.

It was the worst of all days. Binlina shuddered under rainwater streaming off the roof of the caravan. She did not shudder despite the cold on her bare skin. Nay, she shuddered in equal parts of horror, revulsion, and anger. Those zhentish... cyricist... bastards! They had taken the land around Irieabor, then the outskirts, and city, then they had taken her. She was by no means unique, there had been killings and kidnappings, rapes and rampages aplenty... but when they joked about taking her children... nay, that could not stand, that was not -right-.

Her children were safe now at least... well as safe as they could be in this city. On route to be hidden in the cellar of a friend, oft used for smuggling, led away from the caravan by her aunt as the Zhentlir bastard dragged her in. Zhentlirs, men, ruled by their snake, a curse on them all!

He said he would be back. That she was special. She felt suddenly nauseous and curled over, heaving nothing. He did not know, did not understand.. she was Gur. He had taken her –honor-, he had taken everything from her. And he joked about coming back for her children? That could not stand, her path was set, her rage demanded it. So as others fled to safer places, to cellars and hideouts, to friends and protection... she waited. Waited for that bastard to come back.

Waited to be raped again.

Waited til he was done and his back turned..

Waited til he was shrugging his chain shirt back over his head ...

Then waited no longer and she pulled a bone handled knife that Wolf had gifted her. A knife that had belonged to his mother, a knife that she had oft used for cut fruit for their children... low and hard, again and again into that bastards lower back.

She knew she would never see her children again... and that was the thing that hurt the most.



*Artwork by Luis Royo

[Rumple C]

1367: Year of the Shield.

The pyre raged in front of wolf. It was a good pyre to be sure. Aye, a coopers old pitch barrel, half a dozen half built doors, a good splash of lamp oil, Wolfs own caravan... and his daughters body. Wolf was slumped against a walnut tree a few miles outside of Irieabor. Cursed city that it was. Beshaba herself must be cackling over it for all that had happened to it. Probably cackling over him as well, the demented bitch.

Certainly Talona or Moander must have had a finger in this as well, Wolf thought as he watched the flames rage high. Building the pyre had taken the last of his strength from his plague weakened body. He coughed harshly against the heat. The spotted plague. Wolfs vision swam out of focus a moment as the exertion and strain of it all took their toll. He felt drained, felt empty, less than human, no longer human even. Just another walking corpse that didn’t know it was dead yet.

The pitch barrel finally caught and sent a plume of black smoke high into the air, blurring the stars beyond. For a moment Wolf imagined he saw Volgaras face in the fire and smoke, wracked in pain. He again felt his throat choke, and tears form... but a gust of wind sent heat and smoke over him. The tears dried on his face as he held his breath, too weak to move. Eventually he had to breath, and took in the harsh acrid smoke of the tar barrel. In his delirium he imagined he was breathing in his daughters ashes, her spirit.

No, no! She did not belong here in this world any more. She needed to be with Selune!

Wolf weakly pushed himself over onto his side, and put two withered filthy fingers with cracked nails into his mouth. He heaved and vomited a little fluid, then coughed harshly, over and over.

Aye, aye, that was it, he mashed his hand into the vomit, smearing it thin on the ground. She was free again. On her way to Selune. Soon it would be his turn. Aye, the spotted plague and Irieabors curse would see to that.

As he lay there waiting to die, he thought of his daughter dying. Growing weaker every day. In pain. And him, unable to beg, borrow, or steal a cure. He had not the gold for the priests who had all to few favours to go around, and certainly none for the Gur, reviled as they are. And so it came to pass that they both grew weaker , until his daughter died in his arms. Her last words? Mother... gods how that had broken his heart.

He had taken her body, to wash it as best he could, so she could be clean for the pyre and Selune beyond. Gods, he had been so weak himself, so unthinking that he thought her still alive when her body wheezed at him. He has been wiping days of sweat and filth from her stomach when the air escaped from her lungs in a ghastly hollow wheeze. He hoped anew for almost a minute, calling to her, pleading with her to wake up, to be warm again before realising that she was still dead. He had lost his daughter twice that day. And after he had cleaned her once, he had to do it again, as her bowels relaxed voiding her wastes.

Those who think there is dignity death... they do not know. There is far more dignity in life.

Wolfs ceased moving, or blinking. His eyes fixed on some nothingness far away, as he waited to join his daughter and wife.



*Artwork by Unknown

[Rumple C]

Wolfs Lament. (translated from Gurri to common)

What does it mean...
To start a song with a death?
How can I sing...
When I have nothing left?

What does it mean...
To outlive your child?
How can I sing...
When my voice should be wild?

What does it mean...
To abandon my wife?
How can I sing...
When she was killed by the strife?

What does it mean...
To be a false prince?
How can I sing...
When their shades make me wince?


***

Volgara my first,
For you i'll be pure,
Forgive me my love,
For not finding a cure.

Binlina my heart,
For you i'll be strong,
Forgive me my love,
For being gone too long.

From now until then, in all that I do,
Each act, each word, is in honor of you.

Selune, guide them home with your silvery light
Savras, give me wisdom to know what is right.

Torm, grant me stones, so I'll never need yield
Illmater, tell the weak, that i'll be their shield.

Dark gods, false men, fair warn, i'm coming for you
Hoar, steel my heart, so i'll see it all through .



*Artwork by Jorge Del Valle

[Rumple C]

1377: Year of the Haunting.

Kristovar and his brother Wolf crouched at the edge of the river, downstream from the Boareskyr bridge. Here the water was oily black, rippling and roiling. It looked surreal in a very very unpleasant way. Upstream on the other side of the bridge the water was clear, as it should be but here, aye, here... it was... wrong.

Kristovar and Wolf stared at the water, each lost in their own dark thoughts. After some minutes Wolf idly began tossing in leaves and a few of the longer stemmed reeds. Kristovar soon followed suit and both brothers lost themselves to their childhood games again. After a time Kristovar broke the silence "Bet it tastes as good as it looks, eh, five silvers if you drink a cup?".

Wolf smiled. It was almost impossible to keep a dark mood when his brother was around. "Aye, like the broken dreams of a thousand murderers, and i'll pass". Both brothers laughed at that. Wolf reached out an arm to tip Kristovar towards the water, though kept his hand on his shoulder, knowing just how fatal a dip in the water could be should he accidently swallow some.

Kristovar sat down suddenly, and Wolf joined him. They watched the occasional caravan or wagon or even pilgrims trudge over the bridge... but mostly they just stared at the water.

"How is Gelena?" asked Wolf knowing full well the answer.

Kristovar shrugged "She is allright, unhappy as usual, kids are grisly, sorry if they woke you up last night".

Wolf shrugged in return. In truth the kids and shouting matches Kristovar had been having with Gelena had woke the whole camp up last night. but that was their business, and unless it spilt out to the camp, would remain such. Wolfs mood began to darken. They sat for almost an hour without talking before Kristovar spoke again.

"Must be almost Volgaras naming day again, aye?".

"Aye" answered Wolf darkly. What lay unspoken was that it was almost fourteen years to the day that Irieabor has been sacked by the Zhentilars. Kristovar moved over and put his arm around Wolf, who put his head in his hands, and cried.



*Artwork by Wallpapersland.net

[Rumple C]

It is always darkest before dawn.

Wolf lay in a feverish delirium on the floor of the rough house. All around him were fearful moans from fearful ffolk and quavering calls from a single living priest, who had his shoulder against the rough wooden door. Wolf had long since drifted from consciousness to a dream like state where he lost all sense of himself.

His vision flowed and roiled in shades of oily black, he felt himself pushed, and fell with terror and submerged with what he knew was death, it swam around him... whomever he was. It filled his mouth, his ears, his eyes. He tried to draw desperate breaths, but all he drew in was more death, more evil, more wrongness. A face swam out of the darkness, one that looked like him, but was not... it smiled... showing predatory fangs. He recoiled in fear, remembering weakly how its touch dimmed his world... his life... his soul.

“Avaunt!” the word cut through the darkness, and the oily darkness swirled into much drier shades of grey and black. Now he was... deep. He felt the roof overhead threatening him with the weight of a mountain. Barely held in place, waiting, promising entrapment and thirst. A shadow flicked in the corner of his eye. Then another in the other. Each turn of his head brought further warnings that should be heeded... but weren’t? A slow sense of loss and regret and guilt began to build. Something was happening... something wrong...

“Be gone with you!” The cavernous roof overhead rumbled and collapsed, burying and forcing him against the ground, he was crushed, his flesh split, blood oozed black through cracks and crevices. The rocks rumbled overhead... and he knew things stirred and fled. Help? He was needed... but he needed help as well. He wasn’t enough, and knew it. His essence was pulled this way, and that, forming small islands... but spread too thin, far too thin. He had given too much of himself, or more since had been taken from him?

“You’ll find no solace here!” A thin long cold pain... in his gut. No, not his. Someone else, yet so painful to feel. Ungratefulness, arrogance... had he thought or energy he would detest such things. But that in itself was a thought? How could he be thinking when he was not... anything. What was he? Was he a he? Was he a thing? Was he alive?

“You’re not welcome here!” Everything dissolved... and he dissolved with it. Grey... featureless. Quiet. Boring. Boring? He had not been here long enough to be bored. Aye...boring. It lacked... sound. A chiming sound began to build, and with it a sense of dread. No longer boring, but terrifying. The sound that drove men mad...

“Stop!” and it was quiet again. He floated in situ. He could learn to enjoy the quiet... if the alternative was terror... But now... nothing here, a featureless place, a featureless existence? He needed... sound. His mouth open, and the barest hiss of air emerged. It was disquieting, alarming, wrong. There must be another way. He looked down at the lute he carried. He could feel it vibrating, ready to resonate. Aye, it was special. For so many reasons. But what were they? He plucked a string awkwardly and a note swirled out, causing eddies in the greyness. Fingers moved in a familiar rhythm without him thinking, and words and thoughts slowly lived again in his mind.

What does it mean...
To start a song with a death?
How can I sing...
When I have nothing left?

Gods, no. He felt bitter and crushing loneliness. Each word had restored some small part of himself, some semblance of painful self awareness. But he didn’t want to know. It hurt to be him. Better just to float here for a time at least.

Word jumped unbidden into his head and his hands moved of their own violation...

What does it mean...
To outlive your child?
How can I sing...
When my voice should be wild?

He wept tears for the daughter he had forgotten he had lost... then tears for her mother... then tears for his mother as well. He felt weak, drained. It was too much, too soon. He wasn’t strong enough to deal with this, not now. He weakly pushed the lute away, but instead found himself moving back from the lute a short way. He hung floating. He knew had he the energy that he would be glaring. It was solid. Real. He... he needed it. But he didn’t want the pain. And the thought caused him pain. He shook his head, feeling a little more alert. He was losing both ways now. Inaction was dull never ending pain. Remembering was sharp ruthless bitter pain.

He chose inaction and endured. Every pulse of his heart pushed at his skin painfully. Rhythmically. Gods. It was in him. He reached for the lute... and found himself stranded in place. It hung just out of his grasp. He had nothing to push against, nor could he pull himself closer. He flailed helplessly, now realising what he had lost. He called out and the barest whisper emerged.

“Please...”

The lute was gone... then in his hands again. An overwhelming sense of relief. His relief was... palpable? A glow? A ball of light? That was... familiar? The lute hummed in empathy with the small ball of light.

The light spun and moved... this way and that, sinuously, gracefully. It was... comforting. He wasn’t lonely anymore? His hands moved to the lute again and began to play... the secret song. The one he had written, but never shared. The one he had forgotten and remembered now, all in the same instance. His fingers were clumsy now, but he remembered how it should have sounded. Exotic... evocative... hot. Hot? Fire...

A figure spun into shape around the ball, dancing. It was... she? A woman of rare beauty and form and grace. And she danced like the gods themselves. To his song. The thought stunned him a moment and his fingers stopped playing, though she continued dancing without him. A moment later she crouched low, holding the ball of light high. On a dock? Waiting for him? Why wouldn’t she meet his gaze? Who was she?

“Get away...” There was an almighty crash of something wooden being thumped with force and frustration. Wolfs eyes flicked open. To reality.

He knew who he was now. Truly knew.

Gods, let me live through the night, now I have something to live for



*Artwork by Jason Engle

[Riotnrrd]

((awesome))

[Rumple C]

Uninvited guest.

This was not a fun party Wolf decided, still somewhat delirious. There were fourteen Ffolk is the small two room house with a rammed dirt floor. And one Gur who was feeling very, very far from home. The priests stood with his shoulder against the door, but everyone else without exception was slumped on a bed or crude cot in varying states of poisoned incapacitation. The scratching sound of claws on wood came from the door as the vampire made his presence known...

People mewled in piteous fear. Wolf included. The priest of Chauntea was white as a ghost. A woman cried out then screamed “Its going to eat us all!”, a wave of panic ran through the miners. Suddenly at a window the vampires face appeared, half its pale face showing as it looked in from crude shutters. There was a tidal movement as those who could surged away from the window. The priest ran over in his brown robes, and hung a blanket over the shutters, shaking in fear. His voice quavered “leave us be, beast”. The vampire hissed with laughter...

Wolf himself found himself pressed against, by huddled miners. It stank of fear and stale sweat, and fresh piss in here, and sounded like... well... it sounded like a house full of terrified people. Wolf pulled his pack closer as it look in danger of being stepped upon. The neck of his lute case jutted out. Wolf pushed free of the crowd dragging his pack with him. He did not like being jostled.

It had gone very quiet now. The priest stood with his back against the door, his eyes closed, and mouthing silent prayers. A few miners lay on the floor to weak to move, and the rest huddled in a collected mass of fearful humanity in the corner of the room. They stared at wolf. Almost expectantly.

With shaking hands he set his pack down on an empty bed, and hauled out his lute case. He sat, as a vertigo overtook him. He looked up and saw almost a dozen eyes still looking back. Wolf swallowed hard and moved the lute case to his lap. He ran a hand over it, almost reverently. It was this that had led him back from the edge. He worked at the leather knots that held it closed...

And there was a thump on the shingled roof.

The miners screamed while Wolfs fingers scrambled to get the lute case open.

A single shingle fell into the room, and again the vampire looked down towards the huddled miners. Everyone cried out in fear, Wolf included, remembering his life draining to the beasts touch. The vampires face rose and bobbed with a hissing laughter, even as the priest called out for it to begone.

Wolf heard a familiar sound. One he had heard throughout the taverns and inns and marketplaces of the isles. The all too familiar sound of “Isabel Yoc Vitera Mileidis”, the graceful lute. He looked down at his hands which had stopped shaking, and started playing. The notes ran out purely, resonating throughout the small house, louder and more demanding than fearful cries. Wolf looked back up from the strings and once again saw the miners staring at him. Theie faces held mixed expressions of fear and incredulity. Wolfs looked back over his shoulder and saw the priest looking equally surprised. There was one more onlooker...

Wolf steeled himself and lifted his head to look at the vampires face. Slowly its eyes swivelled from the miners to look at Wolf. He played a sour note as he bagan to lose himself in the vampires eyes. “Look away!” shouted the priest. The call was enough for Wolf to whip his head back down to his lute, almost tipping himself over in his dizzied state. The magic of the lute made the now well practised notes ring out. It was time... right? Aye...

Harken all...
And listen ye well...
For I am -the- Wolf!
With a story to tell...

This was getting decidedly surreal decided Wolf. It had gone completely silent now, aside from Wolfs Ffolk song. He had closed his eyes, trying to imagine himself back in his caravan, not in a poorly built shack with a vampire watching him through a hole in the roof.

Do you recall that time...
When all seemed most grim...

Wolfs fingers slowed a moment as he realised this may not be helping his cause.. and sped up again, moving his voice quickly past the somewhat threatening lyric...

Our fields were salted...
And our children grew thin...

The winter was cold...
And cruelly sighed...
Crops withered in fields...
As our livestock died...

We felt all alone...
With no one to trust...
We cooked soup with rocks...
As our hope turned to dust...

Wolf cracked an eyelid, risking his concentration by looking to the miners. This was totally surreal. They looked at Wolf like he was mad. But aren’t we all mad to get ourselves born? Hmm, one of the miners looked like he was ready to say something...

But one child knew better...
With a small voice they spoke...
Sing out everyone!
For we are the Ffolk!

The miner had joined in with the hook of the song... he must have heard one of wolfs performances... it had proved a popular enough song in these dark days...

One childs voice became two...
Then three and then four...
The song came alive...
And they cried out for more!

We heard them sing...
And felt shame as they spoke...
We are the children!
And we are the Ffolk!

More voices this time... Wolf opened his eyes the miner who sung earlier had his hands one the shoulders of two other miners. Had he prompted them to sing? Wolf raised his own voice, the magic of the lute taking the quaver and rough edges off... this next few verse were the ones, aye...

The women joined in...
And the men did too...
They all raised their voices!
And so now should you!

Wolf turned to catch the priests eye with his own, jerking his head towards the miners. Slowly the priest moved to join them. They made room for him. One of the miners took the priests hand in his own. The priest looked like he was about to cry.

So sing it out...
From here to the bay...
I want it loud!
Aye, loud is the way!

It looked like Wolf had them all hooked now. They were lost in the music, without exception. Some of them were trying to sing along, guessing at words, or singing them a moment after wolf did.

Now I want us heard...
In every last town...
That we are the Ffolk!
And we love the crown!

They do all they can...
Know that much is right...
We are all close...
The end is in sight...

“Sing it again” shouted Wolf in a sing song tone!

They do all they can...
Know that much is right...
We are all close...
The end is in sight...

Wolf grinned to himself, losing touch a moment with just how dire a situation he was in. It was a scene he had repeated often in countless taverns as he worked to restore a little good will and hope in the Ffolk. They had suffered long enough under drought, and worse.

Now I want us heard...
Sister and brother...
For we are the Ffolk!
And we love the Mother!

We are the Ffolk!
And we are the land...
It is with Mother...
That we make our stand!

“Play it again!” cried out the priest, tears streaming down his face. Wolf laughed despite everything and did as was demanded. Wolf had intended to anyhow, but the priest had beaten him to the call... which made it that much more satisfying, and significant.

Now I want us heard...
Sister and brother...
For we are the Ffolk!
And we love the Mother!

We are the Ffolk!
And we are the land...
It is with Mother...
That we make our stand!

So any false men...
You meet here or there...
Tell them, take your false gods...
And get the hells out of here!

For we are the Ffolk!
And we sing it loud!
That we love the crown...
And this makes us proud!

For we are the Ffolk!
And we sing it loud!
That we love the Mother!
And this makes us proud!

“And again!” cried out the miners. Wolf laughed with pure joy and obliged, again and again.

For we are the Ffolk!
And we sing it loud!
That we love the Mother!
And this makes us proud!

For we are the Ffolk!
And we sing it loud!
That we love the Mother!
And this makes us proud!

Wolf was in his element now, and felt he could do no wrong. The miners and the priest were held in his Gur magic and by their own devotion to the Earthmother. Wolf deliberately kept his eyes on the crowd and plucked at the lute strings with his right hand as his left lifted from the neck of the lute and raised towards the hole in the roof. A gesture known all across the isles was made, known as “milking the bull”. Wolf and the ffolk cheered, and laughed, and cried, and survived all as one... until the sun finally lit up the room... through a hole in the roof.



*Artwork by Unknown