Strength... Loyalty... Pack...

by Wulfgarin ip-Talon

… The young pup falls back from the heavy blow received from his elder brother. A hearty laugh breaks forth from the larger sibling as the younger rolls down the grassy knoll, catching his forehead on a jagged rock on the bottom. Bleeding slightly he yelps loudly, “Mother!” Kirah looks with affection on her youngest, throwing a warning glance in the elder’s direction. “Calm yourself Raggnokk, it is just a scratch.”

“But mother, he is always picking on me just because he is bigger than me.”

Showing wicked canines the elder sibling growls, “Ah quit yer whining ya whelp! I was only playing…” adding with a mocking tone, “What doesn’t kill ye only makes ye stronger”. But the laugh dies in his throat as a large shadow falls over him.

“Wise words Wulfgarin”, Talon makes an imposing figure with his silvered coat and black masking, markings mirrored on the young Wulfgarin. The well worn leathers, the hilt of the two handed sword peeking above his right shoulder and the scars crisscrossing his arms… the almost imperceptible limp courtesy of the snowbeast that gave it’s hide to cover the caverns floor… all this and more give testimony to his strength and prowess.

“F-father, I was…”

“Walk with me Wulfgarin, there are words I have need of sharing with you.”

They walk in silence around the perimeter of the enclave, Wulfgarin with his head hanging low, thoughts awhirl with impending doom. “Father, I…”

“Hush Wulfgarin, and listen”, but again Talon falls silent, not saying anything more. They sit in silence with the bright sun shining with nary a cloud in the sky, as the sounds of the day wash over them. Pups playing at tag nipping at each other’s heels, mothers calling out to right any errant behavior. The wind rustling the leaves of the tall Oak growing in the center of the village. A bee, buzzing industriously around the bloom of a jadice plant. After what seems an eternity to one so young the older Talon turns to Wulfgarin and quietly asks, “What do you hear?”

Startled from his thoughts by the question, Wulfgarin stumbles for an answer, “I… um…”

“What you hear is life. What you hear is the pack. The pack is life.” These words rang familiar to Wulfgarin’s ears, how often had he heard them. “The pack gives us life and we give our lives to the Pack.” Again the same words… so familiar, so predictable. “I have been sworn as Guardian, as my father before me and his father before him as far back as can be remembered. I will protect the pack for as long as I hold breath…but I won’t live forever”. Wulfgarin was shocked from his reverie for here was something new. Never had his father spoken of his own mortality. Wulfgarin grew up on stories told of his father’s deeds, it was said that Mrod himself had blessed his life and watched over him. Surely he would always be there as Guardian. “It is time to step up your training.”

“But Father, I…”

“You are strong Wulfgarin, both in arm and in mind, and with strength comes responsibility.” Wulfgarin sits a bit taller and holds his head a bit higher as Talon gazes at him with a fierce intensity. “Yes, you are strong… but you are also immature, wasting that strength in foolish and sometimes cruel pranks.” Wulfgarin again bows his head in shame, “We are men of the sword, and as such it is necessary, at times, to practice violence.” At this point Talon allows his voice to carry a bit of steel, “However, we cannot allow ourselves to become violent men. We can never allow ourselves to practice violence on those we should be protecting. Or else we become that which we most loath. Remember these words and take heed.”

Talon sees that Wulfgarin is listening for perhaps the first time in his life and gives him a slight nod. “Now on to other things, and listen well… Be wary of outsiders, they are not of the Pack. And being outside of the Pack they cannot understand. Though good can be found there is also much treachery. Only the Pack can be trusted. Our ways are not their ways, and their ways can never be our ways.

“Always remember the Pack. The Pack remains strong, the Pack remains firm, the Pack remains loyal, the Pack will always be there in time of need. The Pack gives us life we give our lives to the Pack.” Although he had heard the words hundreds of times before, never had they fallen with such gravity. And in that moment Wulfgarin truly pledged his life to the pack. With a shining in his clear eyes, Talon turns to Wulfgarin and says, “I feel you have finally heard the truth and not just the words Wulfgarin. On the morrow I will approach the Elders and put your name forth to join the Protectors. When next Katamba grows full you shall take your place among their ranks. Go now and become the man you are meant to be.”

Wulfgarin bows to his father and turns to make his way home. Talon watches as Wulfgarin makes his way, a fierce pride burning in his chest but also a sense of doom growing in him for what he fears they will all have to face. And to himself he whispers, “Go with Mrod Wulfgarin, may Katamba illumine your path… my Son.”

* * *

“They are no longer rumors! We must remove ourselves from this area!” Talon’s words seemed to be falling on deaf ears. “Do you not understand? Ebontail Clan is no more! The Horror comes and it is coming on wings of death. We must go now!”

“Calm yourself Talon, we can not just up and leave. The Silverpaws have lived in this valley for generations it takes planning and time to organize something of this nature. Ebontail Clan is far distant, we can wait until after Katamba wanes again. Travel will be much easier without our moonskin.”

“But Katamba does not reach it’s fullness for another week!” Talon snarled but to no avail.

“The Elders have decided, Talon. You must obey the rule of the Pack”, and then in a more placating tone, “besides, Wulfgarin will be going through his rite of passage and accepting a position among the Protectors at the coming Moot. Surely you would not want him to miss this important occasion.”

Talon allowed his temper to subside, accepting the word of the Elders. “The Elders know best, and I bow to your wisdom”. But as he turned he left them with, “I only pray that Mrod will spare us till then.”

* * *

Wulfgarin could barely contain his excitement. Tonight Katamba would be full, and the moonskin would return to them all. And once the shock of transformation wore off he would participate in the rite of passage, finally leaving his youth behind. Nothing could mar this day for him.

Kirah spent the better part of the day preparing food for the Moot. She constantly has to chase Raggnokk out of the kitchen with half-hearted threats. How she loves her boys. Raggnokk, always so studious, easily one of the smartest pups in the village. And Wulfgarin… the transformation he has undergone… she cannot help but shed a tear of pride for her eldest son, blaming the onions loudly as Talon walks into the kitchen. Sensing her feelings, Talon walks to his mate and wraps his arms around her, “He is a good boy, soon to be a man. You have done well my wife.”

“He favors you my husband, so a good man he has to be,” she sighed leaning back into his embrace, then just as quickly, “Now get out of here and take that scalawag with you, or I will never finish before the sun sets,” shaking her knife in Raggnokk’s direction.

Laughing, Talon sweeps Raggnokk onto his shoulders and calls out, “Come Wulfgarin, we go to gather strawberries for your mothers pies!”

* * *

The entire enclave was gathered around the old oak tree as the sun was setting in the west. Tables were heavy laden with all kinds of food, the smell making more than one belly rumble. But now was not the time to eat, now was the time to wait for Katamba. At one time, as legend put it, Katamba glowed gold and all true people wore their moonskin always. But something happened, and Katamba was charred, leaving nothing but a dark globe. The people came from this terror smooth skinned and frightened. Many prayers were sent to Mrod, but answers were slow in coming. The people continued to pray, and when Katamba was again full, Mrod blessed them with their moonskins for a short time, and has continued to do so ever since whenever Katamba reached it’s fullest.

But the blessing came with its drawbacks. The transformation was at best uncomfortable and at worst extremely painful. And for quite a while afterward you were left gasping for breath and barely able to move. And the hunger! Felt as if everything was stripped from you leaving you completely empty. So it became customary to gather at this special time and prepare a great banquet for everyone to help regain his or her strength.

Everyone watched in anticipation, as the sky grew darker and darker. Soon it was known that Katamba would be peeking above the tops of the mountains and shining her dark light upon the valley. Wulfgarin was pacing excitedly, and bracing himself for the shock of transformation. Then as if by magic the valley was bathed in Katamba’s dark radiance. All but a few fell to their knees and then their backs as the transformation took a grip upon the valley. It was as it had always been, the sharp feelings of stretching and contracting, the increase in smell, the loss of color… but there was something else… a sense of dread?

Something was wrong, it could be felt, but not seen. Then the earth started to tremble knocking the few who had managed to remain standing to the ground. Then the mists began to creep into the valley, heavy and cold, and seemed to carry with them a terror that sank into the heart. Everyone lay stunned unable to move, now at their weakest from the transformation. And then it was as if the gates of Hell were thrown open and out marched her armies.

Rotting corpses came out of the earth and started to approach the valley where everyone all lay helpless before them. Only barely were some of the stronger men getting to their knees. These were the first to fall to the onslaught, as they were struck down by the advancing horde. And only then was the terror made complete… for no sooner had they fallen than an unholy light would encompass their bodies and they would rise jerkily to their feet and join the ranks of death. The night was filled with screams as mothers and children struggled to regain their feet only to be struck down… Fathers sacrificing themselves in a vain effort to slow the attack were no match against this wave of death.

Wulfgarin lay gasping, barely able to move. With horror he knew that he would soon join the ranks of the dead and help in the destruction of his people. There was nothing he could do to prevent the inevitable, struggle as he could. But he vowed he would not die on his back, and so on sheer willpower he levered himself to his knees and then using the trunk of the old oak he dragged himself to his feet. There he leaned against the rough bark gasping. The fear was crashing over him in a torrential downpour. A sense of panic was welling up from somewhere deep inside, but he somehow managed to keep it under control. Drawing the ceremonial sword he was wearing at his hip he staggered toward the horde ready to throw himself at the attackers.

Suddenly he was pulled around from behind and he found himself looking into his father’s wild eyes. “Run!”

“But…”

“Run! Now!” his father shouted shoving him back almost causing him to lose his footing. At that point Talon turned and threw himself at the attackers waving his great two-handed sword. Never had Wulfgarin seen such fury. Talon took cut after cut but kept hewing off limbs and heads from torsos. At one time he was struck down to his knees and two attackers piled on top of him, but growling and snapping he somehow managed to regain his feet. It was as if Mrod himself were fighting. Wulfgarin tried to engage but found himself unable to approach as if some unseen force were holding him back. His father was building a writhing wall of bodies around himself, yet more and more attackers were turning their attention to his position. Wulfgarin watched in terror as Talon’s bad leg betrayed him causing him to fall to his knees. And then as he took a blow to the head, Talon sank onto his back where he was immediately washed over by a see of the dead.

Something in Wulfgarin snapped and he turned and ran. Stumbling through the mist and the darkness he had no idea where he was heading. At one time a one-armed corpse rose in front of him but he managed to behead it with a panic-stricken swing, and kept on running. Somewhere in the night he found himself collapsed next to a small stream, where he was able to drink his fill. But his exhaustion soon overcame him as he voided his stomach and collapsed into unconsciousness…

* * *

Rarely anymore does he wake in the night screaming, reliving the night his father died. Many years have passed since his “Rite of Passage”. He has seen no one from his pack, and the other refugees, those remnants of the true people he mostly avoids. He has had friends, well acquaintances mostly but most of those are short lived. Well except for this one Human…

A Ranger by trade, a man of the woods, mountains and streams. One evening as Wulfgarin found himself alone by the fire, he was hailed from the dark. “Permission to approach the fire friend?” came from the shadows in a low congenial voice.

“Yer nay my friend…” was Wulfgarin’s guttural reply, “but approach the fire and show yourself.”

“No offense was meant good sir, just saw your camp and felt that a cold night best be spent with a companion. Carpe Loremage, at your service, and well met.” Wulfgarin sat a moment staring at the proffered hand, the words of his father ringing in his ears, “Be wary of outsiders, they are not of the Pack. And being outside of the Pack they cannot understand. Though good can be found there is also much treachery. Only the Pack can be trusted. Our ways are not their ways, and their ways can never be our ways.” But he could sense no treachery here, and he had had experience with treachery over the years.

And the Pack was no more, and outsiders were all there were left. Wulfgarin grasped the man's hand, the grip was firm without crushing. A known strength, but no need to make a show of it and Wulfgarin started to warm to this Human. “Well met indeed… Wulfgarin ip-Talon at your service, sit and be welcome.” The night indeed did pass better with a companion. That night and many nights to follow.

Wulfgarin found in Carpe a person who carried many of the strengths he had always admired in his father. Qualities he wished he could have found in himself. Carpe was willing to take what he considered a lost soul under his wing and began to teach Wulfgarin the ways of the woods. Tracking and hunting, how to properly dress out a kill, which were the best parts for eating and which hides brought the greatest profit. The names of herbs and how best to use them when treating wounds. The tending of wounds when herbs were not enough. And many others were the lessons learned. There was one uncomfortable moment the first time Wulfgarin assumed his moonskin in front of his new friend, but Carpe had been around and one new sight did not seem to be too much for him to handle. In fact he seemed to look on in awe at the power and majesty evident in this new form.

A strong bond began to grow between the two, a sense of belonging that Wulfgarin had not felt since he was back in the valley of the Silverpaws. Not only had he found a kindred spirit with Carpe, but also many of the Rangers seemed to carry that same sense of family that had been missing for so long in his life. He dared to hope that he could somehow be accepted as an equal by these strong unassuming souls. But still the words of his father held him back from truly releasing himself.

* * *

It was cold tonight, the kind of cold that pierces clear to the soul. The ache in his bones caused Wulfgarin to grumble again, “and what are we here for?”

Carpe chuckled as he grinned at his friend, “you know darn well why we are here ye mangy mutt! Three caravans missing in the past month and ye has to ask?”

“Aye, I knows… but did it have to be in the dead of winterrr?” Wulfgarin couldn’t help growling, or was it his teeth chattering?

“At least you have yourself a nice fur coat to keep you warm… so quit your whining!”

“Yeppers… there are many folks that are jealous of the true people” and so the bantering continued into the night. It was true, three caravans had gone missing and the people were scared. If the trade routes could not be kept open then there would be much suffering in some of the smaller outlying settlements.

Kalika had made a special call to Carpe and Wulfgarin to scout out the situation and if possible discover what was going on. They had gone to the scene of the last attack and started reading the signs. They now found themselves deep in the Dragon Spine Mountains. All signs pointed to a large gathering of snowbeasts, something that was unheard of with these solitary creatures. The ferocity of these creatures did not lend itself to the concerted efforts being made as seemed to be the case in these attacks. And yet the next morning found the two looking over an encampment of the beasts. There were easily 20 of the creatures milling about in the valley below, and even more amazing were the structures that had been built of ice and snow.

“You take the 10 on the right and I will take the 10 on the left,” was Carpe’s ingenious plan.

To which Wulfgarin growled, “And the ones in the huts, you fool?”

“Easy my friend… You know Kalika would skin us both if we headed down into that mess, we are just here to scout and report. Speaking of which, let’s get ourselves out of here…” No sooner had the words left Carpe’s mouth when they both heard a mighty bellow from behind them. Wulfgarin felt a savage blow lift him from his perch and throw him over the ledge. He hit the slope hard, the fall barely cushioned by the ice and snow that covered the valley. The pain in his back left him nauseous and stunned for long seconds, but as the fog began to clear from his head he knew he was in serious trouble. Lying in the snow he found himself surrounded by no fewer that 10 of the ugly snarling beasts. And where was Carpe? A blood curdling yell from up the ridge seemed to answer that question, and seemed to be the answer for his own fate. Lying there helpless before these beasts Wulfgarin held no hope for escape, his only question being why he was even now still breathing. Even as the thought was crossing his mind the snowbeasts opened a path on one side of the circle.

And in walked a maiden who appeared made of ice. Blue was her skin, the blue of glacier packed snow, her eyes were a crystal white and her hair fell as frost and icicles around her shoulders. She was beyond beautiful, or would have been except for the maniacal gleam in her eye. “Ahhh, my pets, a mortal! For me?” she said in a voice void of any warmth, and followed it with a high insane giggle. The ice maiden began to chant in a high, clear voice, tracing an arcane symbol in the misty air. Ice seemed to form in Wulfgarin’s veins, and he found himself chilled to his soul. He began losing consciousness and prepared to meet with his family in Mrod’s embrace, when the ice maiden suddenly pitched backwards with an ebon shaft quivering in her eye. Wulfgarin heard the howl of a wolf and in his delirious state saw his father leaping over his body and plunging his great sword through the throat of the nearest beast. ‘But my father is dead… I saw him fall.’ Wulfgarin struggled to his knees and shook his head trying to clear the ice from his thoughts.

As he came fully to his senses he was the witness to incredible pandemonium. Having been freed of the charm of the ice maiden the snowbeasts had reverted to their natural state. Many of them had turned on each other and began fighting to show their dominance, and in the middle of them all was the relatively slight form of Carpe, dancing left and right and swinging his slender blade. Already there were six beasts bloody and lying around him. Others in confusion were milling about and feeling the sting of his weapon. Still others were crashing out of huts to join in the melee.

Wulfgarin leaped to his feet and drew his broadsword… not the massive weapon once favored by his father, but a jagged edged blade made for ripping and slaying. Into the fray he threw himself fighting to reach Carpe’s side. Carpe was currently being harried by four of the beasts with two others coming to join the fight. A quick slash right and a feint left and another beast fell at Carpe’s feet. But it was obvious that Carpe was tiring. Any moment and one of the beasts would get in a lucky strike and bring the human down.

With a snarl and a slash, Wulfgarin dispatched a beast that had come to confront him, and finally he was within range. Withdrawing a dagger from his belt he threw it at the nearest beast, but it may as well have been a bee sting for all the good it did. The snowbeast however did whirl around to face its new attacker only to be met by a slash from Wulfgarin’s sword across it’s belly. The beast went down trying to keep its intestines inside, but soon gave up on that as its head went rolling following Wulfgarin’s next slash. Wulfgarin leaped to intercept a blow aimed for Carpe’s head, just managing to divert the claw. A quick draw and thrust combination and the beast joined its brethren at their feet. “Well met again my friend,” laughed Carpe though his laugh came out a bit strained.

“You fool!” growled Wulfgarin, “Why did you not run if you were clear of that beast!”

Carpe glanced at Wulfgarin and blanched, “What?! And leave you with all the fun?! Never!”

Standing back to back, Wulfgarin spared a quick glance over his shoulder, “Any thoughts o ferocious one?”

“Yes!” exclaimed Carpe as he dispatched the beast directly in front of him. Grabbing Wulfgarin by the collar he swung him around and bodily threw him over the body of the beast he had just slain, and leaping after him shouted, “Run!”

Stumbling over the ice and snow, slashing to the left and right when a beast attempted to intercept them, the two fought their way out of the valley. The next few days were an endless skirmish, the nights filled with the howls of the hunting beasts. When again they made it to the road, bloodied and bruised they fell to their knees and gave heartfelt thanks to their gods.

* * *

Later that month when wounds were healed and life was back to it’s twisted semblance of normal, Carpe and Wulfgarin find themselves sitting around a crackling fire in the forests of Leth Deriel. Carpe looked over at his pensive friend, “You are deep in thought Wulfgarin, be there ought troubling you?”

After a few moments Wulfgarin threw the stick he was chewing on into the heart of the fire and said in a low voice, “I have been thinking back to that night on the Dragon Spine… What were you thinking charging in like that?”

“Ah, my friend, I couldn’t leave ye there in the clutches of that demon” Carpe chuckled in reply, “Is that all that is worrying you? Leave it behind my friend, we are out and we are living, though I doubt we will ever live down the tongue lashing we got from Kalika.” That last brought a faint smile to Wulfgarin’s lips.

“There is something else I am needing to tell you…” Carpe looked at Wulfgarin quizzically who continued on in a hesitant manner, “When you came in to save me, I thought at first you were my father…”

“The fall you had obviously rattled what little brain you carry in that head of yours”

“No… hear me out.” Wulfgarin again seemed to be struggling to find the way to put his thoughts into words, “I have been fighting with this ever since we reached the road. And I… well I believe that my father was indeed there, that you did wear his form. I think he came to tell me something.” And then with greater strength, “ I think he came to tell me that he was wrong.” With tears forming in his eyes, Wulfgarin looked intently across the fire and said, “I just want to say… Thank you, Carpe. Thank you… My Brother.”

Strength… Loyalty… Pack…