RP Stories/ Adventures in Estra - Bull's Roar



Dayro... stumbled out of the tavern, with a little more assistance than he felt he needed.

Bullshit I'm drunk, 's piss is what they serve, he thought as he picked himself up off the ground''. 's that other ones the drunk, bastard knocked over my mug o' piss, ha! ''

The door to the tavern slammed open again, and the ugly brutes chucked another lump out into the courtyard. Dayro sprang out of the way at the last second, going to one knee as his leg came out from under him. Horseshit and mud, that’s all this town is. Dayro stared at the second drunk, unsure if it was the same man who spilled his drink. After staring overlong at his blood-spattered face, he decided it was, or at least near enough to the same man, and Dayro undid his britches to give the drunk a long stream of what he had been so eager for inside.

His bladder empty and his rage a little cooler, Dayro started to make his way out of town, to where the Briarwolves had set up camp. The rain drizzled down constantly and more than once he cursed the mud for his stumbling.

''I had six mugs of their piss beer, and three... four? Four cups of the watery shite they claimed was wine. Mead... I know I had some mead, how bloody many was it, five? No no, the mead was overpriced and bitter, couldn't have been five, I wouldn't have enough coin. Bloody bastards calling me drunk, I only had eight mugs of beer! Wait, no, shit, how much did I have? ''

Dayro stood at the corner of a building, counting his drinks out on his knuckles. Once a man tried to teach him to count on his fingers, but he kept losing track when he switched hands, so now he used the knuckles instead. It let him count higher, as well, even if he always felt a bit queer about his thumb. He nearly had the count set to rights when a man charged round the corner and bowled him to the ground.

"You blind shit!" he swore at the figure, as it sped off up the main street. Dayro got himself to his feet, wiping mud and worse from his pants and contemplating vengeance when the world suddenly went dark. It wasn't until the rope cut off his breath that he realized a sack had been pulled over his head, and by then it was too late to win the fight - although he would never let it be said that he didn't give it a hell of a try.

As consciousness fled him, he comforted himself first with the realization that the thieves wouldn't get any coin from him, as he had pissed it all out on that drunk, and next with the knowledge of what he would give them instead when he next awoke.



*   *   *   *   *



Dayro’s mind swam as he awoke. First to return was smell – wherever he was, there was a sickly damp smell to the air. It was cold, so surely he must still be outside. Yet it was too dark, he should have been able to see the lights from town. Either they had taken him into the woods, or… yes, the hood was still on his head, he could feel its coarse fabric scratching against him.

Wait… he could feel the sack on his face, but not his hands and feet? That made no sense – Dayro had been in enough fights to know he should feel the leaden weight of his limbs when waking. He tried to shift an arm. Ah, that was it, he had been bound. Bound… to a chair? This was making less sense every second… hang-on, footsteps are coming, and a voice.

“… have you brought me this time?” were the first words Dayro made out. He strained to listen to the footsteps, at least two people. The crunch of dirt and clatter of stones underfoot gave him further clues – no wooden floors, so he was more likely in a garden than a house. But who would hold a prisoner in a garden?

“A sorely needed distraction, some… light entertainment after all your hard work” the second voice spoke. Its accent was odd, rising and falling in all the wrong places.

''Entertainment, distraction? I don’t like where this is going…'' Dayro thought to himself

<p class="MsoNormal">He didn’t get much more time for thought – the hood was wrenched from his face. Blinking, he tried to drink in his surroundings, but… no, this made no sense, it was still too dark to see anything? There was a dim red glow not far away, but it gave off too little light to make anything out, as though the darkness drank up the light.

<p class="MsoNormal">Crack! His head whipped to the side with the force of the impact. Not a fist, leather. It stang, and helped clear his head, but made his vision swim with red dots.

<p class="MsoNormal">The first voice again “Look at him, disgusting!” Crack! Again, the leather batters his face.

<p class="MsoNormal">“He doesn’t need to be clean to sing for you” the second voice spoke. So, it is him that is slapping me, Dayro thinks to himself, hearing how near the speaker is.

<p class="MsoNormal">More footsteps… the first speaker came upon Dayro swiftly, a gloved hand gripping his head below the chin and forcing it back up. “You may say so, and yet for all your love taps he remains silent. Have you brought me a mute?”

<p class="MsoNormal">Seeing the whites of the speaker’s eyes so close, Dayro took the chance and spat at their face. Wait, those eyes, they must have had whites? Dayro decided his vision must still be swimming; the eyes couldn’t have been red. At any rate, his target shifted with swiftness that stirred the air, and Dayro was denied the slap of saliva on skin.

<p class="MsoNormal">Crack! This time, the fist. This time, he cried out.

<p class="MsoNormal">Dayro struggled against his restraints, but it was no good. He was bound to some form of chair with metal manacles – the left was worn and rattled, but the right was too secure to do anything but worry the flesh from his wrist.

<p class="MsoNormal">“So, he has a voice after all!” the first voice, teased.

<p class="MsoNormal">“And some spirit, see how he struggles!” the second voice, its infuriating sing song tones rattling through Dayro’s head.

<p class="MsoNormal">“I’ll bite your thrice damned noses off, you little shits!” Dayro roared at them. Crack! Again, the fist. “You punch like a fairy! Go ask your mum for lessons, you sack of - ” The rest of his sentence was swallowed by a club to the chest, winding him. Dayro chipped a tooth, biting down on his scream – the club had broken a rib, more likely two.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Such vulgarity, I almost preferred your silence” the first speaker tutted. Fingers dug into his cheeks, forcing his jaw apart. “What, no insult this time? No matter, we can train your voice to prettiness yet”. Dayro’s head was forced back as the hand let go, the back of the chair bruising the top of his neck.

<p class="MsoNormal">He began to bring his head forward again, only to have it wrenched back, a cold, thick strap of leather under his chin. ''When did he get behind me? ''

<p class="MsoNormal">“Perhaps this might serve?” The second voice, in front and to the side, near the dull red glow. So not him, holding his head up.

<p class="MsoNormal">“For a start.” A scrape of metal on metal, also by the glow, the first speaker? So, a third person is present, yet remains silent.

<p class="MsoNormal">Dayro didn’t get much time to think about what that might mean, he was too busy screaming.

<p class="MsoNormal">

<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:center">*   *   *   *   *

<p class="MsoNormal">Jira picked her way through the dim and quiet streets, on her way back to camp. In most towns the only sort of shop open this late would be dealing more nefarious goods than the meditative herbs she had sought but, while she had little illusion that the apothecary she had visited probably also sold such things, this was Estra, and it was the trade season. Few shops would be likely to close at all for as long as the storms were quiet, and even the apothecary had been busy.

<p class="MsoNormal">Still, she was away from the markets now and nearly into the forest. With so many travellers, there was always the concern of robbers to think about. And so Jira hung a lantern from her staff to light her path as she went. She could certainly have created a sphere of light with her magic, but she was a student of the philosophy that magic should only be used when it must, not simply when it could be.

<p class="MsoNormal">And of course, Jira was in Estra for some fun as well – how would she ever find a good fight if she went around advertising she was a mage, scaring off all the violent thugs?

<p class="MsoNormal">Sadly tonight it would seem any misguided assailants where elsewise occupied tonight, the trip back to camp was uneventfull.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Halt! Who goes there?” Tara called as Jira approached the gate. From the look on her face Jira could tell Tara knew exactly who was approaching, and just wanted to be dutiful.

<p class="MsoNormal">“A boggin” Jira replied.

<p class="MsoNormal">“A - what?” Tara called back bemused.

<p class="MsoNormal">“A nasty sprite, borrowing the shape and manner of your beloved Jira to sow mischief and mayhem in your camp. Let me through” Jira teased.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Hang on, tell me something only Jira would know before I let you in!” Tara said, getting the point of the lesson, and holding her sword at the ready.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Mathuin was supposed to come with us to Estra, but had an accident on the way” Jira replied, glad that Tara had realized she needed to be wary of shapeshifters or illusion weavers. This was Estra after all, a nexus of magic. She couldn’t just let anyone wander into camp because she recognized the face.

<p class="MsoNormal">With that, Tara let her pass, and Jira surveyed the camp. The tents were quiet, so the men were still out in town, all but Kyphis, who was turning a chicken on a spit. Kelasin was in camp as well, making it just the four of them for now.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Any news?” Jira asked of her packmates.

<p class="MsoNormal">“No, a quiet night. Barely different to if we had stayed in the Briar, although fewer of our friends to talk with” Kelasin replied. She seemed a bit frustrated – most of the pack had already had a chance to explore the town, but she had drawn the short straw and been left to tend the fire. She hadn’t been alone, Tara and Kyphis spent little time outside the camp and Jira returned frequently, but it was clear she wanted to take part in some of the more exciting events than just tending a fire. Jira resolved to make sure she was sent to represent the pack at one of the feasts, the same as Floki had tonight.

<p class="MsoNormal">“No matter. I would prefer a quiet night to an eventful one. It is our first night here this trip, and we could all do with some rest after our voyage.” Jira sighed, knowing that she still had work to do before she would have a chance to rest. She must be prepared for whatever that vision portended.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Kyphis, why don’t you guard the gate for a while. I’ll watch the spit.” Jira said, poking him in the side with her staff to shift him along. He was the opposite of Kelasin – far too content to remain in the camp this trip. Even had he not been married to Tara, who had been eager for the journey, Sairus wanted to get a better feel for the talents he could bring to the pack and had insisted he come.

<p class="MsoNormal">And besides, Jira could do with a chance to sit down. She had been back and forth from camp to town several times tonight, and knew that she would be on her feet for most of her work later as well. No sense missing a chance for a needed rest.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Halt! Who goes there?” Kyphis called out, a scant few minutes after taking the post.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Sairus, and a charlatan salesman who won’t stop following me!” came the angry reply. Jira stretched her legs as she stood up, a look and a gesture at Tara asking her to take the spit. It would seem her feet were not likely to get much more rest for the nonce.

<p class="MsoNormal">Joining Kyphis by the gate, she watched as they emerged fully into the light. She could see Kyphis studying the armaments of his Alpha, until he was satisfied he was who he said he was. There was little mistaking some of the trophies he wore – hard to duplicate the ancestors magic, or the influence of the Briar.

<p class="MsoNormal">After a brief pause, Kyphis unbarred the gate, and let Sairus past. He blocked the path of the stranger with his sword, however. A tall man and well muscled, if a salesman where all he was Jira would be surprised.

<p class="MsoNormal">“What, I come all this way to offer my wares and I am treated like this? I was told to expect more from the Briarwolves!” The stranger chided.

<p class="MsoNormal">“I don’t know what you have heard, but I doubt it included letting strangers into our camp without getting at least a name first” Kyphis retorted, not budging from his post.

<p class="MsoNormal">“I don’t care what his name is, the mans a nuisance. Still, he has hounded me all this way, let him through so we can be done with him. I’d rather not give him any further excuse to dog us, so let’s dispense with pleasantries” Sairus interrupted.

<p class="MsoNormal">Jira studied her Alpha. It was not entirely like him to be this brisk, although of late he had been shorter of temper and less prone to caution. The smell of mead about him gave another reason for his behaviour – no matter how well you can hold your liquor, even a little will have its effect. Still, there was no hint of unexpected magic, nor… Jira looked to the moon, remembering what had happened on the night of the Blackmoon Potion. The Oathmother was as she would expect, so perhaps she was just being paranoid.

<p class="MsoNormal">“You call yourself a salesman, what are your wares?” Jira asked the stubborn man, nudging Kyphis’ blade gently out of the way to let the stranger past.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Why, Magics, of course! A Northman I was trading with pointed your leader out to me at the pub, certain that my supplies would be of keen interest to your tribe” the salesman began, clearly working towards a sales pitch.

<p class="MsoNormal">Jira held up a hand to stop him. “I expect this northerman has lead you astray. We have our own source of magic, so what spells we need barter for are far more powerful than could easily be stored in scrolls or ointments”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Still, having come all this way, I might as well display my wares, may I not? All I require is a fire for a catalyst, and a few minutes of your time. Surely one with features so elegant must have manners to match?”

<p class="MsoNormal">Unmoved by the strangers flattery, Jira none the less ushered the salesman to a secondary fire pit. “If you are using the flames as a catalyst I do not want you doing so in our cook fire. You can use this pit instead, we have no need to cook over it.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Ah, how wise of you, and how kind to provide me the opportunity to display my wares” the stranger said, as he withdrew pouches and vials from his satchel, clearly preparing for a protracted display. Taking a pinch from a vial, he held it out for Jira to examine “This fine oddment causes flames to burn out impurities of the flesh, without harming the healthy body. A rare powder, useful for tending ones tribe” with a flourish, he flicked the powder from his fingers into the flames, which seemed to run like water for a few seconds, returning to normal once the powder was fully consumed.

<p class="MsoNormal">Jira made to interrupt his display, to explain that such a powder was well familiar to her, but the salesman would not take pause for breath to let her slip in edgewise without being rude. “Now now, no need to express your wonder just yet. I have many articles to present, and there is no need to discuss prices until you have seen the full extent of my catalogue.” Even as he spoke, he drew fourth a pouch filled with jagged pieces of bark.

<p class="MsoNormal">“This bark is filled with a resin, useful for re-enforcing armours and tools. When heated, it can be cracked open and the resin will flow freely. The magic that resides in the resin lingers in whatever material it comes in contact with, although it does wear off in time. I am certain you will find this a useful product, as it is doubly effective on natural materials such as leather as it is on metal”

<p class="MsoNormal">Again Jira’s attempts to interrupt were frustrated, and she now felt she fully understood Sairus’ stubborn refusal to pay the man any heed. The bark he spoke of was another well known magic to her, but what annoyed her was what the man did not say – that the resin had a pungent odour, and unlike the magic the smell would often never fade. It was no wonder that this article he made no move to demonstrate.

<p class="MsoNormal">Without pause, a new product was in the man’s hands, and Jira’s face. This time a waxed leather pouch, filled with a fine blue powder. Yet again recognizing the powder, Jira tried to stop the man from throwing it in the flames, knowing that when Sairus saw its effect he would be enraged by what he thought he saw – what he thought was happening. But no, she could not grab his hand in time, and even as the poor man’s words fell unheard on Jira’s ears, she was turning to see Sairus’ look of rage as he rushed across the camp, drawing his sword.

<p class="MsoNormal">The powder that the salesman had thrown had changed the flames to blue. To one familiar with the magic of the powder, they knew it was simply a side effect and that the powder actually made the flame burn cold, for freezing water or food. But to Sairus, who was by no means learned in magic, it would seem that the salesman had just called forth the power of the ancestors!

<p class="MsoNormal">“You have no right to this magic!” Sairus raged, barrelling into the salesman and knocking him to the ground. “I should cut you down where you lay for that blasphemy! That magic is not something that can be sold…”

<p class="MsoNormal">As if in a daze, caught in the moment, Jira could not decide what to do. The salesman was innocent, but in his current state she did not think she could stop Sairus by himself. Turning to call for aide from those in the camp, what she saw chilled her blood.

<p class="MsoNormal">“You misunderstand, it’s harmless!” The salesman protested, doing his best to force the enraged Sairus off of him and barely succeeding in rising to one knee.

<p class="MsoNormal">“That -” Sairus seemed to choke on his rage for a moment, then found his voice “It’s unnatural! That magic should never be contained!”

<p class="MsoNormal">It seemed to Jira that the argument behind her was happening through a haze, she knew she should be intervening, but something was terribly wrong. Her blood felt like ice in her veins, and she could hear her heart beating. It was as though time was slowing down. She watched as what she had seen unfolded, trying to make sense of why it had her so focused away from Sairus and the salesman, for she could as yet see no reason for it to be more important.

<p class="MsoNormal">While Kelasin, Kyphis, and Tara all stared in shock at what was happening with the firepit, Dayro had stumbled back into camp. His steps were rolling, and he seemed as though he had not registered what was happening around him, but this was not unexpected. Estra was where he had last seen his only family, and Jira knew he would have spent the night drinking. That he would come back so drunk he had a hard time standing should be no surprise, and yet… something was very wrong. Forgetting the fight, Jira began moving to Dayro’s aid, even as Kyphis snapped out of his reverie and began rushing to intervene with the fight.

<p class="MsoNormal">“I told you, this magic is natural! A natural property of –“ This time it was the salesman who was unable to speak. Sairus’ blade swung up, but the man parried neatly with a hunting dagger. Even though Sairus’ attack was poorly aimed in his rage, the knife had to have been well made to survive the impact, and the salesman strong to hold out against the blow.

<p class="MsoNormal">“It is NOT natural! It is an affront! You bring insult into our camp!” Sairus would see no reason from this stranger. One way or another, this would end in blood.

<p class="MsoNormal">Jira called out to Tara and Kelasin, although in her mental haze she could not hear the words she spoke, only feel the rumble of the air against her throat. Twelve steps away, now eight… no! Even as she rushed forward, she saw him collapse. He struck the ground hard, and it was then she saw the blood.

<p class="MsoNormal">That must have been what had held her attention – she must have smelled it in the air. All at once, time caught up with Jira, and she knew what needed to be done. “SAIRUS!” She bellowed, anguish and fury combined into a single word demand. She did not need to look to know her tone had struck him like a mental slap, and that she would have his attention.

<p class="MsoNormal">And yet look she did, for she had to be certain. She looked at him, and saw Kyphis’ blade interposed with his Alpha’s, stopping him from attempting murder. She saw anger in the strangers eyes. And she saw fury and confusion, writ plain across the alpha’s face. But more importantly, she knew that he saw the pain, the desperation, and the rage that cut ribbons across her soul, bared in the expression on her own. “Leave the fool alone, Dayro needs your attention more!”

<p class="MsoNormal">Tara had rushed to Jira’s tent, to gather healing supplies. But Jira could already tell before she examined the wound that there would be no choice but to use magic. As she turned Dayro onto his side, she gasped at the ragged injury. Years ago, the sight would have made her gag, but thankfully experience had helped her get over such responses.

<p class="MsoNormal">Not so for Kelasin, however. When she saw the ragged stump, shattered bone protruding from the end of Dayro’s arm – when she realized she was seeing an amputated hand that had been left open to the world, to scrape in dirt and grass, she could not hold her focus and fled to evacuate her stomach.

<p class="MsoNormal">Sairus gasped when he saw the mangled stump that Dayro had been left with. Clinically, Jira checked his other hand. It was still there, although the skin was cut ragged and there seemed to be splinters of metal embedded in the torn wound. She needed the materials Tara was fetching to heal these wounds properly, but she had to begin now or he would lose too much blood to survive.

<p class="MsoNormal">Looking up to tell Sairus to fetch the pot of water from the cookfire, she saw Kyphis leading the stranger out of camp. That was good – she did not need Sairus getting into a fight right now, and the stranger was a liability at this time.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Water, Sairus! Get the water from the fire! I need to cleanse this wound so I can heal it – do not burn yourself!” Jira demanded, desperately. She had no choice but to trust Tara and the others would know what to do. She needed to focus her mind on Dayro, his wounds were serious and it would take all her concentration to work magic strong enough to keep him from bleeding to death, as well as stimulate the growth of a new hand.

<p class="MsoNormal">Jira made no hesitation, as she said a prayer to Rasha and poured her spirit into the magic she wove for Dayro.

<p class="MsoNormal">Thump thump thump. Dayro’s heart beat rapidly, pumping blood out onto the ground. She needed to fix that. Still the adrenaline, cool the blood… yes, the heart was slowing, calming down. Thump. Thump. Thump. That would buy a minute or two.

<p class="MsoNormal">His breath wheezed through his lungs. There was more damage that Jira had thought. He had broken ribs, and fluid in the lungs. He had suffered a severe beating, and had extensive internal bruising. Focus Jira… isolate the fluid, find where it is coming from and heal the opening. Yes… yes! The flow has stopped. It needs to be cleared, but we can’t simply boil it out, the lungs are too delicate. Lend it energy, help it rush from his lungs and into his throat… force him to cough… ah, he has coughed it out, and his breathing is returning to normal.

<p class="MsoNormal">Pain exploded through Jira’s head, and she found herself opening her own eyes once more. Sairus had dipped a cloth into the boiling hot water, and was using that to wash the wound. Tara was grinding a healing salve to prepare the stump to receive powerful healing magic. No time to waste, Jira dove back in to the stream of magic. Prepared for the pain this time, she parted it like a curtain of beads and set herself to work.

<p class="MsoNormal">So far, Jira had performed very little magic to heal Dayro. Calming the heart to make it beat more regularly, moving fluid from the lungs, neither reward much outside energy – it was what the body wanted to do anyway, she just gave it a little push. Knitting the lining of the lung back together to stop the flow of fluid, that had taken a small amount of magic – she had sped up into seconds what should have taken hours, if not days. Dayro would still take some time to heal that injury, as she had not been able to supply it with the materials it would need to rebuild properly, and it would have to rebuild itself anew as it got the nutrients it needed.

<p class="MsoNormal">But for what she was about to attempt… This far from the Briar, Ancestral magic was harder to work with. It drew its power from the Oathmother, for certain, but the Briar was its conduit, making it run like water. Away, its flow was slowed, and Jira would have to spend more time and effort than normal to work the energies, although they would still do as she needed them to do. But in Estra, where the land’s magic was so saturated, it would become the hardest place to work Ancestral magic in all Althea.

<p class="MsoNormal">Still, there was no choice in Jira’s mind. The Ancestors magic had a will of its own – their will, and Moons. The Arcane magic of Estra could be put to work, but never truly tamed. While the Ancestors would work to help Jira, the arcane energies would fight against her imposition on their fluid freedom. And… she had been in the Briar for so long, although she was still familiar with arcane magic, and was always experimenting with new spells, for this… no, she had to rely on the Ancestors.

<p class="MsoNormal">With a deep breath, she opened her mind fully to the spirit world, to the plane of magic, and gasped at what she saw.

<p class="MsoNormal">Oathmother Moon shone down, clearer in the spirit world than on the clearest of nights. But this is not why she was awed. The flow of Arcane magic around their camp clung to Dayro, and there would be ample energy to heal Dayro with them, if she could safely harness it, but that was not why she was stunned. It was what she saw when she looked at Sairus that took her breath away.

<p class="MsoNormal">In the same way that the Briar was a conduit for the Ancestors magic, Sairus was radiant with it. The shadow of the Ancestors was etched over him, and he was awash in spiritual energy. But Sairus was no mage – there was no way he could have been aware of the energy surging around him. The Ancestors themselves had lent him their will, for what purpose Jira could not be certain. But she could be certain of this – with a conduit such as he had become, she would have no more difficulty with this healing than the scope of it demanded. Truly, the Ancestors had prepared the Pack as best they could for the trials that vision would hold for them.

<p class="MsoNormal">Even the youngest initiates into the Pact held a connection to the Ancestors they sought guidance from, and whose teachings they followed. But the storm of ancestral power surrounding Sairus went far beyond that, far beyond what even a powerful mage could achieve. It was as though the Wolf Moon that shone down upon them had allowed the Great Wolf to manifest about Sairus. Respectfully, Jira reached out in spirit to the energies, and felt their eagerness to rush into Dayro.

<p class="MsoNormal">In the face of such eagerness, Jira knew she must constrain and guide the energies carefully. To regrow a limb, you could not let the magic run wild, or it may grow the skin first and prevent any nerves from connecting, or any number of terrible results. She focused herself and drew small whisp of energy from Sairus, feeding it gently through the mental mould she formed for it.

<p class="MsoNormal">The poultice the Tara had applied was filled with nutrients and minerals, as well as antiseptics. As Jira fed the magic into Dayro’s limb, it drew the materials it would need to do its work from the poultice, and within seconds the long process of regrowing the hand was begun.

<p class="MsoNormal">Minutes pass, as Jira fights against the pain in Dayro’s mind. She can soothe it, but she cannot stop it. A healing of this magnitude is excruciating. Tara ensures there is always enough poultice on the wound for the magic to fuel itself with, and towards the end Kelasin regains her composure and helps direct Sairus is grinding more powders, mixing more ingredients to keep the poultice fresh.

<p class="MsoNormal">Finally, after several hard minutes, the magic is complete. Dayro, awake and enraged, restrained by Sairus, has a new hand. Exhausted, Jira retreats from the spirit world. It is time to learn how such a thing occurred.

<p class="MsoNormal">Sound rushes back into the world. Normally, Jira would not need to cut herself off from her own senses when casting magic, but with Dayro so vocal and so much concentration needed, she had been forced to. “-shapog! They have my Sword! I’m going to gut the tû pushdug dalgum!” Dayro raged, in a string of orcish profanity.

<p class="MsoNormal">Jira rubbed her eyes with the palm of her hand. She had felt how much alcohol was in Dayro’s blood, there would be no sense from him until she could get him sober. She was hesitant to give his system the shock of one of her hangover curatives, but this information was important – they needed to find out now, not tomorrow. “I need to get a potion from my tent, keep him calm” Jira instructed. Pausing at her own words, she looked at the thrashing Dayro, before adding “… if you can…”

<p class="MsoNormal">Retreating to her tent, Jira sorted through stacked boxes of ingredients and clothes. It had already been less ordered than her hut in the briar, as they had not been in Estra long enough for her to put everything in a proper place, but Tara’s frantic searching had turned it into a shamble.

<p class="MsoNormal">From outside, she could hear Sairus roaring in fury. Dayro must have been putting up a fight to make Sairus so angry. Hopefully she could find the damn chest soon. Ah, there it was… clumsy from how much energy she spent, it took Jira two tries to undo the latch on the potions chest. She knew exactly which bottle to pick, but still old habits die hard, and she checked the label. Hangover Cure. She had packed several flasks of the curative in case errant packmates over indulged, as evidently Dayro had. Still, she would need to strengthen this bottle, else it would take a while for the amount of alcohol in Dayro’s blood to be fully purged.

<p class="MsoNormal">The sounds of struggle from outside seemed to have stopped, so Jira was able to concentrate in peace as she sought out the herbs she needed to empower the potion. After a minutes work, she set out to administer the potion.

<p class="MsoNormal">Yet, as she reached for the flap of her tent, it was wrenched aside. Kelasin stood in the doorway, a look of concern about her face in the flickering candlelight coming from Jira’s lantern. “He’s gone! That charlatan tried to rob Kyphis while everyone was distracted in camp, and when Sairus charged into the woods in revenge Dayro disappeared! He left camp while we were making sure Kyphis was fine!” The words spilled out of Kelasin, like a torrent of water. “Sairus is hurt, he was so enraged he was not defending properly, and that bandit was more agile than he appeared – Dayro is gone Jira! I don’t – what do we do?”

<p class="MsoNormal">Jira put a calming hand on Kelasin’s shoulder, and motioned for her to lead the way. This trip was getting to be too much for Jira to handle at once… she would see to the alpha, and then they could look for Dayro in strength. The magic might have given him a new hand, but it would need time to regain strength. And the pack needed to learn what had happened.

<p class="MsoNormal">

<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:center">*   *   *   *   *

<p class="MsoNormal">Floki ambled along the lanes of Sudenburg, on his way back to the Briarwolf camp. The feast had proven a mighty bore, although the food had been finer than he had eaten in a long time. Oh, there had been entertainers, of course, and the Eastern Star had sought to ensure their guests had no complaint. But the mood had been somewhat soured for Floki by the seating arrangements.

<p class="MsoNormal">Not only was the Khan Turnai Khan instead of the Great Khan, not only was he at a far end of the hall, but Floki’s immediate neighbour had been an Undead. One might call him racist for such prejudice, but the Order of the Black Rose had been causing a lot of troubles for the Briarwolves of late, even if they might not have known they were doing so. Had he not been under direct orders not to start a fight, Floki would have created some entertainment of his own. Even the spell to protect him from poisons and toxins had not been triggered, it had proven that dull.

<p class="MsoNormal">As it was, he simply made friends with his cup. Now, as a half dwarf, liquor didn’t have much of an effect on him, but he could certainly get drunk – the average half dwarf could out drink a human with no more effort than a fart, but they could not scratch the metal of a pure blood’s cup. Floki though, he’d put in years of practice, and could now get himself drunk under the table by the best. He’d almost never win such a contest, but by Anansi he’d make them feel it before he fell.

<p class="MsoNormal">Still, tonight had been no contest, and he was very much in control of himself, even if he was a little slower to process his thoughts. Pausing to yawn after such a large serving of rich food, he was surprised when he opened his eyes once more and saw Dayro, stalking up a street several houses down.

<p class="MsoNormal">Floki made to hail him, but then thought better of it. Dayro had been hunting word of his brother, and Estra had been one of the last hopes he had held for hearing word of him.

<p class="MsoNormal">It was Floki that had rescued Dayro from the river, and brought him to the briarwolf camp where he could hide from the Bretons that where hunting him. That act of pragmatic kindness had sparked a fast friendship between the two warriors, cemented by their shared ferocity and bravery in battle. Their friendship had grown over the last few months, but Floki knew what he truly desired was to be reunited with his family.

<p class="MsoNormal">Floki knew that Dayro would have sought out word of his brother as soon as he was free to wander the town, but from the look Floki had seen in the half-light he could tell Dayro had not liked what he had heard. It was better to leave him alone right now. He was obviously looking to pick a fight, but Floki was glad to see he was not carrying his weapons. Clearly Sairus, or perhaps Jira, had thought this might happen, and had forced him to leave his weapons in camp – while brawls were often ignored, bearing naked steel in town was forbidden. The worst Dayro was likely to do was leave a few concussed alley thugs in his wake, a public service, really.

<p class="MsoNormal">Shaking his head, saddened that Dayro had not had a more fruitful night, Floki continued down the path out of town, towards the Briarwolf camp.

<p class="MsoNormal">

<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:center">*   *   *   *   *

<p class="MsoNormal">Dayro stalked through the empty streets, the dagger he had taken from camp hidden against his wrist. He did not want to be stopped now.

<p class="MsoNormal">He knew who had tortured him, and he knew where they were hiding, the filth. He had thought he was in a house, but he had been in a crypt. They had dragged him into the graveyard, and tortured him in an underground crypt – and now, as soon as he had his sword back, he was going to make them pay.

<p class="MsoNormal">When he had retreated before, he had no way of knowing where to look for his sword, no light to check his surroundings. Now, he had an unlit tallow candle from a street lamp to use, and knowing he had been in a crypt meant there were few places to look.

<p class="MsoNormal">Stealthily, he surveyed the field between the town and the graveyard. Dayro might be woozy from lack of blood and the drink, but his rage lent him clarity and focus. He saw the cowardly sentry peering through the tombstones and gravemarkers, and it was trivial for him to sneak past them. There were few mausoleums and crypts in this cemetery, and Dayro had resolved to check the one he had emerged from, as it was most likely the place he would find his missing sword.

<p class="MsoNormal">The steps were deep, but Dayro remained surefooted. When he was confident no candle light would show up the flight of stairs, he lit the candle with his flint, shielding the flame with his hand. There were three doors in this crypt, each carved with images for the dead beyond. Not recalling which door he had come from, Dayro resolved to check the left first, and work his way around.

<p class="MsoNormal">Putting his shoulder to the door to give him the best control, Dayro eased the stone door out of the way, careful not to let it grind on the floor. As his candle light filled the room, he gazed in at the desecration that had been wrought. Blood splattered the walls, and gore laden skeletons had been smashed apart across the floor, scraps of meat still clinging to their bones. The sight was a shock, but Dayro was hardened in his fury, and swiftly shifted his focus from the awful sight. After a few minutes search, it was clear his weapons were not in this chamber.

<p class="MsoNormal">Slipping away from the gory room, Dayro made his way into the second chamber. This one seemed to be some sort of storage room for tools. Terrible knives, edges sharp despite the rust on their blades, and hooks for pulling flesh. Whips intended to flay skin from people in long strips. The room seemed larger than the first, clearly whoever rested in the coffins that had been repurposed as tables and benches, or simply shoved against the back of the room, had been important in life.

<p class="MsoNormal">After looking through any boxes with a large enough size to fit his sword, Dayro was turning back to the door when he finally saw the hilt of his blade. It had simply been thrown in, and fallen behind one of the caskets. Unable to reach it without climbing over the coffin, Dayro set the candle down to free both hands. Finally, he had his blade back – it was time for him to gain his revenge.

<p class="MsoNormal">All at once, the plan went awry. The candle snuffed out, and laughter filled the room. Laughter, right by Dayro’s ear. He could hear the grinding of stone of stone as the door was shifted, thudding into place. He could not say if it had been opened or closed, Dayro was so disoriented by the darkness.

<p class="MsoNormal">Swiftly, Dayro drew his sword, but… too swiftly – he did not have time to think which hand gripped the hilt, and drew it with his right, the hand that had been hacked off by these monsters and regrown bare minutes ago. “Show yourselves, you ziimarpu!” Dayro roared, using the orcish word for cowards. “Only a weakling fights his foes in the dark!” slashing blindly, Dayro could feel the weakness in his hand, but he had no time to change his grip – he could hear that they were close, and he knew how fast they could move.

<p class="MsoNormal">Laughter. And then, a new voice. “Oh, hear how eagerly he wishes to look upon your visage, perhaps we should remove his eyelids this time, that he may never cease to do so?” A cruel, mocking voice. Dayro decided that if he found his amputated hand, he would cram it up this one’s arse. Lunging, his blade cut nothing but air. These bastards taunt me, yet they are the ones that hide like cowards! Dayro roared in outrage into the blackness.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Look at his wrist, it has sprouted a new limb? Tell me, Kabbato, you followed him, how is this so?” This voice was familiar to Dayro – it had been one of those from when he was captured earlier. But… wait, what? They had him followed? Oh no… it began to dawn on Dayro, perhaps his escape had been a rues… all part of a cruel game, although to what end he could not say. No, I am certain they did not anticipate my escape… they must have taken advantage of the unforseen, they could not have planned it…

<p class="MsoNormal">“Yes, I saw what happened, and your question I have an answer for… this fool resides with the Briarwolves. It was their witch that regrew his limb”. Another voice Dayro knew – this was the strange lilting voice, the second of his torturers. He had a name now - Kabbato. Soon that name will have a face… and then I will cut that face from his skull.

<p class="MsoNormal">Again, Dayro lunged, and again, all he met was air and laughter. Suddenly, a light flared in the darkness. A deep red, it made the shadows grow, but at least Dayro could see now. “You wanted to see us, then look upon us”. This was a new speaker. He had a slender silhouette, and lazed against the coffin Dayro had lent over to reach his sword.

<p class="MsoNormal">The glint of steel, slowly drawing from a scabbard. The scrape of metal on metal. “You have a sword, I think it’s time for you to put it to the test” Fluid as a cat, the recliner moved off the coffin and moved into a fighting stance, blade drawn and waiting for Dayro’s strike. The others in the room moved lazily out of the way to give them space for their duel. ''A beast this man may seem, but a man he ultimately is, and I have hunted far worse in the Briar. I will wash my blade in his blood!''

<p class="MsoNormal">“You come willingly to your death, pushdug!” Dayro roared at his foe, naming him as stinking filth in orcish. He might not have strength in his wrist, but he did have speed. A lunge, then a cleave. His foe dodged both. Feint left, strike right, but no luck.

<p class="MsoNormal">“There is no need for vulgarity. You are the intruder in this place, after all” Dayro’s opponent continued to duck and weave, not even meeting the blade with his own. Then, a well-timed strike towards the neck! But no, the strangers blade springs up and traps Dayro’s sword, an inch from the neck. Metal has met metal, the song of battle.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Naakh-izub ak-uz-bo!” Dayro roared in orcish, swinging his blade with ferocity and practiced skill. Again and again, the swords met. ''He slows, I must push him harder! A little further, and I will cleave this shit-stain in two!''

<p class="MsoNormal">Dayro was beginning to become confident he would win this match, when suddenly his foe gave a theatric yawn, before making a vicious swipe at the base of Dayro’s blade, just above the crossguard. Without his full strength, the sword sprang from Dayro’s grasp. He had been disarmed.

<p class="MsoNormal">Refusing to give up, Dayro wrenched the dagger from his hip, ready to fight on, but he found his arm grabbed from behind. “Unhand me you ziimarp! I will have my revenge!” struggling in their grasp, Dayro could not defend himself from the fist to his gut. As he doubled over in pain, they made no effort to keep him from falling to the ground, laughing again.

<p class="MsoNormal">“This one is strong, he will be of use in our work” The cruel voice, from when his hand was cut off.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Indeed he may, although I know your mind, and I must remind you – the blood of those wolves is like a poison” The lilting voice… the one who followed, Kabbato? Yes, that was the name.

<p class="MsoNormal">The sound of skin on skin – a meaty slap. “Do not presume to lecture me. I have yet to encounter blood so toxic that I cannot withstand it. Whatever poisons they might possess are but a seasoning to my pallet.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Of course… how presumptive of me…” There was clear anger in that annoying voice, but fear as well. I will get my revenge on this Kabbato, and I will make myself the object of your fear, you monsters.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Pin the fool down, else he will continue to waste his strength needlessly” demanded the slender figure, who had disarmed Dayro. “There is no need to bind him, either he will be strong enough to survive and return of his… own… will in three days, or he will prove weak, and die – and if the latter, he would not have had the strength for our purpose, anyway.”

<p class="MsoNormal">Dayro fought them as best he could, but it only took them a few seconds to work together and hold him down. As before, there were more present than just the three who spoke. Kabbato excused himself, saying he had other guests to entertain, but his absence did not lessen the pain of the monsters teeth, tearing into his body and lapping up his blood. They drank from him for what felt like hours, although could by no means have been that long. Soon enough, they abandoned him, still laughing, as he dragged himself feebly across the floor, to reclaim his sword.

<p class="MsoNormal">He had been beaten and shamed, treated like cattle. But Dayro would not give in. He would return to the Briarwolves, and he would have true vengeance. He had not known the type of beast he was against when he came here, but now he knew.

<p class="MsoNormal">Now he knew that the Undead where lead by Vampires.

<p class="MsoNormal">

<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:center">*   *   *   *   *

<p class="MsoNormal">The camp had been in chaos when Floki arrived. Kyphis hailed him at the gate with cold hostility, until he recognized his fellow dewclaw. Sairus, wounded but recovering fast. Kelasin and Tara, trying to help Jira heal Sairus.

<p class="MsoNormal">It had taken several minutes to learn what had taken place. Precious minutes wasted. Now Floki understood the mistake he had made in not approaching Dayro. Had he stopped him when he had the chance, then the coming storm might have been averted. But no, he had not. He had done what he thought best, and left him to his own action, and now it was likely to cost lives.

<p class="MsoNormal">Dayro might have been human, but he had spent his life in the military, and much time amongst orcs. Most people might see orcs as fickle and without aim, but Floki knew better. He had to know better, he hated them with a passion, and without understanding, without respect for the object of your hatred, it will consume you as nothing else can. Orcs may have a different code of honour than most peoples, but honour they did have, and their code was rigid.

<p class="MsoNormal">In the time Dayro had spent with orcs, he had taken on much of this honour. The place of self, the need for retribution. He might have been healed, but he had none the less been tortured, and that was a mark of dishonour that must be repaid. Yet worse, he had been forced to flee without his weapons – a stain that could only be repaired in death.

<p class="MsoNormal">And so, Floki was afraid for his friend. For any foe that could leave him in such a state was not one to be taken on blindly. Yet this is what had been allowed to happen – what Floki’s decision to stay back had wrought. The spilling of blood would be on Floki’s hands, for he had been the last hope to halt it.

<p class="MsoNormal">Sairus would not be swayed to stay in camp, he insisted he seek out Dayro and return him safely. With Floki returned, Kyphis gave him the guard post and set out to find Landak. As the only Fang with them in Estra, his skill would be needed.

<p class="MsoNormal">Floki held the post, while the women worked in the background. Whether all returned safely, there was little chance they would escape the need for healing magic before this was through, and so Jira lead them in preparing what draughts and salves could be applied swiftly. Knowing the art of healing, Floki would normally have joined them, but he knew more about causing harm than repairing it, and so he was better served on as guard.

<p class="MsoNormal">Yet as he stood there, his soul burned with worry for his friend and family. Whatever ill came of this night, he could not escape the truth that he could have prevented it, and though his shoulders never dipped, the weight of this worry was breaking him.

<p class="MsoNormal">Staring out in the night, desperate to see the return of any of his packmates, Floki’s heart leaped to his throat when he spied in the darkness the stumbling shape. He knew on instinct that it was the same man he had seen earlier in the night – he knew that the first to return was Dayro himself.

<p class="MsoNormal">Before Floki had fully registered what was happening, he realized he was already running. His lungs burned empty and he drew in a breath. In the same instinct that had set his feet rushing through the grass and leaves, he had bellowed out Dayro’s name. There would be no hesitation this time. No more harm caused by inaction.

<p class="MsoNormal">When Floki reached his friend, he saw how pale his skin had become, how sunken his face. Dayro’s eyes burned with determination, although Floki could see no reason in them, only raw instinct. Dayro moved through sheer will, sheer instinct. He stumbled as he walked, as though in a trance, and Floki forced himself under his bloodless friends arm, to steady him. Not long after, Tara was by his other side, helping to rush them both to camp.

<p class="MsoNormal">“By the ancestors, he’s dying!” Jira exclaimed. “Strip his armour off him, I see no blood and we must find the wound.” Floki worked at the straps, while Tara and Kelasin removed the freed metal. Swiftly, the true horror was revealed.

<p class="MsoNormal">“I know these bites. Dayro is in grave danger – he has been fed upon by vampires” Kelasin said. She might not have been as physically fit as the other members of the pack, but her mind was sharp from years of study.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Yes, I had the same fear when I saw his face… I had hoped to find some hidden wound, his boots filled with blood, but no…” Jira rubbed the palm of her hand into her eyes, dismayed. “We need to act fast, if he dies like –“

<p class="MsoNormal">Jira’s words where cut off as Dayro’s body arched, some semblance of consciousness returning. He lashed out instinctively, without seeming purpose. Roaring in pain, spouting near incoherent words, Dayro struck Jira across the face with his elbow in his thrashing fit. Floki did his best to restrain his friend, but he could not keep him from bucking and thrashing.

<p class="MsoNormal">Jira swore in frustration. “I don’t know if there is anything we can do for him, the waking death is already claiming him.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“I know of a ritual that may…” Floki paused a moment. No, no more hesitation. It was his inaction that had caused this, he would bear the cost. “No, that will help. We need to act fast, and there is great risk, but I am certain I can do this. We need to get him inside, we can’t afford interruptions. Jira, Tara, I will need both your help. Kelasin, I am sorry – much as I want your skill, you will be a greater aid making sure we are not interrupted.”

<p class="MsoNormal">With that, the four of them worked to bring the still thrashing, still incoherently bellowing Dayro into Tara and Kyphis’ tent. It was large, and with Tara’s practice of healing magic should contain all the space and resources they would need. Kelasin stayed with them while Tara gathered the things Floki told her they still needed from Jira’s tent, and Floki set about instructing Jira on what he would need of herself and Tara.

<p class="MsoNormal">The ritual was one he had learned from the dwarves, and it was not a magic he was as well versed in as he might have liked, but amongst the Briar he was still the most practiced at rune casting. In battle, there was no time for elaborate rituals, or drawn out spells. Seconds meant lives, and Floki’s casting reflected this – if a fireball was needed, he would shape it first then force energy into the form, ensuring as swift and powerful a response as possible. If a pack mate was cut open by a blade, Floki filled the wound with healing magics, and left the body to direct itself. Certainly, such an approach might drain him faster, but the goal would be achieved. This ritual, however…

<p class="MsoNormal">There would be no room to let the magic direct itself, no way to make the energies do as he needed them to through simple will. No, this ritual had to remain controlled at every step, or it would consume them both. Floki looked on as another seizing fit wracked his brother in arms, as the waking death worked to tear away Dayro’s mortality.

<p class="MsoNormal">A sense of panic began to grip him as he tried desperately not to reflect on the repercussions of failure, and even as Tara cut Dayro’s shirt open so that Jira could rub a calming salve upon his chest, Floki quashed his panic, and steeled himself for the task ahead. There was no time left now. Jira and Tara knew as much of what he would need as he had time to convey. “I need you to prepare a binding spell, in case… there is risk with this ritual...” Floki stammered, gripping Jira’s arm as he gave his final instruction, trying desperately to keep fear from his mind. When Jira nodded, understanding his meaning, the Floki slipped into the ritual. The ritual that would see his soul bound onto Dayro’s, to give it the strength to fight the waking death.

<p class="MsoNormal">Sound slips away first. Tara’s chanting, as she performs a healing ritual, over and again, to slow the vampiric taint as much as they could. His own voice, as the words of ritual wrapped themselves around him, like a second skin. He did not need to think about the words, just let them pour forth as the trance fed them to his mouth.

<p class="MsoNormal">But even as the sounds of the mortal plain fled, hot on their heels came the primal roar of the runes, the metallic beat of the earth. A sound more felt than heard, as though inside a giant drum. The thrum of force that threatened to shatter your knees as it flattened you; the razors that rake through your bones as it screeches back up through your feet, like metal on stone. The raw forces of the earth would destroy him in an instant, if he did not give them the respect they demanded. But this was not his first time touch this plain, and the rhythm returned swiftly, like a sailor recovering his sea-legs, after too long ashore.

<p class="MsoNormal">The next step was always harder. Shedding the mortal sight and embracing the runes – seeing the laws of the plain that bound it to the mortal world. The colours, bleeding out of the world. Shape, losing all meaning, as the runes spring forth. Floki fought to maintain his focus. To let himself become disoriented now would see the world pulse shatter his body in an instant. Keeping control, the rush of metallic hues that replaced the old world begin to make sense. Relief surges through Floki, as he sees the evidence that his lack of practice has not cost him this skill. Laid bare for him to see, the runes swim before his eyes.

<p class="MsoNormal">Pulsing with primal energy, the runes represent many things. Some are physical, some concepts, and some beyond description. They dance and surge with light and heat, reacting to their connections to the elements of the many plains of reality. The metals, the temperature, the size, the tempo of their pulse… all of these things and more are words for those who can read them, waypoints for those who see. Even the path from one rune to another must be correct, for to forge a link badly can cause irreparable damage. With more care than he has needed to take in a long time, Floki reaches out with his mind, and as the sense of razors threatens to tear open his spine, forges a link to the first rune.

<p class="MsoNormal">The metals flow, and merge. A new sentence is forged in the runes, and the alloy creates a bridge for the magic to flow through. Floki breaths out, in relief, as he senses his success. Still, the link is not permanent, and will need to be maintained as he works, or the pulses with destroy the bridge, and separate the runes once more.

<p class="MsoNormal">Floki works as swiftly as he dares, forging link after link, connecting the runes that he needs. Finally, the first sentence is prepared, and as the primal surge arrives he pushes against it, directing the energies into runes. It is as though the energy reads the sentences Floki has crafted, and a new, steady pulse of energy radiates through the links.

<p class="MsoNormal">The rune dwarves call the Smith had been written. The mark of the forge, the Smith was held as the source of growth, and the ability to overcome obstacles, to be made new in the face of hardship. Given the rare circumstances that this ritual would be needed for, Floki could easily understand why this was the rune he needed to begin with.

<p class="MsoNormal">And yet, although of the nine aspects of the soul that the dwarves upheld the Smith was bordered by the Alchemist, a font of healing and changing nature, or the Fury, the place from which a dwarf drew his passions, the next rune Floki needed to have read by the primal pulse was the Warrior.

<p class="MsoNormal">But there was sense in this as well, for the Warrior rune symbolized one’s own ability face challenges, and the disciplines you needed in life. Floki steadied himself, waiting for the moment to begin forging the next links, and threw his senses for a moment back towards the material world.

<p class="MsoNormal">What he saw chilled him, and gave him new urgency at his task. Dayro had worsened again, and was thrashing, barely held down by his fellow Briars. The chant that he had continued unconsciously as he focused on the ritual had helped to weaken Dayro’s body, but it was being overcome. If he was to have any chance to repair the damage his inaction had allowed, he was going to have to move swifter… his perception of time may be slowed, in this place, but that was not the same as time ceasing to pass.

<p class="MsoNormal">As Floki reflected on what he had seen, even as he studied the runes, he finally saw the sign he had been waiting for. A rune with the appearance of coal burst into energy, and was reforged in steel. This was the anchor from the Smith, and would be the place he would need to begin to invoke the rune called Warrior.

<p class="MsoNormal">Pouring himself into the work, Floki forged link after link. Once the Warrior had been invoked and read, he moved to the rune of Starlight, representing a person connection to the realm of magic, and the honoured dead.

<p class="MsoNormal">From here, Floki rode a surge of cold light, across the scattered runes, watching carefully for the one that it would ignite, awash in rose hued gold. But here, disaster struck… As he rode, a part of this torrent of energy unleashed by the rune of Starlight, he found the anchor of rose gold. He found the anchor, of the rune of the Ruler.

<p class="MsoNormal">The Ruler. The seat of mastery over oneself. The source of pride, and discipline. As Floki began forging the first link he would need to invoke this rune of the soul, the primal pulse struck. But there was no surge of energy for Floki to overcome, no razors across his nerves. A yawning pull drew at the energies of Floki’s soul – the rune of the Ruler had already been invoked.

<p class="MsoNormal">And it had been rent asunder.

<p class="MsoNormal">Words of dark power flowed within the runes. Redefining. Taking over. The waking death had reached this rune first.

<p class="MsoNormal">Even as the realization hit him, Floki acted. He let his focus slip back to his body, and found himself drawing a sigil in salt across Dayro’s brow. “Cast a binding spell on me, quickly!” Floki cried, not breaking stride. He could not leave himself defenceless against the waking death, but he was not strong enough to fight it by himself if it had devastated the Ruler so.

<p class="MsoNormal">As the plain of magic rushed back into Floki’s senses, he felt the surge of corrupt runes skittering towards him. With one part of his soul he reached back to his body, to draw in the binding spell. With the other, he reached for the closest mass of corruption.

<p class="MsoNormal">The magic surged through his spirit, and Floki pulled. Drawn into himself, the spell rushed through like a bolt of lightning, and severed the mass. He was stunned, but for now the waking death had been halted. While the binding would stop him from acting for a short time, it would impact the waking death more harshly. There was no saving the Ruler at this point, he would have to continue without it, and hope that the ritual would still succeed…

<p class="MsoNormal">Strangely, it was the damage done to this place by the waking death that saved Floki. Without its corruption, he would have had no defence against the primal energies that surged through the plane. If the pulse had flowed here, and he had been unable to flow with it, his spirit would have been shattered, and scattered with no recovery.

<p class="MsoNormal">But as it was, soon enough Floki recovered, and fled the site of the Ruler. A wave of glacial heat lead him from the corrupted rune to his next site of invocation. He had arrived a a dangerous rune. One that he was too familiar with himself.

<p class="MsoNormal">He had arrived at the anchor of the Fury, wellspring of passion.

<p class="MsoNormal">So close to where he began the invocations at the Smith, Floki worked with care. As important as this link was, he needed to balance it carefully – if he gave it too much strength, then when he completed the ritual and patched Dayro’s soul with his own, he would risk transferring the madness of the berserker to his friend.

<p class="MsoNormal">But too weak… if the waking death recovered, and found its way to this rune, then it would devastate it with no hope of repair. And Dayro, would be lost forever.

<p class="MsoNormal">And so Floki worked as hard as he could, for as long as he dared, to balance the connection of the rune of Fury. Still, he felt the tug of the mortal plane as he neared completion. The interruption was from Tara – she was healing his face. It would seem Dayro had lashed out and cut him with his nails, slashing like a wild animal as the waking death gained ground.

<p class="MsoNormal">There were only four runes left to invoke, he had no time to spare. As his unconscious mind continued the chanting and the physical ritual, Floki dove back into the magical plane, catching the tail end of the pulse of energy, washing across him with volcanic heat.

<p class="MsoNormal">The next pulse arrived, and the invocation was completed. Wary that it might not prove enough, Floki dove towards the next rune. Swiftly, the rune of Alchemy was linked, waiting to be read by the pulse and invoked. And onwards, to the rune of Commerce.

<p class="MsoNormal">Commerce. The heart of compromise. A willingness to give of oneself, but also the value you place on the gifts you are blessed with. Here, the waking death had worked its foul craft, and shattered runes, twisted the waves of energy. Runes that should be hot were dull, and many runes had been recast in strange materials, foreign to this place.

<p class="MsoNormal">But the rune of Commerce had not been invoked. There was still a chance.

<p class="MsoNormal">The waking death moved sluggishly. The binding had long passed, but perhaps the other spells being woven were taking their toll. Or perhaps this was simply not an important aspect for the waking death to claim, to destroy his friend and brother.

<p class="MsoNormal">A constant battle, Floki forged links then reforged them as they were rewritten behind him. The struggle seemed to last far longer than it should have, as the waking death corrupted this place, slowly. But as he went he severed its grip where he could. He could by no means stop its invasion, but he could perhaps stop it enough.

<p class="MsoNormal">And so, finally, as a pulse ripped through and traced the words that made up this reality, the rune of Commerce was invoked.

<p class="MsoNormal">And Floki began to feel himself losing this battle.

<p class="MsoNormal">Even as the rune emerged, forming itself through the links he had forged, he felt the waking death rise, and sever the anchor. The rune had just been set adrift.

<p class="MsoNormal">In desperation, he stretched himself along the links that survived, and bound the rune to a new anchor. An anchor that he hoped would be far harder to sever. An anchor, which if it fell, would sound an end to any hope for Dayro.

<p class="MsoNormal">Floki bound the rune with his own soul, forging a link with the Commerce of Dayro’s soul.

<p class="MsoNormal">The ritual would patch Dayro’s soul with Floki’s, yes, but he had no way of knowing what effect this would have. He hoped beyond hope that he had made the right choice, because he could see no other…

<p class="MsoNormal">As he steadied himself, and the waking death began to slip away, he saw the sheen of light, and heard the subtle sound, that marked his passage to the next rune. But even as he willed himself to follow, he felt the wind rushing from his lungs – he was back in his own body, forced back against his will.

<p class="MsoNormal">Floki tried to breath in, and opened his eyes. But instead of silent breath, he heard a sound that told him at once what had forced him back.

<p class="MsoNormal">He was giggling. His mind was filling with rage, he was losing the ability to think straight, and he must have halted in his casting of the ritual.

<p class="MsoNormal">With the last of the will he had available, he made a desperate gesture to his packmates. But he needn’t have fought so hard, Jira had recognized the giggling, and what it meant, and already he could feel a cool calm returning to him, as Jira’s magic worked on his soul.

<p class="MsoNormal">As soon as he was strong enough, Floki dove back in to the ritual. He would not see his own weakness cost him his friend.

<p class="MsoNormal">He felt the tugging immediately. Every rune that had been invoked. The Waking death was moving swiftly, trying to latch on. And the rune of Fury was slowly beginning to falter.

<p class="MsoNormal">He knew he only had moments to spare, and dove after the light and sound he had found before. It took precious seconds, but he found the anchor point, and began to forge the links. The waking death was already rushing on this place, but he was faster, and so was the primal surge of energy, the heartbeat of this plane.

<p class="MsoNormal">The rune of Revelry had been invoked.

<p class="MsoNormal">As the rune surged into existence, Floki pushed into the network he had forged, and directed its energy to strengthen the Fury. He felt the link stabilizing just a touch more, buying precious moments… but he felt something else. The pull of his body, once more.

<p class="MsoNormal">He returned to himself, and could feel his hand against Dayro’s chest. As he had worked, he had covered it in runes of various materials. He recognized many, but just as many seemed strange to him. But that was not his focus. His focus was the blood. The pulse. The heartbeat.

<p class="MsoNormal">Dayro’s heart had stopped. The waking death was winning.

<p class="MsoNormal">Fury swam through Floki, fury and desperation. He slammed a hand into the shoulders of his companions, and grabbed them tight. Wildly, he pushed any energy he could grip to them, even as they had been trying to heal Dayro. And linked in such a dangerous way, he felt the spark of warmth ignite in Dayro’s chest.

<p class="MsoNormal">But he also felt the darkness, growing. He had seen it so far as dark words, forbidden runes. But that was on a plane where runes were reality itself. Here, the waking death was like a roiling cloud of smoke, pumping through his arteries. Infecting the brain, attacking the muscles, choking the heart.

<p class="MsoNormal">And even as life returned to Dayro, he began to convulses, violently. The waking death would soon claim him in full.

<p class="MsoNormal">Floki had no way to fight it here, but if returned to the ritual there was still a chance to win. There was only one rune left to try and forge, and with the rune of the Ruler destroyed he had to invoke it swiftly.

<p class="MsoNormal">But this rune was not a part of the ritual. This rune was not like the others, it was not an aspect of the soul, but a counterpoint. It sat astride the void, and marked the boundary of self.

<p class="MsoNormal">The remaining rune, was the rune of the Moon.

<p class="MsoNormal">Desperately, Floki dove into the ritual again. If he was stopped now, there would be no way to try again. Dayro would be lost, forever.

<p class="MsoNormal">But there was no passage to follow, no signposts to know. Floki stretched his senses into the runes that surrounded him, trying to find a path. Without the anchor, he could not begin.

<p class="MsoNormal">And here, as he searched in desperation, as he felt the waking death fighting to claim the soul of the man he thought of as a brother, did he sense it. A pale blue light, alien to this realm.

<p class="MsoNormal">The light of an ancestor.

<p class="MsoNormal">Gripping this thread of hope, he strove for the marker. And when he reached it, he found the anchor. There was no rune. No metal, no energy, no spectral hum.

<p class="MsoNormal">The anchor was the space between the runes themselves. It stretched on as far as Floki could imagine. He had no way of understanding what it might mean, but in his desperation he did the only thing he could think of, and as the primal pulse surged around him, he let himself fall into it, gripping the space between.

<p class="MsoNormal">All he knew was a sensation of obliteration.

<p class="MsoNormal">Until he awoke. His own body, aching. His mind, reeling. He looks around, sees Tara healing Dayro, who is waking, seeming himself again.

<p class="MsoNormal">And then Floki feels himself, slipping away. He feels the primal rage, surging once more. He has no strength to signal, but again Jira is prepared, and even as the giggling begins he feels her fighting against his madness.

<p class="MsoNormal">But this time it is stronger than ever before, and he lays there, fighting to remain collapsed, and not to attack the people he has fought so hard to keep safe. He fights to keep from rising, and ripping open their throats with his teeth. ''Jira, with her voice so sweet, lulling me with poison. So easy it would be to silence… No! I have to fight this! I will not become a monster! ''

<p class="MsoNormal">The desperate struggle rages on, and Jira casts binding after binding. Tara attempts to offer her aid, but Jira warns her back. Warns her to keep Dayro and herself safe.

<p class="MsoNormal">And in time, the battle is ended. The giggling, ceases. And Floki feels his body finally stop convulsing, as his mind is his once more.

<p class="MsoNormal">Floki draws in a breath. Freedom, and success. He draws another. “Thank the ancestor… ancestors.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Are you yourself once more, FLoki?” Jira asks, concerned.

<p class="MsoNormal">Floki checks himself, and begins to nod. Then he feels his tongue against his teeth. Swiftly, he brings his hand to his face, and confirms what he has felt.

<p class="MsoNormal">He now has fangs.

<p class="MsoNormal">“That’s unexpected…” Floki says, more to himself. “But yes, I feel in control now…”

<p class="MsoNormal">Meanwhile, Tara is checking on Dayro, asking if he is alright as well.

<p class="MsoNormal">His response is so simple, so purely Dayro, that the only reaction is hysterics. All the tension drains from the room, in desperate, relieved laughter.

<p class="MsoNormal">When Tara asks Dayro if he is alright, after his drunken ordeal, his response, is “Where’s my tankard?”

<p class="MsoNormal">

<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:center">*   *   *   *   *

<p class="MsoNormal">Jira watched on, concerned, as the Briarwolves fortified the camp. Kyphis had returned to camp during the ritual, but he had no luck finding Landak. Sairus must have run into him himself, as they returned together shortly after the ritual was completed.

<p class="MsoNormal">Landak had been near as drunk as Dayro had been when he first came into camp, and Jira had been forced to focus on getting him sober enough to think straight before doing anything else. She had given him a potion, but it only stopped the alcohol impacting his mind. His head was clear now, but it was still in his system.

<p class="MsoNormal">Sairus, on the other hand, had been busy on his return. When he learned of the result of Floki’s ritual, that instead of curing Dayro it had infected Floki as well, Sairus had flown into an even deeper rage than he had been before.

<p class="MsoNormal">The gates had been closed, and the Briarwolves armed. Kyphis was helping Sairus into his armour, preparing for battle. Sairus wanted revenge for what the Undead had done to his wolves, and intended on marching on them in the night.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Kyphis, help Landak with his armour, I’ll see to the Alpha.” Jira needed to talk to Sairus in private. She wanted revenge as well, but attacking the Undead on their terms was too dangerous. As she made her way over to her Alpha, she rehearsed in her head what she needed to say.

<p class="MsoNormal">Even so, the piercing look Sairus was giving her as she came over made it hard to think. “I know you didn’t come over just to squire for me” Sairus accused, yet still raising his arm to let her get at the buckles.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Of course not. You’ve been training Kyphis how to squire for you, so he would do the job faster than me. I came to talk, in private” Jira said, tightening the leather straps.

<p class="MsoNormal">“You only need to ask and I will make the time to listen to you, you know that. You are not a Tribunal member for nothing, Dreamwalker.” At this, Sairus lowered his arm, giving up the pretence of being helped into his armour, and walked into the nearest empty tent.

<p class="MsoNormal">Jira followed, and found Sairus sitting cross legged on the ground, rubbing his forehead. All the rage seemed to have run out of him at once. “I just… I’m sick of the survival of the pack constantly being under threat. Everywhere we go, our lives are in immediate danger. And the weight falls on me to keep us safe.”

<p class="MsoNormal">Jira knelt down in front of Sairus, tucking her legs beneath her before she spoke. “And it is a weight that you have carried well, but it is my job to keep that weight from crushing you. You might be the Alpha, but that doesn’t mean the rest of the pack can’t help you shoulder your burdens.”

<p class="MsoNormal">A flash of anger. “Right now it does. We have been attacked by a bloody merchant and the Undead already, and it is only the first night!” Just as rapidly, the rage quelled again, as the Alpha continued. “Dayro and Floki are dying. And it is all because we came here, chasing that vision.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“The ritual wasn’t a complete failure, it bought us time. We should have three more days before we lose them. It’s not enough time to return to the Briar, but it should be enough time to find a solution.” Jira sighed, trying to find the words. “I want revenge as much as you do, but we need to pick our battles. Dayro and Floki need time to recover, and Landak might be able to think straight but he is still not at his best. Even Tara and myself need to rest after how much magic we have cast.”

<p class="MsoNormal">Sairus rubbed his eyes. “We need to take some sort of action, though. The Undead have attacked us, we can’t let it go unanswered.” Sairus slammed a fist against the ground in frustration. He could see Jira’s side of things, but he was having a hard time accepting it.

<p class="MsoNormal">Jira stuck her head out of the tent, looking for someone she thought could understand the situation. “Kyphis, come here!” Jira called, startling him.

<p class="MsoNormal">Kyphis raced over, and followed Jira into the tent, looking ready for whatever task was needed of him. Jira spared a glance to Sairus, who had composed himself, looking more thoughtful instead of distraught and frustrated.

<p class="MsoNormal">“We are trying to decide how to respond to what has happened tonight, and we want your input. Sit with us. We are trying to decide if we should attack now, or take another course” Jira explained.

<p class="MsoNormal">Kyphis knelt down and sat on his legs, a slight look of unease on his face. “Well…” he hesitated.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Even the pups have a voice, you can speak freely in the Briarwolves, Kyphis.” Sairus said, annoyed but not unkindly.

<p class="MsoNormal">Kyphis pauses, then nods before he speaks. “I think we will die if we attack the Undead tonight. Too many of us need rest, and from the stories, I hear many Undead are stronger at night. Also… I’ve spoken with Dayro, and they outnumber us.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“We also fight best at night, Kyphis, and most of the Undead are Zombies – hard to kill, but slow, and easy to avoid if you don’t get cornered.” Jira said. She might not like the idea of attacking right now any more than Kyphis, but she wanted him to understand that it was not as suicidal as he was making it sound. It was still the best response they had come up with, and Sairus was right, they could not let this attack go without a response.

<p class="MsoNormal">Sairus, on the other hand seemed shocked by what Kyphis had said. “Hang on, if you thought we had so little hope, why were you helping us get ready so eagerly?”

<p class="MsoNormal">Kyphis shrugged as he thought of his response. “I trusted you not to get us all killed, even if I thought it was dangerous. You are our Alpha” he paused a moment, not sure if he should continue, but Sairus, mouth open and face scrunched in confusion, waved a hand at him to continue. “Most of what you have had no do so far is strengthening our defences, and that can only help us no matter what we do. I’m more than happy to do work that helps keep us alive.”

<p class="MsoNormal">Jira could see that the Alpha was still taken aback by the level of trust being placed in him, so pushed the discussion forward. “We can’t leave an attack like that unanswered, it would make us seem weak, and with hoe much danger we have already faced I’d prefer not to make it worse. Do you have any ideas how to proceed?”

<p class="MsoNormal">Kyphis thought for a moment. It was obvious to Jira that he had not considered the two of them might ask his opinion, but she had called him over because he always seemed to be thinking. “Tara learned her letters growing up, and has her writing equipment with her. From what I hear, most vampires like to style themselves as cultured? Perhaps if we sent them an official challenge for tomorrow, we could choose our own battlefield?”

<p class="MsoNormal">Jira looked at Sairus, and he nodded. Happily, she clapped a hand on Kyphis’ shoulder. “I knew I called you in here for a reason Kyphis, I think that might be exactly what we need to do! Send Tara in and we can discuss what we want to say, then see if Landak needs anymore help strengthening our defences.”

<p class="MsoNormal">As Kyphis left the tent, Jira turned her attention back on Sairus. That sense of overwhelming rage had gone, and she thanked the Oathmother for that. “The Undead will pay for what they have done to our pack, and you will lead us home, safely. I trust you, Kyphis trusts you, and the whole pack stands behind you.”

<p class="MsoNormal">It was time to plan. Tomorrow, the Alpha would lead the pack to war.

<p class="MsoNormal">

<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:center">*   *   *   *   *

<p class="MsoNormal">The air was cold, and a heavy mist had rolled into town overnight, but Jira had no difficulty seeing what Kyphis had dragged her out to the edge of town for. And the two of them were not alone, either – there was at least one seer from the North, and she could feel the presence of a Fae, curious but staying out of sight.

<p class="MsoNormal">A few hundred meters from town, lay the Sudenburg graveyard, where the Undead had setup camp. After last night they didn’t seem to be making any effort to disguise their presence. Torture devices and bloodstained bones littered the cemetery. But while she was unsure of what had brought the others to this scene, Jira had not come to see this. After the events with Dayro last night, they had already learned the location of the Undead camp, after all.

<p class="MsoNormal">No, what Kyphis had brought her out here to see was out of place even in this scene, and looking at it she was filled with excitement.

<p class="MsoNormal">At the centre of the Sudenburg graveyard, most of the torture device had been setup in a clearing surrounded by crypts and mausoleums. One of these devices stood taller than the others, a whipping rack that would see the victim hanging from the wrists, their feet off the ground.

<p class="MsoNormal">And entwined around the top of this whipping rack lay the focus of Jira and Kyphis’ attention, although she knew he did not see the magic that radiated from it.

<p class="MsoNormal">Thick and seemingly ancient, and most definitely preventing the Undead putting the device to any use while it remained, a growth of Briarvines had entangled the rack.

<p class="MsoNormal">A growth of Briarvines, in Estra, so far from the Briar itself.

<p class="MsoNormal">A growth of Briarvines, that looked to Jira’s eyes to be centuries ancient.

<p class="MsoNormal">A growth of Briarvines, grown into the shape of a crown, and radiant with ancestral magic.

<p class="MsoNormal">A crown of thorns. The Briar would be with them in their battle against the Undead, but even this was not the full cause of Jira’s excitement.

<p class="MsoNormal">There was a deeper symbol to this, that she was only now beginning to understand. Even a crown of thorns, a mark of disgrace, shame, and suffering, must have a King to grant it.

<p class="MsoNormal">A tingle ran up Jira’s spine. Soon, there would be a new King of Thorns.

<p class="MsoNormal">

<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:center">*   *   *   *   *

<p class="MsoNormal">Dayro stretched, and gave his sword a practice swing. His right hand was still not as strong as it had been, but after a night of rest it should be more than strong enough.

<p class="MsoNormal">The blade cut through the early morning fog, clearing the air. Elsewhere the sun had already burnt it away, but on the field the Undead had agreed to join the Briarwolves in battle on, the fog still lingered. Dayro had no doubt magic was at play, and spat at the cowardice.

<p class="MsoNormal">It had rained hard through the night, and the field was little better than a bog. The mud tried to suck at his boots, but after years as a mercenary he knew how to move in worst conditions than this. And more than that, he was a man of Loughbridge – something as simple as mud was not going to slow him down.

<p class="MsoNormal">Dayro’s temper ran hot, but it was not the same as it had been last night, fuelled by alcohol. No, then his anger had been at simple insults and injury, and he had fallen back on familiar habits from his time fighting beside Orcs. Now, his anger was far worse.

<p class="MsoNormal">He could hear Sairus talking to Landak, in the fog. Some plan had been hatched at some point last night, but Dayro didn’t care to know it. He might stand with the Briarwolves for now, but this was his fight, not theirs, as much as they might disagree.

<p class="MsoNormal">The river at the edge of town had swollen from the nights rains, and nearly burst its banks. Two bandits had decided to try their hand at extortion, and tried to toll anyone who crossed into the countryside. They must not have realized what they were dealing with when they failed the Briars out of the fog, demanding coin, because there was no way they could have held them off if it had come to blows.

<p class="MsoNormal">Dayro had been ready to flash steal and chase them away before young Tara flashed silver instead, and sent them on their way. A shame, Dayro was eager to bellow for the bull again, as he had many times before.

<p class="MsoNormal">Cutting off Dayro’s hand would have been one thing. He would have been insulted, but would simply take his revenge out in blood. But no, those filth had gone further… they had tried to change him into a servant, to take away his own identity. It was this affront that made him boil, both with fury and with pride.

<p class="MsoNormal">Across the field, Dayro could see shadows moving in the fog. Their foe had turned up, after all. Good, he would show them what a true warrior of Loughbridge could do.

<p class="MsoNormal">Dayro threw back his head, and let out a warcry “Firornras tonhasear Bomucklana!” Even as he called out, he could hear Landak’s horn begin to blow, and the other wolves begin to howl – the warcry of the Briar. He did not have to listen hard to realize Sairus was not howling, though. For some reason, the Briarwolve’s Alpha refused to howl. But that was his business, and Dayro saw no need to dwell on it.

<p class="MsoNormal">Moments later the sound of swords on shields rang out through the fog – the Undead responding to the Briar’s howls, no doubt. Sairus was calling for the wolves to get ready, but Dayro stood his ground, apart from the Briars, but close enough to keep them safe if any of them needed aid.

<p class="MsoNormal">Dayro set his foot on a tuft of grass, to keep it from sinking into the mud. A shape was coming out of the fog, lumbering and artless, paying no attention as the mud sucked at its bare feet. Dayro hacked at it, gripping his sword double handed as he separated its head from its shoulders. “Yulornuck arnrasear rasearlaneararnsokearder!” The wretched thing was free to rot, in the mud.

<p class="MsoNormal">Stepping back from the still writhing corpse headless corpse, Dayro refreshed his stance. Soon enough he would be fighting worse than shambling zombies, fresh from the ground. He might have needed nothing more than the strength of the bull for his first foe, but he knew he would need all the skills he possessed as a warrior of Loughbridge, before this battle was through.

<p class="MsoNormal">Another figure was emerging from the persistent fog, but for a moment Dayro’s attention shifted to the Briars, as a hulking flesh golem bellowed, joining the fight against the brunt of the pack. He could not spare his focus for long, however, as his next opponent was closing.

<p class="MsoNormal">The glint of steel caught the light, and Dayro brought his sword up, to block the blow. His own sword drove forward, but his foe brought up a shield, blocking it. With Dayro’s sword pushed aside by the shield, his foe tried once more to strike, but this time it was Dayro to raise a shield and deflect the strike.

<p class="MsoNormal">As they exchanged blows, Dayro studied his opponent. No corpse, this was a man of living flesh. He wore the Black Rose, so he must be an acolyte of the undead, a willing servant. He wore steel on his arms and legs, but only a chain maille hauberk under his tunic, and only a chain coif for a helmet.

<p class="MsoNormal">Dayro taunted his foe “Washasearnil tonhasear milarngunaorntonsok arnrasear derornnilear wasilltonhas yulornuck, tonhasearrasear wasilllana bomear nilorntonhasillnilgun lanearfirton - yulornuck arnrasear rasorntonaearnil tonorn tonhasear haseararnraston!” As his opponent tried to make sense of the words, he let his guard slip for a moment. Dayro took the chance, and drove his fist into his foes unprotected face.

<p class="MsoNormal">The crunch of bone was satisfying as his foes noes broke against Dayro’s knuckles, but the fight was not over yet, and Dayro felt a blow come crashing down onto his left shoulder. A wild swing, it hadn’t gotten past his armour, but it could still cause him troubles until he could get it rested, and the battle was still unfolding.

<p class="MsoNormal">Even as Dayro recovered, a blade sprouted from his foes throat, the links of his coif bursting as the sword was driven through them. Sairus pushed the twitching corpse off his blade, and then dove into the fray once more. Looking around, Dayro could see that the Briarwolves had surged around him. Zombies fell swiftly, although keeping them down was another matter entirely. The living cultists were putting up more of a fight.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Firornras tonhasear hasornnilornuckras ornfir Loughbridge!” Dayro roars, charging into his foes. Fighting together, the briars seem to deal with the undead swiftly, but there always seems to be more. A mace strikes his shield a savage blow, and Dayro is forced to release his grip and trust the straps to keep it secure, his hand too rattled by the strike to grip it properly. But with the pack by his side, he soon has his strength back, and gets onto the front lines once more.

<p class="MsoNormal">A second flesh golem savaged the Briars before it was struck down, and Dayro saw blood gushing from a wound on Kyphis’ forehead. It did not stop him from fighting, and for a moment Dayro felt pride in the pack. But then, again, they were forced to give ground, and his focus was solely on the battle.

<p class="MsoNormal">It was dawning on Dayro that something was terribly wrong. There was no way the Undead could have hidden a force this size without being noticed, something else had to be at play here. Stepping back from the front line, Dayro looked for Sairus, spotting him fighting a fearsome bloodstained madman, wielding a cleaver. Dayro tried to call out, but the din of battle was too much.

<p class="MsoNormal">As he ran to give aid, he saw the madman hook Sairus’ blade with his cleaver, and trap it there with his hand, covered in thick leather. Sairus drove down with both hands on the hilt, and freed the blade, opening a gash in the butcher’s arm. Unrelenting, the madman tackled the Briarwolve’s Alpha, bearing him to the ground, and trying to bit him in the face with his ragged yellow teeth.

<p class="MsoNormal">Dayro drove the point of his sword into the madmans chest, and then shoved him off Sairus with the heel of his boot. “My thanks, Whitebull” Sairus said, accepting Dayro’s offered hand.

<p class="MsoNormal">A dark laughter filled the fog, as something swooped through the air. A laughter Dayro knew, and hated. “Vosarnmilpotillrasear...” he hissed, under his breath. Another two of the Undead’s willing servants had filled the space between them and the rest of the pack.

<p class="MsoNormal">Dayro prepared himself to charge them, but something held him back. Something he was seeing but not understanding, but his instincts screamed at him to observe. Something about them was very wrong…

<p class="MsoNormal">And then it hit him. The closer of the Undead servants… wearing steel plate on his limbs, but only a chain maille hauberk beneath a tunic, blood splashed across the dark fabric. This was the same foe that had attack Dayro, and been slain by Sairus!

<p class="MsoNormal">His shock must have been plain to his, because the cultist looked at his face and laughed. “Now do you see? There is no victory for you here! The Black Rose has freed us from death’s bondage!”

<p class="MsoNormal">Shocked and enraged, Dayro prepared to engage, a wordless roar on his lips. Suddenly, a horn range out across the battlefield, and an orange fletched arrow piercing the cultist’s chest, forcing its way past the chain.

<p class="MsoNormal">All around them, a new force surged onto the swampy battlefield, and Dayro readied himself for a fight, as Sairus stood back to back with him, to keep them from being surrounded. The orange was unmistakeable. These were bandits, like the ones that had tried to extort them on the bridge. No paltry force though, from the sounds there had to be at least thirty of them.

<p class="MsoNormal">And yet, even though they should easily have overrun them, the bandits surged past. The pair of Briarwolves kept their weapons at the ready, but made no move to start a fight without need. The bandits were ignoring them, making for the undead hiding in the fog. Ignoring them, save for one.

<p class="MsoNormal">One figure advanced on the wolves, blade drawn. Dayro and Sairus prepared for a fight, trying to make out the figure in the fog.

<p class="MsoNormal">“What, is this how you greet an ally?” The figure chided. At the sound of his voice, Sairus laughed, and lowered his guard. The fog drifted away from the stranger, and Dayro recognized him for a Northman, although not one he knew.

<p class="MsoNormal">“This is your doing, then? We had negotiated for a few men to assist us, this pack is more than enough to turn the odds in our favour!” Sairus exclaimed, relief plain in his voice.

<p class="MsoNormal">The Northman laughed. “You thank us now, but truth be told it was not until the Undead arrived that we had fully decided if we would attack you or not! If they had not arrived, then it is you those men would be fighting for their sport…”

<p class="MsoNormal">Sairus seemed sobered by this thought, and Dayro could see him staring at the man, as if weighing him up. After a few seconds, Sairus gave a curt nod. “But that is not how this played out. Still, we have a battle to finish. We can discuss this further after the vampires are slain.”

<p class="MsoNormal">Sairus nodded to Dayro, a grim look on his face. It was time to hunt.

<p class="MsoNormal">Sprinting into the fight, Sairus at his side, they stride through the battlefield. Chaos, but it held little threat. The Bandits were dismantling the Flesh Golem, keeping it from rising again. They caught sight of Jira, healing Landak. Kyphis still fought, although he had not been healed and looked fit to collapse.

<p class="MsoNormal">One of the vampires was revelling in slaughter, as bandits surged around him. He hacked at them, but was aiming to maim, not kill. As Dayro charged forward, the surviving bandits began to turn to run, but with a gruesome laughter the Vampire swept out with his sword, fast as a whip, and the heads of three of the bandits sailed through the air. Just as swiftly, the tip of the Vampire’s blade erupted from the last bandit’s chest, rising as it tore him open, blood spattering in the mist. Languidly, he licked his blade, and looked for his next foe.

<p class="MsoNormal">Dayro recognized this one. This was the Vampire that had embarrassed him in the crypt. “Derearmilornnil, Ill wasilllana hasarnvosear milyul vosearnilguneararncarnear!” Dayro bellowed across the swampy ground.

<p class="MsoNormal">The Vampire paused, his tongue still lapping at his blade, and sneered. Clearly, he recognized Dayro just the same as Dayro had recognized him. With a swagger, he advanced.

<p class="MsoNormal">Dayro’s mind had cleared, all that mattered right now was the fight before him. On some level he registered that Sairus was no longer by his side, and that Jira was yelling something. But he had ears for nothing but the pounding of blood in his ears, and eyes for nothing but his foe. Some instant made him swing his sword in a tight arc to the side, and he knew his blade had severed rotting flesh, but he never felt the strike connect, his attention was too focused.

<p class="MsoNormal">Despite what he may cry in fury, this was not about revenge. The Briar mages had offered to enchant him and his blade, to give him aid in this inevitable fight, but he had turned their offer down. He needed to do this on his own strength.

<p class="MsoNormal">No, this fight was not about revenge – it was about honour. His defeat in the crypt had not only brought shame on himself, but on his hometown of Loughbridge. He was a Whitebull, and he would reclaim the honour he had lost, under his own might. The might of a man from Loughbridge.

<p class="MsoNormal">The first strike was a feint, and Dayro was ready. He caught the true strike as it came in, turning his blade to rake down at his foe, pressing up as he did to through his opponents blade back. No luck, the Vampire’s speed was too much and he recovered swiftly. Next, a fist struck out, behind his sword. The Vampire’s gauntlets were razor tipped, and shaped like the claws of a beast.

<p class="MsoNormal">Dayro punched his shield forward, catching the fist, and swung his own blade in a tight arc, putting the strength of momentum behind his blow. But no luck – sword rang against sword, the Vampire’s blade blocked his strike.

<p class="MsoNormal">Suddenly disengaging, the Vampire studied Dayro as they circled one another. “Finally, some proper sport! It would seem you owe us thanks, our gift has already begun to strengthen you…”

<p class="MsoNormal">Dayro spat. “Yolornuck derillsekgunucksokton milear. Ill firillgunhaston wasilltonhas tonhasear soktonraseararnnilguntonhas ornfir tonhasear Bumucklana!” Roaring the last words, Dayro stepped back into the fray.

<p class="MsoNormal">Dayro drove his blade forward in a tight thrust, but the Vampire caught the blade with his empty hand, shoving it aside harmlessly. Dayro drew his sword back, racing the metal against his foes own blade. Suddenly, the vampires tip dropped, and Dayro was not able to move fast enough to bring his sword around.

<p class="MsoNormal">The blade slipped between Dayro’s armour, and opened a shallow cut. It would sting, but it was not life threatening. The Vampire had drawn the first blood.

<p class="MsoNormal">“I may not know your words, but I can feel an insult when it is spoken. You are too far beneath me to dare and live, worm.” The Vampire chided, as though speaking to an unruly child.

<p class="MsoNormal">Dayro spat, and wheeled his blade upwards for another blow. His foe brought his blade down to block the strike, but this was what Dayro had been anticipating. At the last moment, he rolled his wrist – the upwards arc was transformed as his wrist flicked around, and lashed across the Vampires arm. His foes armour blocked the worst of it, but it was a solid blow.

<p class="MsoNormal">The anger in the Vampire’s eyes was plain to see, and he brought his own sword down savagely. Dayro barely brought his shield up in time, and he felt the wood begin to buckle as his arm was rattled. But Dayro did not miss the opportunity, and thrust his sword forward again, while his foe’s blade clung briefly to the wood.

<p class="MsoNormal">It skittered across the armour, failing to find a chink, falling harmlessly to the side. But twice now, he had landed his blows, and the Vampire’s swordsmanship was suffering as he gave in to his rage.

<p class="MsoNormal">Still, a strike with the strength of rage was something to be feared, and for the next few exchanges it was all Dayro could do to defend himself with sword and shield. He could feel his shield giving way, as the wood split and splintered. Swiftly, the Vampire dug into the shield with the clawed gauntlet of his free hand.

<p class="MsoNormal">If it had been his intent to rip the shield apart, or to try and simply tear Dayro’s arm from his socket, Dayro would likely never know. As they stood there, locked in bitter combat, whatever magic had been holding the fog in place finally failed. As sunlight streamed onto the battlefield, the Vampire’s fury gave way to shock, and Dayro seized his chance.

<p class="MsoNormal">His opponent’s guard down for a heartbeat, Dayro thrust upwards, and drove his blade past the Vampires feeble last second guard. Dayro’s sword erupted from the Vampires neck, pinning him in place. The Vampire tried to bring his own blade around to sever Dayro’s arm, but Dayro punched out savagely against his foes sword with the edge of his shattered shield, and in the sunlight the Vampire could no longer grip his blade.

<p class="MsoNormal">Disarmed, the Vampire was driven to his knees as Dayro bore down on his blade. The Vampire clawed desperately at Dayro’s chest, trying to drive him off, but Dayro had had enough. He punched his shield against the Vampires face until it shattered, hacking through the foul monsters spine. Grabbing a fistful of its hair, he bore down with all his strength, and severed the last sinews of its neck, tearing the Vampires head free from its body.

<p class="MsoNormal">“The honour of Loughbridge is restored!” Dayro roared, the head held aloft, an expression of shock frozen on its face.

<p class="MsoNormal">Triumphant, Dayro began to register the scene around him. Sairus, a yard away, hacking into the other Vampire, who no longer moved. Jira and the other Briarwolves, surrounded by corpses, still falling to their knees as the magic that had animated them faded. Bandits, cheering and already beginning to loot the dead.

<p class="MsoNormal">And his own wounds. His armour, torn to shreds by the Vampire’s claws. His chest, a ragged lump of butchered meat. His blood, running thick to spill upon the soil.

<p class="MsoNormal">The darkness, that rose to meet him, faster than the ground, as he collapsed.

<p class="MsoNormal">

<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:center">*   *   *   *   *

<p class="MsoNormal">''He stalked through the streets, spear in hand. Fire had torn through the wooden buildings, but the heavy rains had kept it from spreading far. He held his arm up, then silently chopped it forward, pointing first at the shattered remains of a vegetable cart, and second at the corner of a collapsed workshop. The warriors surged forward, getting into position. He joined the ones by the fruit cart, and looked up the street. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">''Carnage. Rivulets of blood, were the townspeople who had been too slow to run had been dragged through the street. A splintered spar had thrust itself from the building as it collapsed from the fire, and a woman had been impaled on its end, her left leg ending in a ragged stump. Another corpse lay in the street, still clutching a worn sword, his ribs bare where his chest had been torn open. There was no sign of his legs. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">''He moved forward in a crouch, his chain maille rustling against his leathers. The rain dulled any sound. At the next corner, he stole a glance down the road. It was here – the Demon Auroch, pure white even as it gorged itself on bloodied flesh. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">''Silently, he signals were he wants his warriors for the coming battle. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">Dayro’s eyes flutter open, his chest burns as though aflame. A woman stands over him, chanting. A name comes to mind… Jira? He tries to bring a hand to his chest, but as soon as he moves his vision swims, and consciousness fades.

<p class="MsoNormal">''A wordless roar, as the beast charges again. His hands are slicked with blood, where he had tried to stem the flow. His ally lies in the mud, dead – the beasts horns severed his spine and crush his ribcage, when it pinned him to the building. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">''At the last second, he bounds forward, slamming his spear into the demon as he vaults over its hulking white form. The haft shatters, and he lets it fall from his hands ever as he tumbles over the demons back. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">''His warriors harry the beast with sword and scythe, but sharp as the steel is not a single wound is opened. Another friend cries out, as his armour is burst open, his life extinguished as the demon tramples him, ripping an arm off in its teeth. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">''With no spear, he needs a new weapon. They made their stand by the smithy, and he dives in. A maul sits against the wall, and he eagerly snatches it up. They may be losing right now, but the fight is far from over. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">The world returns, and Dayro finds himself stumbling, slung over someone’s shoulder. He cannot see their face to recognize them. Rubbing a hand across his chest, he finds himself whole, but the slightest jostle shoots agonizing pain through his body. Corpses litter the ground, and men in orange are either emptying their pockets or dragging them through the mud. Dayro opens his mouth to speak, but bile rises instead of words. He collapses to his knees, straining to keep the darkness at bay as his body empties itself. Whoever was supporting him before keeps him from collapsing in his own vomit, as the shadow falls across his vision once more.

<p class="MsoNormal">''The stones of the bridge offer a sturdier surface than the muddy road of the town, but it is small comfort, as he stares down his death. The White Auroch slew more than half his warriors, sword maidens and fighting men in equal measure. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">''The beast paws at the stone, daring him to run. And run he shall, but not away. Too many of his friends lay dead at this beasts doing. He will stop it here and now, or be the next to die himself. Hefting the maul, he springs forward. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">''The demon bull responds in kind, head lowered but eyes trained on its target. As they surge towards each other in the rain, time seems to slow, and he recognizes a near human emotion in the beast’s eyes. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">''Humour. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">''Filled with rage, he brings the full strength of his body into the swings, twisting through his legs, his waist, his torso, his arms. Feeling the maul rise, surging forward faster and faster. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">''Bone meets stone, as the maul collides with the beast’s face, dead centre. A fissure runs through the pure white beast’s skull, his face cracked open as its own momentum drives it into the oncoming maul. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">''But keep coming it does. Damaged, but not slain. Struck, but not defeated. His armour parts light water as the demon’s horn slides past, and he can feel his hip crack where the strike collides with bone. He struggles to rise, and finds himself face to face with his foe. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">''Refusing to die on the ground, he forces himself to his feet. It’s a vicious wound, but not a fatal one, and he can still stand, if painfully. And yet the beast does not rend him with its hooves or its jagged teeth. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">''It stares at him, its breath washing over him, as it radiates its contempt. And then he understands – he injured the demon, so it will save him for last. It will leave him alive until all his allies lie broken in the mud. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">''As the realization of his failure hits him, he collapses to his knees, the White Auroch already turning away from him. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">Jostled into alertness, it takes Dayro a moment to realize he is hearing shouting. Looking for the source, he sees Kyphis surrounded by the mages, being helped to his feet. His skin is deathly pale, and his mouth hangs open as though he does not have the strength to close it, but he is clearly alive.

<p class="MsoNormal">The smell of burning flesh washes over Dayro, and its then he sees – Sairus, the Alpha, his arm scorched and blistered, being bandaged by Jira. The pain of his wound is written plain on Sairus’ face.

<p class="MsoNormal">“We have to move, Dayro! If we stick around, the bandits will look to us for loot next.” The voice was familiar, but in his groggy state, it took Dayro a moment to place it. His support was Landak Iron Thorn, a Fang of the Briarwolves.

<p class="MsoNormal">Looking on, he could see Sairus being helped up, and the other briars heading the same direction Landak was leading him – away from the swampy battlefield, and back to town. Exhaustion was fast engulfing him, as the memory of the battle slowly returned. Leaning into the Fang’s support, Dayro gave in once more, to the darkness that pulled at him.

<p class="MsoNormal">''His hands bled were the sharp stone had cut into his skin, as he desperately gripped it. Again and again he drove it into the beasts neck, snapping bones and severing muscles. No longer pure white, the demon’s foul blood pumped over his hands, as it died. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">''Slick with blood, both his own and the beasts, the obsidian shard finally fell from his hands. The White Auroch was slain, and the people of Loughbridge could finally return to their homes. With a final surge of strength, he slipped his hands into the ragged neck wound, and snapped it’s spine in his fists. Bracing his feet against its body and wrapping his arms behind its horns, he tore its head free. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">''He would not leave this place without payment for the friends he had lost today. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">

<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:center">*   *   *   *   *

<p class="MsoNormal">Recovery was slow. The injuries by themselves would have seen Jira demand Dayro spend the day in bed, but with the curse as well… normally, Dayro would have fought against such restrictions, but for once he had no fight left in him to spare.

<p class="MsoNormal">Which was fortunate, Dayro reflected, as Jira seemed full of energy and unable to stay still for long. She had been melancholic on the way back to camp, but at some point in the walk her mood had changed completely. Through the day, Jira had been wandering back and forth from the forest and town back to camp, bringing supplies. When she was in camp she was either preparing things in her hut, or tending her patients.

<p class="MsoNormal">It seemed that Dayro had not been the only one to share a breath with death today. Kyphis had fallen victim to some dark magic, and Jira and the other healers had been unable to bring him back. They had feared him dead. And yet, somehow Sairus had managed to bring him back. Dayro had not learned much of how that had happened – it seemed like no one was even sure – but he had seen the hideous burns that Sairus had been left with.

<p class="MsoNormal">Dayro had plenty of time to reflect on the morning, as he recovered. The visions he had seen when he passed out troubled him… they were no part of his own life, and yet they had seemed memories, rather than a dream. The more he went over what he had seen, the more sure he became that he had been witnessing the battle his grandfather fought with the White Bull of Loughbridge – a Demon that had brought ruin to the town, only stopped by his ancestor’s band of mercenaries.

<p class="MsoNormal">Most of his grandfather’s friends died that day, but the townspeople had begged him to settle with them, and take on governance of the town. It was where his family name of Whitebull came from. But still, the idea that this was what he seen troubled him – he would not have seen such a vision unless it had a deep meaning, and he was not comfortable with what that may prove to be…

<p class="MsoNormal">As the sun set and moon rose, Sairus and Jira had come to Dayro, bringing Floki with them, and they revealed what the reason for Jira’s excitement had been through the day.

<p class="MsoNormal">Jira believed she had found a way to treat the Vampiric taint. The Briarwolf ritual to rank up to Fang had the power to cleanse the soul, but there was an obstacle… the ritual called for a Briarheart, and they had none in Estra, so far from the Briar. Indeed, the Briar heart was the key to the ritual, and without something to take its place the ritual would have no chance of success.

<p class="MsoNormal">But Jira had found something to take the Briarheart’s place – the blood of the Tribunal, closest to the Ancestors, and Moon herself. Jira and Sairus would give their blood, and they would add in the powdered bone that Bramble had given to Sairus, from one of her recent hunts, pledged to Faelan.

<p class="MsoNormal">The idea seemed strange to Dayro, but as the day wore on he could feel himself slowly weakening. His wound was closing, but the curse only grew in strength the longer it was left unchecked. If a cup mixed with blood and bone would save him, he would not turn it down. It would hardly be the strangest thing he had consumed in his life.

<p class="MsoNormal">As twilight grew, Dayro’s time was spent in preparation for the ritual, with Floki and the Tribunal. They discussed the Ancestors, and the pack itself. They discussed each other’s past, and what the pact meant to each of them. Jira and Sairus told them stories about the things they had seen in the Briar, and some of the things they had learned of the Ancestors themselves.

<p class="MsoNormal">As night began to overtake twilight, Dayro was left to his own thoughts for a time, as was Floki. Jira and Sairus both had final preparations to see to, and they also had to make sure the rest of the pack was ready to play their part in the ritual, whatever that may mean…

<p class="MsoNormal">The time for the ritual grew near. Dayro had made his choice. He would do what he needed to survive. With a deep breath, he stood from his meditation, and made his way to where the pack had gathered, waiting for him, by the fire.

<p class="MsoNormal">

<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:center">*   *   *   *   *

<p class="MsoNormal">They all look so sombre, Dayro thought, as he looked at the assembled Briarwolves. Kelasin was the only one who seemed more excited than worried. ''Still, I must look just as tense to them. If this does not work, then soon enough I will die. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">Trying his best not to let his own concerns show, Dayro entered the ring of Briars standing before the fire. Floki was standing in the centre, in front of the Tribunal, and it was obvious a space was there for him as well. Jira forced a smile, and gave a slight nod, but Sairus’ face was hard as stone.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Welcome, Dayro Whitebull.” Jira greeted him, and the rest of the pack echoed, in varying degrees of excitement and audibility. ''But not Sairus, he stays silent. Why does that worry me? ''“Although it is tragedy that has brought us to this ritual, it is still a time to celebrate” Jira continued. “For although there is great risk, there is also much to gain through overcoming this trial.”

<p class="MsoNormal">“Floki, unlike Dayro you have already taken the pact, and are a Claw. You have fought beside us, a brother in arms, for many moons. We have faced death many times, but not like this.” Jira’s gaze was fixed on Floki now. ''As though she is measuring his response, weighing up his chances for whatever this ritual involves… ''

<p class="MsoNormal">“In the past, the power of the Ancestors has been able to bring you back from deathly wounds. But not now – not in this. If you do not pass this trial, there will be nothing left of you to save.” ''This is my doing, if it had not been for my own bullheadedness Floki would not have taken on the curse, and would not be in danger right now. ''

<p class="MsoNormal">Floki took a deep breath, before responding. Slowly, he nodded. “I accept the risk, and it is by my choice that I will attempt this trial.”

<p class="MsoNormal">Sairus seems to nod at this, but Dayro notices his eyes are closed. Although he tries to hide his face in the shadows, Dayro suspects that a grimace passes over Sairus’ face as Floki gives his response.

<p class="MsoNormal">Now, Jira turns to Dayro. “Dayro, you have not taken the pact. Although you have also fought with us for many moons, you have never been present when the time was right for the taking of oaths. And yet when you are with us, you have always fought as fiercely for the Oathmother as any brother or sister who has taken the pact.” Jira’s eyes were piercing, and her gaze was fixed squarely on Dayro. He found himself unable to look away. “Are you prepared to not only take the pact tonight, but to undergo the ritual that, should you succeed, will mark you a Fang of the pack?”

<p class="MsoNormal">Dayro had thought hard on this over the day, since Jira and Sairus had first offered this path. The entire reason the pack had been put in danger today, and indeed so many times in the past, had been through his own actions. Yes, he would try the ritual, and yes, he was loyal to the pack. But he could not bring himself to put them in danger like this again.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Yes, I am prepared. I will take the pact, and swear myself as a brother to this family.” ''And then I shall leave, to find a path that will let me aid you without putting you in further danger. ''Taking a deep breath, Dayro echoed the words Floki had said before “I accept the risk, and it is by my choice that I will attempt this trial.”

<p class="MsoNormal">Jira and Sairus both stared at him, as though weighing his response. Whatever they saw must have convinced them, as Jira turned back to her bench and Sairus finally stirred into action. As Jira set to work with the final preparations for the potion in the large bowl, Sairus stepped forward, to speak.

<p class="MsoNormal">“You are both committed to this course by your own choices. Tonight, Moon shines bright upon us, and at this time of year it is the Wolf that guards her passage.” At this, Sairus turned, and look at each member of the pact in turn “These are powerful omens, but as with most what they may signal is hard to be certain of. Before Dayro and Floki take the trial, we offer you the chance to renew your pact, and stand with your brothers this night.”

<p class="MsoNormal">Throwing a last pinch of something into the bowl, Jira picked it up, mixing it slowly with a wooden ladle. She walked around the circle, offering each of the pack the drink, beginning with Landak and working around to Kelasin. Last, Dayro and floki’s cups were filled.

<p class="MsoNormal">As Jira poured, Sairus spoke. “When we gather like this, it is customary to remember what our pack mates have given us, and thing anew on what we ourselves bring to the pack.”

<p class="MsoNormal">Dayro swished the dark liquid in his mug, thinking. ''The pack has been my family since I have lost my brother. They have given me refuge and freedom, and I have brought them pain in return. To the pack I pledge my loyalty, my thanks, and my coming absence… ''

<p class="MsoNormal">Head back, Dayro filled his throat with the brew. Warm and acidic, it coated his tongue. He could feel it fizzing in his mouth, but something sweet and thick, most likely honey, kept it from burning him. It even seemed to have alcohol in it, whatever it was. ''Strange, but better than many things I have drunk before. ''The drink as a whole was unlike anything he had drunk before.

<p class="MsoNormal">Once everyone’s cups were emptied, Jira passed the near half full bowl to Sairus, and retrieved a thin blade from the bench. It looked to be made of bone, but Dayro could see it had an edge as fine as steel.

<p class="MsoNormal">“The greatest challenge we have in this ritual today, is that we are not in the Briar, and do not have access to Briarhearts” Jira explained. “Instead, we will imbue the potion with our own essence. To the pact, I offer my wisdom.” Saying these words, Jira gripped the blade and cut open her palm, squeezing blood into the bowl.

<p class="MsoNormal">Sairus took the knife in exchange for the bowl, and gripped it the same. This is the commitment these people have made to my safety – I can do no less myself, and must not let my resolve falter. “To the pact, I offer my courage” Sairus intoned, adding his own blood, before taking the bowl back from Jira once more.

<p class="MsoNormal">Hands free,  Jira chooses a vial from the bench and unstoppers it above the bowl, although she does not pour it immediately. “Bramble is not with us, she is watching over the camp. But before we left, she gave me bones and furs from her last hunt, dedicated to Faelan.” This said, she empties the vial, tapping the ground bone into the mixture. “With this, we add Faelan’s cunning.”

<p class="MsoNormal">Jira spoke, as she stirred in the blood, the bone, and the fur. “The Briarheart is a beacon for your trial. We have no access to them, but the blood that flows through the tribunal can also be made a beacon. It is more dangerous, however, as the Briarheart also paves the path and helps you take the first steps. We will have to resort to other means to see you on this journey.”

<p class="MsoNormal">''Ominous words, but I am committed to this. I will face the dangers, and fight through. To back out is not an option, for if the taint consumes me I would be better off dead.'' Dayro watches the mixture in the bowl, and can feel Floki’s gaze similarly fixed. Where before it had been red, it has begun to turn a deep blue. The addition of such dark ingredients has seen a profound change in the potion.

<p class="MsoNormal">Jira ladles the now blue potion into the pair’s cups, starting with Floki. “Drink, and may the Ancestors give you their blessing.”

<p class="MsoNormal">Ignoring his reservations, Dayro begins drinking the liquid. Not only its colour, but also its taste has changed. Now it is bitter, and yet also earthy. A sense of salt tingles on his tongue, replacing the acidic fizz the drink had before. Out of the corner of his eye, Dayro sees Floki lowering his cup, empty. The last of the liquid is running down his own throat, when the madness begins.

<p class="MsoNormal">Instinct takes over as Dayro sees Sairus lung forward. Something inside of him warns him of danger even before he sees Sairus’ blade unsheathed. Floki is not so alert, and a look of confusion is frozen on his face. ''I cannot be seeing this, it makes no sense! ''

<p class="MsoNormal">Sairus roars, as his sword rips free. Floki’s chest has been torn open by the strike, from his hip to his throat. Blood surges as his vest falls open from the cut.

<p class="MsoNormal">Even as he begins looking for an exit and he begins to move on instinct, hands grab Dayro, and someone locks their arms under his. ''Landak? Why are you a part of this betrayal? ''

<p class="MsoNormal">Swearing and crying out, Dayro struggles to break free, but Kyphis has joined Landak in restraining him. In a moment, Sairus is in front of him, and the feel of cold metal invades his chest. As his heart pumps his lifeblood out along his betrayer’s blade, Dayro’s eyes settle on Kelasin. Everyone here was prepared for this. Everyone knew this betrayal was coming.

<p class="MsoNormal">Except for her. The only one with horror, written on her face.

<p class="MsoNormal">''I took the pact, why have you done this to me… ''

<p class="MsoNormal">The last thing Dayro hears, is Sairus’ voice. “I’m sorry, brother…”

<p class="MsoNormal">

<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align:center">*   *   *   *   *

<p class="MsoNormal">Jira whistled as she worked. The sun was warm today, and the weather was nice and settled. After the grim work of last night, it was good to be able to enjoy the sun. Taking a stretch of cloth, she sought out another jar to wrap.

<p class="MsoNormal">Her hand found one with a flower blooming. Such a lovely fragrance. Jira took a deep breath, enjoying the scent. Still, the blossom would not survive the journey back to the briar. Seeing no sense in waste, Jira plucks the flower, and eats it. Delicious.

<p class="MsoNormal">Still, not everything had ended as Jira had hoped. Staring at the naked stem as she chewed a stubborn petal, Jira reflected on Kelasin. She had been warned, but there is a difference between hearing a thing and seeing it happen. After Floki and Dayro had been cut down, Kelasin had fled the camp.

<p class="MsoNormal">They had no reason to stop her, and she even returned on her own soon enough. She had decided that the Briar would not be a suitable place for her to make her home, and had arranged passage out of Estra with the Northmen. Her goal in life was to save lives, not to see them ended, even to stop the taint of Vampirism.

<p class="MsoNormal">They had helped her pack her belongings, said their farewells, and seen her safely on her way. It was a shame, but it was a choice all were free to make. She was just glad that Kyphis and Tara had not followed suit… Tara was showing so much promise in the magical arts, Jira was finding it a delight to have a student with a real gift for magic under her tutelage.

<p class="MsoNormal">Indeed, the extra pair of hands was making packing up her tent, with all its precious ingredients, so much swifter.

<p class="MsoNormal">Tara had packed two of the travel cases full, and was Jira could feel her student’s questioning gaze on her as Tara took a rest. “We learn through curiosity, Tara. If you have a question for me, then ask it” Jira instructed, packing another jar into the crate in front of her.

<p class="MsoNormal">“Well, it’s just odd, leaving now? Isn’t there more that we should be doing here?” Tara asked, frustration evident in her voice.

<p class="MsoNormal">“We have already done what we came to Estra to do, seen what we came to see. Why linger? In a week or two the storms will flare up again, we might as well depart now while the voyage is cheap. Coin is not exactly common in the Briar” Jira replied.

<p class="MsoNormal">Confusion was plain in Tara’s voice. “But what about the vision? I thought we needed to see these Dragons you saw?”

<p class="MsoNormal">“The Dragons I…” Jira paused in her work, before bursting out laughing. Once she regained her composure, she patted Tara on the shoulder. “Oh sweet Tara, it wasn’t my vision that brought us to Estra. It was Sairus’”

<p class="MsoNormal">Whatever question Tara might have wanted to ask next was cut off as the tent flapped open, Kyphis poking his head inside. “Jira, Dayro is awake. Sairus is with him, but I could hear them arguing – I think you had best go to them.”

<p class="MsoNormal">Jira nodded, and patted Tara’s arm as she stood up. “We can discuss it further later, Tara. For now I need to see to the pack.” Gathering up her staff, Jira strode through the camp to where Dayro and Floki had been taken to recover from the trial.

<p class="MsoNormal">Even over Floki’s snoring, she could hear Sairus’ voice raised in anger. As Jira entered the tent, Sairus stopped his pacing and grabbed a hold of her arm, dragging her to Dayro’s side. “Tell her what you have said to me. At least have the decency to say it for yourself.”

<p class="MsoNormal">Confused, Jira knelt by Dayro’s side. He was still weak, but he had found the strength to sit up, at least.

<p class="MsoNormal">His voice was still raw, but Dayro’s words were clear enough. “It is time I left the Briar. I owe you a debt I can never repay, and I have payed you back in pain and suffering. I will search for my brother by myself, and stop putting you all in danger.”

<p class="MsoNormal">Sairus shook Dayro by the shoulders, his fury plain. "Look at me, Dayro Whitebull! Look me in the face, you bastard!" Sairus screamed at him. Dayro turned his face back to the Alpha, the fear and self-rage plain in his eyes.

<p class="MsoNormal">"You have fought by my side for months - MONTHS! - and never once have I seen you run from a challenge!" Tears of rage welled in the corners of Sairus' eyes, and fear as well - fear that Dayro would follow through on his rambling and leave the pack. "You have fought the foes of the pack no matter the odds and you have smashed them like a wrecking ball! When you are thrown into the pit you have always been the one to claw your way back out!"

<p class="MsoNormal">Dayro broke eye contact with Sairus, he couldn't let the Alpha see the shame he felt for himself, written plain on his face. "Not this time - this time I endangered the pack. You had to kill me to -"

<p class="MsoNormal">Sairus shoved Dayro's chin back up, cutting off his sentence and forcing him to look Sairus in the eyes again. Forcing him to see the tears that had begun to run down his cheeks. "You lost your family, but you are part of our family now. As much as you miss your brother and desperately want to find him, we would miss you as much and more."

<p class="MsoNormal">Jira put a hand on Sairus' shoulder, and Sairus drew a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. "You are one of the only ones I trust - the only ones I CAN trust - to go into a fight without support and come back alive. The pack needs your support as much as you need us to be there for you, as we were today"

<p class="MsoNormal">His energy spent, Dayro couldn't hold back his emotion, but rather than give in fully he slumped to the ground and hid his face in his hands. "I don't know what to do anymore."

<p class="MsoNormal">"Stay with the pack. You have gone past the brink of death, and been returned with the Ancestors blessing. Those great spirits see a place for you here, with us" Jira comforted him, as she sat herself down beside Dayro. "And more than that... if you decide to stay, these trials have earned you a place of respect in the pack, a position as Fang of the Ancestors"

<p class="MsoNormal">Sairus too, in his time, lowered himself to sit with Dayro. "Stay with the pack, Dayro, and accept your title as Fang. Honour the Pact, and be my Pit Bull."