Fable - Ask Artenhild Afoul

[Garrod Arlette]

Yaegir Den: Artenhild

---

"Not much of a Yaegir's Den, this," Garrod said as his boots thud against the earthen floor.

The greybeard sat at a table laughed, singular and harsh. "Suppose it aint," his two eyes, one dark, one milky, looked up to regard the tall man, kitted and strapped as he was. "Not too many Yaegir come by these days though,"

A smirk cut across Garrod's lips. "Odd that, given the rumors,"

"Them being?" the greybeard asked with crooked grin.

"Well, something about a whole company of mercs,"

A nod from the old man.

"Slayed by a vampire,"

A stillness, and the old man's grin turned all the more crooked. "Was no notice posted to the caretaker, lad,"

Garrod gave a small laugh. "Like I said, came on account of rumors,"

The greybeard made a sound. Disgusted. "Well, don't go expectin nothin from me,"

A quirked brow. Garrod sift through his pockets and pulled the coin. Its twisting flame flashed bright with the candle light. "You are a Den Keeper, aren't you?" his tone sharper, though his teeth still showed in smile.

A low rumble from the greybeard. "Was,"

Garrod glared. "Right," tucked the coin away.

A knock came at the door.

---

Sigrith

Art above by Andreas Rocha

 

[Sigrith]

Knok knok knok.

It echoed through the barren confines of the not-den.

Knok knok knok. HAW.

"S'open!" gruffed the greybeard.

Knok knok knok.

Knok knok knok. HAW HAW!

The door did not budge. The knok-ing persisted. The greybeard grumbled something about local peasant kids and their fooleries.

Knok knok knok. THUD.

If it weren't the persistence of it all, it was the sudden and new cliffnote sound that finally roused the old den keeper from his seat. His countenance could've passed for a troll spoiled mid-feast and his lumbering gait could've given a bear pause for the odd nature of it. As the greybeard reach the door with a rousing grumbling about the damned little demons, yanked the door open with a grunt and quite suddenly gave a yelp most uncharacteristic.

He slammed the door shut again, both eyes rounded wide as he slid a lock into place, "Somethin followed yeh here - get rid of it!"

 

[Garrod Arlette]

Garrod's brow twitched. His teeth showed again, lips pulled wide and rueful in their grin.

"Followd me eh?" he asked, himself more than the keeper.

"Aye, aye! Take care of it!" the not-keeper said.

Eye narrowed, Garrod made for his knife. Pulled it free of its sheath at the small of his back.

The large hunting blade curved and wicked as it was, would like do nothing if the thing that followed him was big enough, tough enough, or wyrd enough to render good steel useless.

"Bloody free work," Garrod muttered, and made for the door. Limbs tense and ready, the will of fire warm in his belly. Just incase a bit of magick was needed.

His hand went for the lock, undid it with a quick jerk, the lock went clack against its mechanism, and he braced the door with his shoulder. Took in one last breath, and opened the door, hand with knife tensed like a viper ready to strike.

"Oh," he said flatly. And stared down at the great wolf that stood before him, imposing its wild will at the door. "It's you, " he said, recognizing the mismatched eyes the creature looked back at him with.

A breath eased out of his lungs, and he sheathed the knife, lazy like. Invited the great beast in.

"Well, come in then," he said, and nod his head toward the meager holdings of the once-den.

"What, what in the bloody fuck! I said get rid of it!" the big Keeper-no-more, yelled as he cowered behind a lone chair by the fire-place.

Garrod huffed a laugh. "I don't right work for free," he snickered. Most of the time anyway.

 

[Sigrith]

The wolf sat well beyond the threshold, unimposing only in proximity but not necessarily in ambiance. Suffused by an aire of agitation easily recognizable by even the most basic of human if only enhanced tenfold by her sheer scale of size. Those mismatched eyes watched the door, blinked sharply in the wind as it ruffled her pelt, and landed with a heaviness upon a familiar face.

"Oh. It's you."

How unceremonious, but wolves garnered about the same amount of welcome as witches.

"Well, come in then."

This, all things considered, was about as warm a welcome as she could expect or ever hope for. Not that a witch had much business with hope.

From the top of the door frame overhand a great herrevan dropped with a raucous HAW HAW onto the wolf's shoulders before melding, beak and feathers and all, into the blackened ruff. A few ebony feathers remained sticking up, involuntary hackles. With silence did she press to all fours and stride in through the open door, gently shaking free the dampness of the evening air.

"Water," rumbled the wolf to the not-den-keeper whose eyes went even rounder, "and any scraps you won't eat yourself." A wolf had no money to pay for a meal, but she could clean up what was left by others.

Her attention then pivoted to Garrod, ears laying back as she considered the man, if he could be called that, and the stench attached to him, "I followed you here," she admitted to the earlier accusation, "you mean to go after the vampire, yes?"

 

[Garrod Arlette]

Garrod stared curious at the bird. A weird little smile curled across his lips. "You got an extra one, while all I have is the loner," he muttered, and watched the big wolf make her way in.

"What?" the not-keeper asked, still clutching at the back of his chair.

The beast spoke, and gave command. The not-keeper looked to Garrod, who closed the door behind her, and looked him back, gave a shrug. What?

The not-keeper grumbled, and hurried off to the other corner of the large room, where the pantry stood stocked. Muttered something or the other about how he couldn't quite bloody believe he was-

Garrod sat down at the table. Leaned forward and rest his elbows on his knees. "Suppose there's no shame in being tracked by a snout like that," he said, toothy as fingers laced together. Flesh with strange metal. "That was the plan, aye," he agreed. "Hunt down this killer blood drinker," Nudged his head toward the old man. "Though gramps here says he posted no bounty, and that this is no Den," A click of the tongue. "Not looking forward to writing up a report to the Caretaker," a slight turn of his head, his green eye gleamed. "Don't suppose you could send that bird of yours to tell the big man, eh?"

The not-keeper returned, tossed down a wooden plate stingy with old trimmings. Sinew, gristle, and some fat from old cuts. A bucket of clean water there next.

"There, now, ye can't go sayin I did nothing for you," he glared at Garrod. "And I would much appreciate it, if you to got on, lost as you were before you found me,"

A tilt from Garrod's head, amusement a-flicker in his eye. "Won't be long, old man,"

Sigrith

 

[Sigrith]

Wolves were not particularly good at emoting the minutia of expressions that a human could. For all the various micro-expressions a human might've given at Garrod's many words, the wolf looked on in stoic silence with not but a flicker of a white-tipped ear. Just as well, Sigrith in her human form was not know for her wild expressions, but more for her resting bitch face. Ironic.

"No," the wolf replied to the query of her bird who had melded into her flesh upon crossing the threshold of the doorway, leaving behind only slick ebon feathers sticking upwards from her ruff, "too far."

She'd only just managed to regain her ability to call the familiar at all, let alone send it anywhere much beyond sight. Not that he'd know or needed to know these details. In fact the less he knew the better so far as she was concerned.

The not-keeper's offerings earned him a leery, colorful side-eye from the wolf who promptly set down to clean the plate as quick as he could recommend their departure. Gristle, fat, and sinew were gulped down in whole pieces greedily before the wolf turned to the water bucket and lapped it up with the vigor of a dog fresh off the hunt.

It was not an endearing display. Sigrith didn't do endearing. When she was finished, she turned back to the doorway fully intent on doing as the not-keeper asked and leaving, "If you're ready," she said then to Garrod, "I will join you in this hunt."

 

[Garrod Arlette]

Garrod looked away as the wolf ate. Mulled over what she had said. Let a breath out of the side of his mouth with a huff, and pulled his scribing kit from his pack. "Would be too easy, wouldn't it," he said through his teeth.

Leather unfolded, and fine paper retrieved. The quill and inkwell came next, and soon enough, the sharp nibbed tool scratched and traced across the surface of the parchment in quick measured flicks.

If you’re ready…

A pause from the scratching and scrawl. “A moment,” he assured. And the letterwork commenced for a moment longer.

“What are you bloody doing now?” the not-keeper asked. Worried tremble there in the shake of his chords.

The last line scratched across. A signature. “Writing a missive,” his eye scrolled up to fix onto the old man. “Want to sign it?” He grinned.

The not-keeper’s eye widened. “What?”

“It has to do with your resignation, former keeper, an official announcement that there is no Den in Artenhild,”

The not-keeper’s eyes narrowed to knife points. “You lousy dog,”

Garrod put his pen down, and corked the small bottle of ink. Calm as calm could be. He put his things away. “I’m ready,” he said to the wolf. Grabbed up the missive and gave it a flap as he strode across the room. His runed greatsword rest against the wall, he took it up, and rest the long blade against his shoulder.

Out he went, with a creek of the door that hung open.

 

[Sigrith]

She waited by the door while this small interlude-letter worked its way out. Patient only because she hadn't the hands to take her leave by. As Garrod made his unwelcome exit, she glanced back at the old man and his old home, then turned and slipped through the opening before the wind could close it shut again.

Sigrith was not familiar with the running of the Yaegirs. She'd hardly call herself a member among them if only due to the fact that she represented the beasts they sought out to fill their coinpurse. Without her orcish companion, who she had previously used to stage as her 'master' for passage into their numbers, it left her in an odd sort of way.

The same sort of way she was back in Eretejva. No true calling or port.

"Seems a waste of ink and parchment," said the wolf of the intent presently gripped by Garrod's hand, "why not leave him to his solitude and be done with it."

It was not like her to pry or ask too many questions, but it behooved her to understand the workings of the Yaegirs if she was to take part.

 

[Garrod Arlette]

The wet earth gave beneath the weight of his heel and sole. The fine leather holding up against the moisture, but the cold seeped through all the same.

Seems a waste of ink and parchment...

Garrod shrugged. The blade of his great sword rest long across the length of his chest. His road pack still on his back.

Why not leave him to his solitude...

A click of the teeth. "Because he was marked as a Den, fair Darkstrider," a tilt of his head brought his eye in line to regard the proud predator. "Can't have Yaegir's thinking there is a place to safely lay down and rest, only to find themselves getting shoved out into the cold," his huff of breath lingered about his lips, a swirl of steam about his grin.

Townsfolk eyed the odd pair as they moved about. Suspicion and fear hard in their eyes.

 

[Sigrith]

She understood the reasoning, but Sigrith found she lacked the sympathy for a Yaegir's plight. Life in Eretejva was hard, dangerous, and entirely unforgiving for someone like herself. She'd survived it just fine without a promised sanctuary to safely lay down and rest. Even here, in these fair summerlands, she knew no luxuries of a home and hearth beyond the lands her paws crossed. The wolf thought on this bitterly.

Some beast hunters.

"If the beasts can survive the cold," said the wolf with a glance to him, "their hunters should be able to as well."

Of course she toed that line quite finely, didn't she? Beast and hunter. The tipping point was only that which she made her target for a meal to survive. Judging by the looks of the townsfolk they passed by, most of them were not convinced she was on their side. Sigrith didn't blame them, she wouldn't think she was either if she were them.

"But I see your meaning."

These dens were scattered across the continents, she surmised. There must have been a map of them to find somewhere ... or was the knowledge passed on by word only? How secretive were the Yaegirs really? And if they allowed a man with demonic energy and a she-wolf among their number, what else would they accept?

Fae, perhaps?

 

[Garrod Arlette]

A grin, sharp toothed in its humor. "Worse things than cold in towns, like this," he affirmed as they paced, he cast his gaze about, his green eye took in the faces, and the dirty looks.

"What's odd is," he spoke in even tone as they moved through the sog of the road. "A company of mercenaries would be noticed in a place like this," he sucked air through his teeth. "Not big enough to miss a whole fifty men that done passed through, and yet," he spotted something curious. A statue. Marble, and near white as snow.

"That's odd," he said, cast a glance about. "The buildings here," turned his eye back to the statue, a young woman, solemn and beautiful in the grey light of the day, her gaze set down and away. "They don't match that statue," he approached it.

The statue appeared freshly carved. Even the plinth upon which it stood, seemed far cleaner, edges still proud and unweathered. A man stood nearby, sat upon a bench. His eyes transfixed upon the young woman's face.

 

[Sigrith]

It may have seemed unusual to him, but Sigrith was less impressed by the odd nature of a new statue in an old town.

"Are stone carvers also considered odd where you come from?" the wolf quipped in response, the questioning tone suggesting an undertone of sarcasm. She approached it, gave it a sniff, a long look of consideration, then snorted and strode past it.

A new statue in an old town did not a mystery make.

The wolf's weird gaze honed in on the bench warmer, "You there," she barked, "what is the story of this block of stone?"

 

[Garrod Arlette]

A laugh. "No," his voice a rumble of thought. "but having people put a statue up," he gave an idle nod, scratched the salt and pepper scruff about his chin with his alabaster hand. "Odd's not the right word for it,"

The wolf had already moved on when his mind came clear of the thoughts. A small laugh, kept his eye on the statue.

"Oh," came the bench warmer's voice, soft as frog's croak in fog. He blinked, and stared wide eyed at the wolf. "Hah, heh, not, not every day a wolf goes and asks me a question," he looked to the tall fellow who stood behind the wolf. Large blade rested across his shoulder. Looked back down to the wolf. Tight lipped. Titters. "The, the statue?" He looked back to the stone figure. Seemed to ease some. "Lady Eternia," he said with warmth in the name. "A saint to all,"

Garrod's eye narrowed, and looked to the bench warmer. A thin man, with greasy hair that may have been flaxen, were it not for the grime caked there in.

Darkstride may have smelled the disease within the man. A scent that permeated through his skin. Like rusted iron, mixed with rot. Too subtle for a human nose to trace.

"She's gone now though," he said, crestfallen. "Taken from us by that cur, Altoren,"

"The Mercenary Captain," Garrod chimed in.

The Benchwarmer's eyes flit up to the man with the blade. Brow knit together. "Nothing but a greedy murderer," he said hard.

"What happened?"

What heat had seeped into his voice bled away as he deflated. Looked on to the statue once more. "What always happens," he laughed, though there was no joy in the cold sound of it. "Ugliness, could not stand to see beauty, and ugliness begot more ugliness,"

Garrod weighed the words in his head. "What happened to Altoren?"

The man laughed. A fit that was all jostle and shake. Loud and sharp. Then gone. His wide eyes stared happily at his hands. He clenched his boney fingers as his eyes, large as moons, looked on at something there betwixt his fingers. "He got, what he deserved," his tone like cracking ice.

 

[Sigrith]

What a weird man.

The wolf stared at him, unblinking, for as long as he spoke. Curious, familiar, foreign. How strange it was to come across the same weirdness of tundra witches this far south. Sigrith snorted, the ruff of her coat fluttering in a crossbreeze as she looked back at Garrod.

"You Summerlanders certainly like your Saints..." they didn't have Saints where she was from, they had Legends - both malignant and benign. Was there such a thing as a Dark Saint?

"We should keep moving, don't want to miss the hunting hours." Had to make it to their destination at night if they had any hopes of finding hide or hair of their target.

 

[Garrod Arlette]

Garrod stared at the strange man. Then back to Darkstride as they took in a huff of breath.

At the mention of saints, Garrod but grumbled, and shift the weight of his sword. Its long quillon rest on his shoulder. "A few more than most," he croaked. Nod at her mention of moving, and the hunting hour. Light was fading fast, and the grey overcast of the clouds only made the darkness fall all the faster. "But it's just a word, like any other," he said as they moved on.

"Lady Eternia, was like no other," the strange man said, still hunched over upon the bench, eyes cast up and full upon the pale statue that almost seemed to glow in the gloom. "She cared for us, when no other would,"

A glance over the shoulder, but Garrod pulled his eye away to follow after the wolf. Would march in silence as his boots fell soft against the muddy road.

"Feels like its going to rain," he said. Looked about. "Feels like it rains a lot around these parts," rain made it harder to keep scents. Harder to track.

He was no wolf. But a hounding potion did wonders. Disgusting as it was to take down.

"You ever," his eye flit to the wolf. To the ears and hackles that seemed to express more than her voice ever did. "Take on this type of prey?"

 

[Sigrith]

Rain indeed, her ear flickered to the sound of his voice. She could smell it on the air, feel it in her bones, sense it on the winds in ways she never could in her human form. Tundra witches were intimately familiar with inclement weather and a rainstorm here felt like childsplay compared to what she'd endured the majority of her life up in the frozen north. Rain bothered her not and she said nothing in regard to it.

"Yes," replied the wolf as she smoothly pressed on along the soft earthen roads of the town, leaving nothing behind but the rumors of her presence and the pawprints to prove it, soon to be washed away in that coming rain.

"The disease holds no weakness to the cold," in fact it was the specific prey that had drawn her in, "we kill them in the north the same way you kill them here: without discrimination."

"You?"

 

[Garrod Arlette]

"Without discrimination," the yaegir echoed as their footpads went on, and he was all too aware of the weight of his right arm. Felt where it joined his true flesh. Felt where its strangeness clamped on, and acted, so much like his own arm. Felt the cold wind. Felt the weight of his movement. Not so different from his left, but just different enough to notice.

He felt the first drops of rain come against his skin. Cool and erratic. Without rhythm or pattern.

"I've hunted them before," he confessed. As the waters came faster about them. "Been hunted by them too," he smirked at that. And his hand flexed. A happy little show of its strength. Garrod's smirk pulled to grim line, and he let out a huff of air. "Tricksome things," he said as he thought on the last hunt.

Not a thing he would call, without discrimination.

Maybe that was why he had turned the drunk away from one, and found himself on the trails of another.

"You've any tricks of your own?" he asked. Shift the blade rest upon his shoulder. "To lure them out?" he'd hunted with a few norden's before. None of them were a giant wolf though. Muchless a wolf with a three eyed raven.

 

[Sigrith]

The wolf purposefully moved to the left as his strides caught up to her.

Her ears pressed back as she thought on past hunts in the frozen north. They did not often wander far inland - not enough prey to sustain them. They stuck around the vestiges of society, nearer to the coasts, but how the disease had managed to get across the sea was beyond her. The vampires that plagued the tundras could not cross open water and would not go near the sea.

"Aside from blood? Salt," she replied at length, "circle their nests with trenches filled with sea water. They would not cross it. Buckets of spoiling sea fish dumped into their burrows would flush them out into the hunters blades."

 

[Garrod Arlette]

A weird grin crept across the hunter's face. "Salt and fish, huh?" he had a little laugh. "Never heard that one before," his canine poked out from his lips. "Garlic, silver, a stake through the heart, water blessed by a god of light," he gave a slow nod as they kept their pace. "Spose salt and fish makes some sense though," the residue of the sea. "Great power in the sea,"

In all water.

He glanced up to the road they walked. Empty, as far as he could tell. And whne he looked to the windows of the homes and shops they passed by, nary a soul was to be seen. The sky, already dimming. His eyes came back down. Saw a tall figure before them, obscured by the swirling mists. That he had not noticed them before gave him reason to pause. Wide eyed as his jaw clenched tight.

They stood still as the grave, a hood drawn over their head. Shadow hid what mist didn't.

"Why have you come to this place?" a woman's voice. Steady as steel, though a sadness there in it too. As deep as the sea.

While Garrod could sense nothing from being, Sigirth would smell the disease that marked their prey. Barely there through the soup.

 

[Sigrith]

"The Gods of the north are far less offended by the disease," the wolf replied. Not that she prayed to any God aside from the power of the aether and the natural realm around her. If there were Gods in the tundras, they were just as unforgiving and merciless as the beasts and monsters that roamed it. Eretejva was not a place of plenty, comforts, or divine intervention.

A vampire was merely another pest to be rid of and drowning it out with fish and seawater had proven highly effective for centuries. Alas, not a fish or salt puddle was in reach when their target made itself known. Darkstride's form grew several inches in height as the hackles along her shoulders flared and followed the curve of her spine.

There was no mistaking that stench.

"To return you to the source - swiftly or horribly, make your choice."

 

[Garrod Arlette]

Garrod's lone green eye darted toward Darkstride. Widened a margin at the sight of their hackles raised, and the ferocity in her stance. As if a beast in a pack, he could feel the hairs at the back of his neck rise. The corner of his lips turn to snarl, and the chords of his flesh tense with a ready strength.

His eye dart back to the woman, who seemed none the least bothered by the wolf's promise, or the hunter's presence.

"You would not be the first to claim so, beast," the hooded woman spoke. Voice cold as the damp air that clung about them. She made no move to arm herself. No move to act. But her blood moon eyes didst peer through the silver veil of mist. "Come then, show me what makes you so sure,"

A breath left Garrod's lungs, as his feet shift wide and his stance bladed. Heavy weapon at his back, side sword at his hip. He snapped his fingers instead.

Above the hooded form, a bright flame sparked to life. All hiss and sputter as it ate up the mist and burned fast.

What dim sunlight still filtered through the sky came down brighter there as the fire fell down unto the woman.

She but blurred to their left, fading into the mist with a dash step as Garrod drew the long monster killer from his back.

 

[Sigrith]

She was fast. Too fast to track with ones eyes... but perhaps not other senses. Vampires were known for their inhuman speed and strength, making them formidable targets that typically required multiple hunters to take down. Overwhelming them with numbers and giving them no opportunities for escape worked in most cases, but they had neither the advantage of great numbers or an enclosed space.

So she would have to rely on her own enhanced senses. The vampire couldn't outrun its own stench, and that left a trail no matter where it flitted off to. The wolf remained in place, drawing in a long inhale.

In a flash, Darkstride swung her massive skull to the left, aiming for where the scent trail stopped, and snapping her maw through the air at the last moment.

 

[Garrod Arlette]

A sharp clawed hand was trapped betwixt the wolf's ivory teeth. Vampiric blood gushed out from the fresh-made wound.

A smile spread across the woman's face. Her red eyes glowed bright beneath the cowl of her cloak as the fibers of her ruined appendage knit themselves back together. Her left hand grabbed up the wolf by the scruff with a hard grip. Her mouth spread wide and she bared her own fangs.

The quiet hiss of steel come free from leather. The whirr of a heavy blade, slice through the mist. The edge gleamed silver in the low light. Cold as it cut across in flat horizontal arc.

A puff of smoke sliced through and parted. The flutter of wings. One still caught in the wolf's mouth. But the big bat yanked, and yanked, and ripped its own wing off. Fell to the ground in a scrabble and bounce.

Another burst of black ash. Vile blood poured from the missing wound, but it slowly worked itself back together, and the vampire laughed as it stumbled back into the mist.

Garrod held his sword at the end of its swing. Low guard, right side. His eye wide as it followed the trail of blood.

 

[Sigrith]

Her kind were said to be capable of eating nearly anything, but Sigrith had not yet met a Nordenfiir or Nord that would willingly consume the flesh of the vile and diseased such as the vampire. There would have been other uses to her, were she of her natural form, but the wolf quickly spat out the wing from its mouth, gagging on the horrid taste of its ichor as its reaction shuddered down the length of her body in a wave of hackled fur.

A wolf had no use for the wing other than maybe a tooth pick.

With an offended snort and a shake of her head, she swiveled on the spot to follow the trail of blood in the mists. The trail died quickly but the mist remained - maintaining their quarry's cover to their own detriment. This would not do.

"Watch my back-" snarled the wolf to the man with his sword as she began to scratch into the dirt with her paws. These things were so much easier with hands and tools, but she would make do as she always did. Some esoteric marks crafted by the tundra witches of her homelands, curved and then jagged as they intercrossed. It took all of a few moments before Darkstride moved to stand over them and lifted her snout to the sky, loosing a howl that echoed into the spaces between the realms.

 

[Garrod Arlette]

"At your back," Garrod assured, his eye wide as it watched the swirl of the mists, the play of light against the silver strands as the last rays of sunlight bled into dusk.

He could hear the sound of paws scrabbling at the earth. Felt his hands come tight around the long handle of his weapon. Its weight married to his, balanced between bent legs and across a wide back. On the balls of his feet, he was still.

Come the wind's gale. Come the last stroke of claw against earth. The raise of snout and the haunting bay of the great wolf.

The mists gave way. As if burned by the last breath of day's glow.

A rake of claws came down at Garrod. The blow fierce enough to knock back his guard. The follow up fast enough to dig long dagger-like nails into his flesh. Blood spilled red from the wound at his back where his foe's hand did grip. Teeth bared in horrid splay and hiss before they sank in to flesh, and drank.