The black smokey fur of the werewolf shook as the muscles underneath twitched with fury at the growling and chomping. Teeth mashed flesh and tore through sinew as the powerful jaws rent the fresh meat from bone. Blood crawled down the lycanthropes beard as his head turned up toward the pale sunshine. With a glimmer in his eyes the wolf’s form deteriorated and gave way to pink skin and tussled black hair. Thanks to Gerald’s amulet, gifted to him by some duke or another, he retained his clothes during the transformation and could do it at almost any time; so long as the amulet remains on his body, of course.
He dragged the small elk by it’s broken neck across the barren snow, leaving a trail of blood and gore behind him.
Moments LaterSarel sat with his legs crossed in front of him on the straw-padded stone floor. He shivered a little as the hatch to the shelter opened only feet behind him. Gerald entered, blood smattered on his face and hands.
“Got lunch.” He said.
Several Days EarlierThe snowy road stretched on for a while, stone houses and buildings lining both sides to create an open-top hallway. The twinkling stars were already high overhead as the fur padded boots of the messenger crunched on the fresh snow. Piled up along the sidewalks were essentially barricades of snow, dirty with the coming and going of pedestrians. The messenger walked down the center of the road in order to avoid the discomfort of having to traverse the impeding terrain. The count of Rush’s Keep, the city proper, had commissioned extra maintenance of the roads in order to keep them open for traffic. Buggies came around every few hours to collect snow and move it into the surrounding wilderness. The messenger came to the building he imagined was the one he was looking for, from out of the nearby alleyway came another man. This man was veiled by the fresh snow which had begun to fall, this is true, but he also seemed to carry with him an emanating cloak of darkness. His eyes were a sharp black in sunken sockets, beset atop a frequently fractured nose which even now housed a freshly placed bandage. He carried with him a covered crate which jingled and chimed as he walked, and that alone projected his arrival to the messenger who had approached the entrance of the dimly lit building entrance. To be fair, any light would be dimmed in the snow laden wind which had kicked up even as the shadowed man appeared.
“You got something for the Doctor?” He asked gruffly, his accent that of the eastern valley cities, conspicuously devoid of some consonants. He produced a brass key from one of his pockets as he balanced the crate in one hand.
“Yessir. Is ‘e ‘ere?” The messenger responded.
The tough looking man gave an affirmative response something in the way of a cough and opened the heavy wooden door. The smell of burnt flowers and braised wood wafted from the inside and the man shouldered the door inward as he brought the small crate inside. “Come in” was all he said.
The messenger brought himself inside, kicking the snow from his feet at the entrance. As he came in he brought out the fresh parchment he had neatly rolled away in his bag. He held onto it dutifully as he looked around. There were all sorts of things to look around at. To the right of the foyer was what seemed to be a lab of some sort, though it held in it the comfort and familiarity of a kitchen. On the giant center table were vials, and beakers, and buckets, and percolators, all filled with some substance or another. Two smart looking half Elvish women worked at the percolators and vials with books nearby as they chatted quietly. They spoke amongst themselves as the messenger stood amazed in the foyer. He looked at all the bobbles and books along the walls of the lab, then looked at the interesting portraits and art pieces along the center hallway, then found himself peering at the dusty study to the left which held a huge globe behind a cluttered desk, models of machines hanging from the ceiling, and precise diagrams of the physiology and anatomy of every civilized sentient race. Small sketches of plants and fungi adorned the walls, along with various certificates and letters of import. Along the back wall was an encased bookshelf, almost entirely taken up by an encyclopedia. As the messenger saw more of the room, considered the two chairs set up in front of the desk, he realized this was more of a consultation room than anything else. The man placed the crate he carried atop one of the chairs in the foyer and hung his coat atop a hanger. Beneath his fur lined leather coat was even more leather, buckled and padded all the way down, two daggers competed for a position on his right hip in specially made holsters.
One of the women, who was more girl in honest, giggled as she looked over the messenger with expectant eyes. He blushed even more than he already was as the cold left his body. He wondered if he should smile back. As he did the other man began walking, beckoned him with a shrug and grumble. Before he could walk one of the girls called out to him.
“Are you here to collect Doc Sarel?” she asked.
The messenger smiled awkwardly, “No, jus’ to deliver. ‘e may have been called away, but it won’t be me doing the calling.”
“Ova’ here, boy.” The man called out from the far end of the hallway. He looked smaller now so far away at the end of the patterned carpet, set between the bent, wooden door frames. The man disappeared into an alcove and the messenger walked ahead toward the end. His attention was rapt as he walked through the hall, however, passing a set of stairs upward. Glass lamps illuminated the paintings, and beast heads, and diagrams along the finely molded wall. It took him a while to get through the hall, though he couldn’t recall how long. As he approached the dark alcove the man came back up.
“Were you waitin’ for an invitation?” He asked sarcastically as he returned the way he came. The alcove turned into a curving hall and then into a natural cavern structure as it descended. The wood gave way to stone, the bricks gave way to granite; and suddenly the dark gave way to light.
The duo came out into a natural cavernous room alight with the ominous orange glow from a lava stream. As it coalesced into a puddle it gave way to more lava and flowed down into a second hole in the wall which seemed to lead to darkness. On the opposite end of the room was where the lab was located. Several tables were lined up in a row with a multitude of equipment and specimen. At one of the tables stood an incredibly dark skinned man with ashen hair. He wore a simple blouse and leather breeches. His bare feet seemed to blend with the half obsidian floor. He was currently blowing a glass vial with an incredibly intricate device which seemed to connect to the table with a tube. The Dark Elf padded on the peddle used to power the device for several moments after the two entered, achieving a nicely shaped vessel. He stopped easily and placed the contraption aside. Clapping his hands together to get off the dust and particles of glass. He came to a wash bowl to clean his hands and face, as he did so he finally addressed his mate. “Is this the messenger you mentioned, Mr. Newcastile?”
“Yes, Doctor. He has something for you.” Gerald responded in a more eloquent manner than he had in front of the messenger.
“And do you suppose it could be what a portended?” Sarel the Drow asked as he cleaned his neck, a fresh humor in his inquisitive voice. He sounded like a teacher.
“I’ve guessed wrong before.” Gerald said with an air of disappointment, also a hint of apathy.
“It doesn’t mean you’ll guess wrong again.” Sarel said with a slightly strained face as he tied his hair in a bun. “What do you say, boy? Do you think I guessed right? Have you been sent by the regency? Are you one of many messengers to deliver this post?” He asked in just the same voice he’d spoken to Gerald. The messenger felt soothed, compelled to answer.
“Yes, that’s right.” He said.
“Well you’re one of the lucky ones then, eh? No mountains or fierce beasts for you. No worrying if some creature or another will eat you tonight, because you’ll likely be bedding them. Yes, you certainly did draw luckily this time, didn’t you?” Sarel seemed to be saying this without effort, without contemplation.
“Yes, Doctor. I’d say that’s true.” The messenger responded.
“Well of course you would. You have no choice but to acquiesce to reality, or otherwise you’ve truly died.” Sarel mused. “Doesn’t mean we need to be constricted by our realities, does it Mr. Newcastile?”
Gerald shook his head, “We are who we say we are, at least to ourselves.” He seemed to quote that from somewhere, though he spoke it confidently.
“Mr. Newcastile knows more about conforming to one’s own reality than anyone, probably. He learned that reality is often times more flexible than mortals give it credit for. Do you know what I’m saying?” Sarel’s pale eyes seemed to dance in the lava light. It conveyed a secret message somewhere in the tiny dark pupils.
“I think I do,” The messenger responded as if with an epiphany, “Could I stay here for some time?”
“Why yes, of course. Why would I have brought it up in the first place?” Sarel asked with an innocent ignorance of how he might seem to the uninitiated, of which this messenger could no longer identify. Gerald seemed only slightly bewildered as he tried to unravel what might have occurred in the space between the words they spoke and their meanings. The messenger smiled warmly, held back a tear, offered the post. He’d been touched by Sarel as so many others had, and that wouldn’t go away easily. Sarel took the letters and read through them briefly, unperturbed by the contents. “Lola and Etzel will take care of your learning while I’m gone, I’ll continue with you when I return. I’m sure you and Etzel will have quite a bit to share with one another over the course of your stay. I’m glad you’ve decided to stay with us, I didn’t want to send you back out into the cold. Besides, we need someone to help watch the Practice and the Pharmacy while Mr. Newcastile and I are away. When we cure the world of this chill you’ll have more options than you ever dreamed of…” he thought for a moment as he tried to retrieve a title. “What’s your name?”
“Athuras.” The messenger replied.
Sarel grimaced, “I don’t like it.”
Athuras was given a cozy room upstairs beside the library, it would be there where his child will be conceived. Sarel thought to himself happily about that as he strode back down the wooden steps.
“Please get my equipment, Mr. Newcastile, and your own. Then meet me in the lab in an hour.” Sarel said listlessly as he made his way back down the darkened alcove and back into the caves.
Sarel’s ashy hands pulled the thin coverings from the crate Gerald had brought him and produced from it several wild samples from across the region. As a part of Gerald’s medical training he needed to learn how to spot and collect samples from the wild. Sarel smiled widely as he saw the meticulousness with which each sample was labeled and encased. The dire tadpole was swimming happily in his small container alongside the silver ore, and thistleweed seeds. Sarel looked over at the spiritual essences he had bottled up on the shelf beside his Alembic. He considered whether he should use the pseudo soul of a succubus, or the magically distilled ectoplasm of a ghost. He frowned when he thought that he might have to bring every spirit he had available to him just in case.
As Gerald came down the steps with a large clasped box, Sarel made the final touches on the apatures and the runes marked on the floor. He’d taken the design from some manual or another in the Arcane Library downtown. The letters he’d received were held aloft by a copper tubing device in the center of the rune circle. Sarel designated the place for the equipment with a flourish as he walked over toward one of the three separate rune circles around the primary circle. Gerald placed the box of equipment on the runed square, then took his place across from Sarel, as directed.
Sarel held a few strings in his hand connected to bottles at the center of the circle.
“This should get us close enough to find a camp and rest for a few days, the transportation will drain us.” Sarel said this slowly and carefully, and Gerald followed behind dutifully. “We’ll need to build a shelter somewhere close, concealed. Understood?”
Gerald nodded, tightened his gloved fists in anticipation. He couldn’t talk with all the nerves going through him. He thought of Lola and hoped she would be okay without him during her pregnancy. She had her sister to help her, and now Athuras, who seemed to be a fine gentleman. As he smiled from the thought of Lola in her nightgown the world around him disappeared. He was strung out into a beam of light and projected through space and time to the icey destination. As the world came back there was warmth around them. Sarel stood across from him in the only patch of snowless ground and they smiled at eachother.
“I can’t believe it.” Sarel said, and he collapsed under his own weight.
Several Days LaterAs the duo chewed on the stewed elk meat and bones they peered through the tiny slit built into the shelter. Gerald had done a fantastic job with that. The entirety of it was camouflaged with snow and dead bush twigs; not that it would fool the scouts of the palace, but it would protect them from the elements, and the dangerous animals lurking about as they waited for the party to arrive. This final stew afforded the pair the rest of their energy reserves, and as they ate it they cooed.
“Do you suppose we should head over now, Mr. Newcastile?” Sarel asked with the same tone from so many days ago in the comfortable confines of his home.
Gerald eyed the dwarves which had just ridden up, saw the camaraderie there was to have between the converging groups. “Perhaps after this bowl.” He finally said.
Sarel smiled and nodded, “Yes, I think that’s best.” The gate began to lower just as the two slurped down their broth.
Minutes Later“See, Gerald, I told you they wouldn’t close the gate.” Sarel said as they came to the fortress entrance, the Doctor holding the pot they used for cooking; the sloshing of baby elk meat making him only a little sick. Gerald only slightly fumbled with the large box as Sarel silently directed him onto the drawbridge. “This certainly is a foreboding place, isn’t it?” Sarel asked rhetorically as he scanned the architecture. He grimaced when he saw the macabre spectacle further in the gates. Referring to the black steeds and their riders Sarel whispered to Gerald, “Not as foreboding as that lot, however.” He instinctually grasped the silver hilt of Jorvith 'Hral as they made their way across the bridge. As he noticed someone who may as well fit the description of the White Mage Sarel waved at him. “Hello there --Exemplar, is it then? My associate and I simply need to get out of the cold for a moment. As you can see we’re not quite prepared for it right now, and my heating potion is running out.” Of course he couldn’t be bothered to stop, so the Doctor simply walked and talked. “We’ll have plenty of time to converse, Mr. Hopsfield, I’m sure!”
And with that he and Gerlad ducked into the closest, warmest place to put their things down and rest.
