Monster Party Book Seven: There's some things you're never gonna help or change, but hunger is something we can turn around!
Chapter Eleven: Looking at all we've lost, all the pain that living hard can bring...
"Zhakata..." The single hissed word woke Alexander Diamondclaw from his sleep.
Both of his eyes shot wide open, and he stared up at the ceiling of his tent, certain that something was wrong with it, but not quite sure what.
A moment later a high pitched giggle come from somewhere (it was hard for even him to figure out its exact source) inside the tent.
That was shouldn't have been possible given that he and Florence were the tent's only occupants.
As the silver haired man tried to figure out if he was dealing with some very strange sort of quasi-dream, (and where he'd heard that voice before) all of a sudden the tent collapsed.
"Zhakata!" The voice hissed again.
Now that he heard it while fully awake (or at least not the next best thing to fully asleep) he was finally able to at least recognize where he had previously heard that particular voice.
It was the same voice that the living statue had used.
"Florence, I don't think that thing in the temple was just a golem..." Alexander growled as he began to struggle against the cloth covering.
"It must be a…." The dryad began, but before she could complete her sentence the tent's sides flew upwards, and the ropes that had bound it to ground broke free before shooting out to wrap around her neck.
The sight of Florence Bastien being strangled by those ropes moved the living tent from bizarre occurrence to an actual enemy.
That was not a wise choice on its part.
Especially given that Alexander Diamondclaw hadn't seen fit to bother Devi for her spare copy of his outfit, or James for yet another eye-patch.
A silver furred paw thrust upwards, its claws easily tearing through the cloth as Alexander forced himself upright.
The tent's ropes twisted and tensed, but they had no leverage from which to preform a fatal yank needing to rely on slower suffocation instead.
"Slower" was not a descriptor that could be applied to anything that successfully menaced Alexander Diamondclaw's pack, and that went double for Florence.
The ropes themselves were too thin and intricate for Alexander's furry paws to untangle and trying to slice them with his claws would probably result in him accidentally tearing out the dryad's throat.
So instead Alexander attacked the edges of the tent.
With every strike still more cloth fell away like the soft fabric it was.
With a few quick blows Alexander cut away the edges of the tent, the edges that the ropes were tied to.
Just as he had expected, the moment that the ropes were no longer physically connected to the tent they went limp.
Florence began to cough and splutter before starting to slowly untangle the ropes.
The tent itself still tried to smother the pair, but Alexander Diamondclaw was having none of it. He kicked out with his powerful legs and knocked the tent (which had been kind enough to sever its ties to the ground in the first place) up into the air.
Being made of cloth, the tent took its sweet time about drifting back down to the ground, which meant that when it finally did, Alexander had stood up and was waiting for it.
"Zhakata..." The tent hissed at him in anger.
The silver furred wolfman had quite decisively reached the amount of "up" with which he was willing to put.
He grabbed hold of the tent and stoically marched over to one of the largest bonfires in the mongrelmen camp.
"You ruined a perfectly good night's sleep! Do you know how hard it is to get a good night's sleep in G'Henna?" Alexander snarled before he held the animated tent out over a bonfire.
It didn't take long for the flames to catch and start to spread.
"Zhakata…." The tent hissed back defiantly even as more and more of it was scorched black or flaked away as ash.
"Yes, I'm sure you're going to see him soon!" The silver furred wolfman chortled.
Once the fires had consumed about three quarters of it, Alexander dropped the rest into the bonfire where it could only flop about pathetically as the flames finished their work.
That done, he stomped off and returned to Florence.
He didn't say a single word, just grabbed her (gently), lifted her up on top of him, wrapped his large silver furred arms around her back, and held her close to his chest.
"You warm?" He asked softly.
"That thing that tried to attack us I think it was..." The dryad began.
"Is it likely to try and kill us again tonight if we aren't sleeping in a tent?" He cut her off.
"No." She admitted.
"You warm?" He repeated his previous question.
"Yes." Florence admitted, realizing that Alexander was in full "Alpha Male" mindset at the moment.
"Great. You can tell me all about what was in the morning." Alexander promised, then tenderly ran a long lupine tongue along her cheek before starting to shift his head back and forth, trying to find the best position to get some sleep.
XXX XXX XXX
"No…. No…. No… not out here also!" Rumbled Alexander Diamondclaw as he was awoken from his slumber far too early for a second time.
Granted, at least the sun had actually risen this time around, but some small part of him had hoped that tonight things would finally be different.
They were, just not in an enjoyable way. While Alexander had escaped from Zhukar and its damnable bells, he hadn't been able to escape from the followers of Zhakata.
At what he suspected was the exact same moment as the bells started ringing in Zhukar, the mongrelmen had begun to recite prayers to Zhakata. They weren't all saying the exact same thing, but their voices blended together into an incessant chant that was impossible to ignore, especially given that Alexander had ended up sleeping out in the open.
"Well now that you're up, you should probably know it was an animator." Florence insisted as she propped an elbow against his furry chin.
"That's great, what is an animator?" The silver furred wolfman shot back.
His tone was mildly less affronted now though, because at least the Florence was telling him something interesting and most likely important unlike those praying to Zhakata.
"An animator is a restless spirit. It merges itself with mundane objects and brings them to life for whatever purpose it desires. Said purpose nine times out of ten is murder. They don't normally talk though…." The dryad explained, slightly baffled by this animator's habit of spouting 'Zhakata' every chance it got.
"How do we kill it? Since I don't think you'd insist on us having this conversation if I'd permanently gotten rid of it last night." Alexander wanted to know.
"You don't. Someone makes them angry, they try to kill them, eventually they either succeed or they get bored." The dryad warned him.
Alexander sighed, shoot his head, then snorted in defiance.
"More dangerous things than it have tried. It can only animate ordinary objects? So it can't try and turn Wolfclaw against me?" He pressed, taking a moment to run his furry paw along his sword's sheath.
"No, it can't posses enchanted items, and honestly Wolfclaw may be a little too small for it anyway. It'll want to posses things roughly the size of, well that statue back in the temple or a tent." She informed him.
Alexander gave a solemn nod, then pushed himself off against the ground and slowly got up.
"Gotcha, well if I see a building rip itself free from its foundation and try to crush me, I'll know why." The wolfman pondered, before pondering the far more important (from his point of view) question of what to eat for breakfast.
XXX XXX XXX
"Boss what happened to your shirt?" Callan Wright couldn't help but ask.
"I gave it away." Alexander Diamondclaw answered.
"Yeah I got that, I assume the same about your coat obviously. Why didn't you just get your backup outfit from Devi also though?" The alchemist clarified.
"These are my backup pants. I gave away my backup cloak and shirt." Alexander countered.
Callan Wright decided that this was a not subject that he really cared to investigate further.
Especially given that for some reason even the normally placid as a kitten James Firecat was also giving him the closest thing the young werecat could achieve to a stink eye.
James didn't have the right temperament for it and so it came off as more of an awkward squint, but Cal could feel that the intent was there.
So he decided to stop asking question and make do with simple observations for a while. Simple observations like that while most of the mongrelmen's clothing was some variant of brown, there was now some noticeable scraps of black, white, green, and red cloth mixed in.
"Thank you, for helping save tribe." Rumbled Wahrg as he made his way over to the adventurers.
Alexander offered the transformed follower of Zhakata and awkward smile. Without his coat and shirt, he had no choice but to wear the Eye of Zhakata openly about his neck, and Wahrg's eyes were instantly drawn to it.
"I killed two. They say you killed many more. Also rip outfit to shreds for us." Wahrg added with considerable approval in his eyes.
"What can I say, killing is something I'm good, I'm awesome at." Alexander admitted with a "relaxed" smile that he actually had to work very hard at.
The silver haired man privately wished he hadn't needed Florence's to give him a metaphorical boot to the backside before he'd been willing to (metaphorically) pull his head out of his ass and view the mongrelmen as desperate people rather than religious zealots.
He didn't want to receive credit or praise for an act of charity motivated first by guilt rather than compassion. His prowess in battle on the other hand, that Alexander was more than willing to accept praise for.
Before the conversation could continue any further, a loud piercing howl broke out.
"Really? Out here? Well I guess I've got no reason to be surprised." The silver haired man admitted to himself.
Then he placed a quick hand on Wahrg's shoulder and for one of the few times in his life needed to actually go up on tip toe in order to help get his lips closer to someone's ear.
"I need to go and deal with that." He whispered softly before marching off in the direction of the howl.
Thankfully no one tried to stop him.
XXX XXX XXX
On the outskirts of the mongrelmen camp, Alexander located the source of the howls. He found more or less exactly what he expected, an oversized and underfed wolfpack being lead by a black furred wolf with a white blaze across his chest.
"Hello again Gavin." Alexander greeted the familiar wolf.
The alpha wolf yipped eagerly at the sight of someone who was an alpha even to him.
"No, I don't have a lot more food to give you right now. Yes, I'll make sure to get some for you one way or another. Still, you and your pack have to behave yourselves. My pack is currently meeting peacefully with another pack right now, and I don't like it when packs who are friendly to me fight each other. Understand?" Alexander explained to Gavin.
He hadn't gone through the trouble of protecting the mongrelmen from the undead last night just to have them get attacked by wolves (especially not 'his' wolves) today. Normally Alexander would have been all but utterly certain that even without direct instruction Gavin and the others would behave themselves, but given how the mongrelmen were a riot of different scents, he didn't want one who smelled a little bit too much of the wrong herbivores to end up getting hurt.
"How do you do that?" A hesitant voice called out to Alexander from behind.
Turning around, the silver haired man saw that it was none other than Petchko. The transformed priest still had an air of melancholy about him, but now that he was surrounded by his fellow mongrelmen he didn't seem quite so skittish.
"Hello again Petchko." Alexander greeted him with an a somewhat awkward wave.
"How do you do that?" Petchko asked again.
The silver haired man sighed and turned back around to Gavin who had chosen to sit on his haunches and watch this discussion with considerable interest. He and his pack must have had at least some luck hunting last night, otherwise he would have been pressing Alexander harder for a meal.
"I talk, and they listen. I offer him something that he wants, do my utmost to live up to that promise, I get loyalty for it. There's nothing especially amazing about it." Alexander insisted.
Petchko walked forward until he stood side by side with Alexander's and shook his head.
"No. No it isn't. There's something in your eyes… well your eye…?" He began rather awkwardly.
Alexander Diamondclaw sighed heavily, he'd just gotten this new eye-patch from James (he'd met the werecat on his way towards Gavin), and now he reached a hand over to it, flipped it up for a few moments, then let it slide back down over his right eye.
"You can say eyes, I showed it off to enough people last night." He admitted.
Petchko bobbed his head awkwardly in agreement, then continued as best he could.
"There's something in your eyes. The only time that I can remember seeing something like it is when Yagno Petrovna was preaching." The transformed priest explained.
Alexander's single visible eye widened quite noticeably.
"Petchko, we're not in Zhukar anymore. That means I can afford to be more open and honest with those around me. Right now, I'm honestly considering wringing your neck." Alexander snarled, not enjoying the direction that this conversation had taken.
"I am simply speaking the truth." Petchko unwisely insisted.
Alexander's left hand rose up and began to twitch and spasm. Its fingers curled inward as if it was indeed crushing someone's neck.
Then simply doing it to empty air wasn't enough. Alexander refused to allow himself to harm Petchko, and so instead wrapped the hand around his own throat.
Alexander Diamondclaw began to squeeze and compress his neck for a few moments until he managed to alleviate most of his homicidal rage.
Then he slowly let go of his throat turned and shifted to fully face Petchko.
Alexander's right hand lifted the eye-patch from his head, and let its string dangle from his fingers while fixing Petchko with a withering gaze from his mismatched eyes.
"What has Yagno Petrovna sacrificed?" Alexander demanded.
"Yagno Petrovna sits in his temple, and convinces an entire city to starve themselves in the service of his god! I saw his face, he emptied himself out and let Zhakata pour in to serve as replacement.
Gods and their priests, using their mystical powers to make up whatever rules they want for the rest of us to live by! Gods in their halls, priests in their temples, making up rules because they are, because they think they are, powerful enough that they'll never truly be challenged! Meanwhile, I'm out here…. I'm always out here! I'm always…. I'm always..." As Alexander spoke silver fur began to sprout across his bare chest, his voice began to fade into a choked whimper, and tears began to leak from his right eye.
He seemed to practically collapse against the Vistana turned priest, turned mongrelman, as any attempt at properly articulated speech was drowned out by something between a sob and a howl.
"Yagno..." Petchko began a rebuttal but Alexander gently placed a single finger to the mongrelman's lips silencing him.
The taller man's body was temporarily wracked with convulsions alongside a few weak moans before he finally regained some measure of control.
That done, he stood back up straight, gave his eye-patch a very long strange look, and finally slid it gently back over his right eye.
"That… that could have gone better. I wasn't being especially persuasive there was I?" Alexander sighed heavily.
"No." Petchko awkwardly agreed.
It didn't seem like a good idea to just flat out say that Alexander had been ranting and raving like a madman, especially given that Gavin and his pack were still quite nearby, and probably quite hungry.
"When I was attacked in Zhukar, I was saved by a powerful beast that looked like a blend of man and wolf with silver fur. They said that when Wahrg challenged you, you turned into exactly the same kind of creature. When I first woke up after passing out in the alley, you were already there. Was that..." Petchko had clearly been mentally connecting some dots this morning, inching his way along towards a tenuous conclusion.
Alexander slowly nodded, and gently wrapped his arms around Petchko's shoulders.
"Thank you. Thank you for that realization. Not so much for giving me credit, though given how I'm feeling right now, getting some credit for my deeds is very much appreciated. What I really appreciate is that you're thinking." The silver haired man thanked his companion.
Petchko said nothing, he simply stood there in a painful silence.
Alexander slowly looked at Petchko. He recalled something that Florence had told him once when dealing with a slightly limping doe. She hadn't been able to treat the animal with magic, a least not at first. It had been injured when it was younger and survived, but the bones hadn't set properly which was why it still limped. At least until she had snapped the animal's leg, and then used her magic to help it through the process of healing all over again. When she'd been done, there had been no trace of a limp.
Sometimes you have to break something to give it a chance to heal properly.
Alexander hoped that particular statement had the kind of far reaching implications which accompanied most of the dryad's lessons for him.
Looking at Petchko right now, Alexander knew that he'd have to break his mind to give it any chance of healing properly. He deserved that much, even if Alexander was never able to do anything about his body.
"Your father wasn't from G'Henna, correct? You're a full blooded Vistani?" Alexander inquired tenderly.
Petchko slowly nodded, not sure where Alexander was going at the moment.
"I've had a fair number of encounters with Vistani in the past, though they tend to keep to themselves. From what I've seen, they worship, or at least offer reverence to their ancestors through the Vista-Chiri, but have no gods that I have ever been privileged enough to learn of. You're the first Vistana I've met who has shown explicit reverence to a single particular god, let alone become a priest of that god." The silver haired man further elaborated.
"Yes?" Petchko awkwardly agreed, still unsure of what point Alexander Diamondclaw was trying to convey.
"Being High Priest of Zhakata, Yagno Petrovna has a great deal of magical power. Just consider the way that he was able to transform you, to transform all the mongrelmen in G'Henna. With that in mind, you mention how your dedication to Zhakata began when you first heard Yagno Petrovna preaching. Would you consider it impossible for Yagno Petrovna to use magic to enchant people who listen to him preach, make them follow him due to that magic rather than any true loyalty?" Alexander finally suggested.
Instantly Petchko's entire body went stiff as his animalistic ears stood up straight.
"That's insane, Yagno Petrovna is the kindest, bravest, warmest, most wonderful human being I've ever known in my life." He insisted immediately.
"Have you asked your fellow mongrelmen what the crimes they've committed that ended up getting them transformed? Do you really believe what you just told me Petchko?" Alexander pressed.
"No… no…. I don't. Except that I said it anyway… without even taking a moment to think about it…." The young Vistana gasped in amazement.
Alexander gave him a pained smile, as if he knew that now was not the time to be displaying joviality, and yet couldn't help but take pride in his verbal victory.
"Let me know when you're ready?" He offered, awkwardly holding out his hands.
Sure enough, a few moments later Petchko collapsed into his waiting arms and began to sob.
XXX XXX XXX
Alexander and Petchko sat on the outskirts of the mongrelmen encampment surrounded protectively by Gavin and his pack.
"I've been, I was a priest of Zhakata for five years. What… what have I been doing?" Petchko eventually gasped when he was able to finally to speak rather than sob.
"It wasn't your fault." Alexander reassured him.
"I've lost… I've lost everything..." Petchko whimpered pathetically.
Alexander really didn't want to give the next bit advice he was about to offer up. He didn't want to say it, and knew that he'd probably have to punch himself in the face before he'd be able to sleep soundly again after saying it, but he had to say it all the same.
"Don't stop believing in Zhakata just because you don't believe in Yagno Petrovna." The silver haired man winced even as the words left his lips.
He would have liked to tell Petchko that they were in no position to judge what Zhakata's true nature was like. He would have liked to, but saying those words would have caused Alexander to vomit on general principle alone, not even taking into account what he had seen in G'Henna.
As far as Alexander could tell Zhakata wasn't any nicer of a god than Yagno Petrovna was a person. Besides, to even make that argument was to implicitly admit that there was such a thing as a "nice" god.
Instead, Alexander slowly began to finger his new necklace.
"This "eye" that I took from the temple, its important to Zhakata. Losing an eye is the kind of thing that can make even a god into a different person. Even if Zhakata the Devourer is content to sit back and watch all of G'Henna suffer, that doesn't mean its your fault or that you've misspent years of your life. We're going to go find Zhakata the Provider. Together." Alexander insisted.
Petchko slowly began to wipe a few tears from his eyes and looked up at Alexander's unusually warm face.
"Together?" He repeated cautiously.
"Together." Alexander repeated as he took Petchko's hands in his own.
"Thanks you… It, it means a lot to me." Petchko sighed.
"Faith is important. I don't believe in gods, but I do still believe in the power of belief, and I'm not even talking about clerical magic." Alexander admitted.
"What else do you believe in?" Petchko couldn't help but ask.
"Fairy tales, chiefly Logan the Grim, also a wolf." Alexander answered after only a moment's hesitation.
"Logan the Grim?" The mongrelman repeated the name in confusion, never having heard it before.
Alexander slowly let go of Petchko's hands (trusting that physical contact was no longer necessary) and nodded with a strange smile on his face.
"Logan the Grim was a great knight. He slew monsters, protected the weak, defended the just, refused to turn his eyes from or stay his hand against injustice, no matter who committed it.
He has many tales, but I draw strength from one of them in particular.
An evil spirit possessed a farmer's bull, and caused it to transform into a rampaging monster that stood taller than any man, with muscles thicker than a normal man's chest, wielding an axe that could cleave through ancient trees with a single strike.
Logan's battle with the beast was long and perilous, but he was triumphant and eventually he plunged his sword deep into the monster's skull. Even in death the beast managed some measure of revenge, for its blood was so toxic and its body so strong that the strike warped Logan's blade, leaving him victorious but now also defenseless.
So, to avoid being easy prey to the many other dangers of the land, her armed himself beast's axe… which was exactly what the evil spirit had wanted him to.
The spirit was greatly weakened by its defeat, but not destroyed, not even close to destroyed. Too weak to directly control even an animal at the moment, it poured itself into the axe, intending to gather strength there while also slowly working its subtle corruptions upon Logan. Then one day, when it was strong again, it would take him over, mind, body, and soul.
The spirit was cunning and deceptive, but also haughty and overly contemptuous. Even though he had slain its previous host in a tremendous battle, the spirit did not respect Logan. That was a mistake.
When it began to weave its lies and deceit into Logan's mind, Logan wove back with the power of his determination and courage. He will was so great that it crushed the spirit's… spirit. He broke its mind, reducing it to a shadow of its former self.
Before it would ever get a chance for a third battle, Logan had the axe enchanted by holy priests to drain the spirit's powers directly into the axe. This made the weapon yet more deadly and powerful, which was only a minor side benefit next to its true purpose, making the spirit utterly unable to leave the axe.
He had transformed what the spirit intended to be a safe refuge into its eternal prison. He then as you can imagine went on to fight many other great battles and slay many other foes with his new axe. The moral of the story is that, evil claims the unwary or the incomplete. A true man may flinch away from its embrace, if he is stalwart, and he girds his soul with the armor of contempt." Alexander concluded.
A furry tail promptly thumped on the ground and a low lupine voice whined pathetically.
"Yes Gavin, I know I've been spending an especially long time enjoying the sound of my own voice. Now that I'm finally finished, lets see if we can't get you and your packmates fed." The silver haired man declared to the alpha wolf with a slight chuckle.
Thirteen tails began to wag eagerly.
XXX XXX XXX
Alongside Petchko and escorted by his oversized wolfpack Alexander moved back in among the mongrelmen camp.
The wolves drew a fair bit of attention (though thankfully they managed to keep their appetites in check) but surprisingly not quite as much as the other new group of arrivals.
A small crowd of mongrelmen had gathered on hands and knees before a collection of men in red robes. One of them was currently giving something between a sermon and a lecture on his own self importance.
"It is I, Bolsh the Blessed, who have finally arrived to grant you poor unfortunate sinners some small measure of Zhakata's forgiveness! Through your service to me you will finally be given a chance to find redemption for your sins!" Insisted Bolsh who unlike his companions (and most other occupants of G'Henna) had brown hair and green eyes.
Petchko said nothing to Alexander, he simply gave him an apologetic glance, and went to go and supplicate himself alongside his fellow broken ones. Some habits were hard to break.
Alexander looked the priest/member of the Circle of the Darkness up and down. He was not impressed with what he saw. Bolsh wasn't fat, there was no one in G'Henna was fat. He wasn't even plump, chubby or overweight… and yet to the silver haired man's senses there was something unpleasantly excessively about the man.
Alexander was also slightly surprised that the group the Circle of Darkness had sent seemed to be made of nothing but priests. Then he realized that given the no doubt heavy theological implications and background of this particular task, priests would be uniquely suited for dealing with it.
He just wished that the Circle had picked some priest other than "Bolsh the Blessed" to lead their half of the expedition, any other priest. Even Yagno Petrovna would have been acceptable by comparison.
At least Yagno seemed to genuinely believe in something other than his own ego. Alexander didn't find the High Priest's blind faith an especially endearing trait, but at least Yagno was probably vaguely aware of the concept that there were things (if not people) more important than himself in the world.
"He does go on a bit doesn't he…." Whispered a voice at to Alexander's right.
He turned his head slightly and saw a great deal of black fabric utterly obscuring whoever was talking.
Tilting his head a further still so that he could bring his left eye to bear on the speaker, Alexander discovered that it was none other than Madar himself.
He was surprised, both that the priest had decided to leave the relative civilization of Zhukar, and that he was willing to speak ill of his superior.
On the other hand, Zhukar might not be an especially safe place for priests at the moment. If Zhakata's Inquisition had any wits about them at all they'd suspect some rebellious priests must have been involved in the High Temple's desecration.
Maybe if Alexander was especially lucky, the inquisition would follow that particular train of thought well past he bounds of common sense (as religious extremists were prone to do) and assume that some rouge inquisitors might have been involved as well.
If the Inquisition started inquisting itself then it would inevitably result in a net positive for G'Henna.
"One could certainly make that argument." Alexander reflected while noncommittally shrugging his shoulders.
Madar, seeing how awkwardly Alexander needed to tilt his neck, circled around his conversation partner to stand on his left side instead.
"Looks like he's not the only one whose been making converts though…. Who are your friends?" He inquired, looking over in the direction of the accompanying wolves.
Gavin thumped his tail on the ground and barked, evidently aware that he and his packmates were the topic of conversation.
Granted, Alexander wouldn't be surprised if Gavin had some dire wolf in his family tree, it was just that in G'Henna a dire wolf would remain constantly half starved, which lead to it growing no larger than your average wolf.
"That's Surehunt and his mate Swiftpaw." Alexander answered.
Madar tilted his head back and forth several times, looking first at Alexander then at "Surehunt" then back to Alexander.
Then he chuckled.
"Well, guess I walked right into that one. What does he really call himself?" Madar insisted, sounding more amused than anything.
That was not how Alexander had expected him to respond. Honestly, he hadn't even expected Madar to realize that he was being mocked.
"I don't see why his name shouldn't be Surehunt." The silver haired man insisted, deciding to draw this particular absurdity out a little bit further.
Madar chuckled again and reached up for the small human finger bone he wore above his heart as a badge office.
He tore it free from his outfit and tossed it to Gavin, who snapped it up eagerly. There wasn't likely to be much (or any) marrow left in it, but wolves didn't turn down perfectly good bones in G'Henna.
"There's more to G'Henna than Zhukar and the desert. There are a few minor farming villages all over the place if you know where to look. Humble people living humble lives, doing what they can to survive.
My father raised cows for example. I would have also, but while I said my devotions to Zhakata no more devoutly than any other member of the family, the Beast God chose me alone to give his magic to. I discovered my talents before I was of age to join the priesthood properly though, so for a while I simply used my abilities to help around the farm. Being able to talk to animals made certain things a lot easier, like dealing with the local wolfpack. Its alpha went by Bill." Madar informed Alexander.
"Well, it seems I am undone by my own lies." Alexander admitted with a chuckle of his own.
Then he slowly turned his head in the Bolsh's direction, the self aggrandizing priest was still going on.
"How did the Circle of Darkness last a single month, let alone however long exactly it has been going on for with him in charge?" He couldn't help but ponder.
To his surprise Madar was neither insulted nor saddened by the comment.
"It didn't. Bolsh was the first man of the cloth to join the Circle, but our true strength has always come from the people of G'Henna itself. Bolsh may 'lead' the circle inside G'Henna, but even he must obey The Son of Rust." Madar explained.
"The Son of Rust?" Alexander repeated the name, allowing a slight touch of confusion to creep into his voice.
Before Madar got a chance to say anything further Gavin thumped his tail on the ground once more. When the two men turned to look in his direction he thumped his tail yet again.
"I think Gavin knows when an especially long story is coming. Lets go get him and his pack fed first, then he'll have more patience for me listening to other humans expound at length… so long as they're not Bolsh." The silver haired man decided.
End Chapter.
AN: Alexander's sign of self harm are not a good thing at all psychologically speaking (even if he can regenerate) that goes without saying. If you hadn't noticed yet though, Alex is not the most mentally stable hero imaginable. In short, recall what he's had to say about how it feels to transform, and this shouldn't really take you by surprise.
There's technically no "simple" priestly spell for talking with animals. That said, given that it's a level one druid spell, and no character in story has perfect out of character knowledge of the system on which their reality operates (assuming it even perfectly operates on D&D 3.5 or something similar), it is entirely reasonable that Madar's first level was in druid while he was still a farmhand, but then proceeded to multi-class/invest all future levels only in cleric once he was old enough to travel to Zhukar and join the priesthood.
Also Logan the Grim is in no way… PFFF… yeah right. Logan the Grim is fully intended to be the Ravenloft fantasy equivalent of Logan Grimnar from Warhammer 40K. Though just to be clear, Alex doesn't view "Logan the Grim" as a person who actually existed, just an impossibly awesome hero that people tell stories about as a way to deliver morals or give hope to one another.
The story that Alex tells if "fantasy accurate" to one of Logan Grimnar's exploits in 40K, killing a Chaos Champion, though in the middle of a pitched battle rather than a simple duel, breaking his (Logan's) sword in the process and deciding that since there is still a battle going on around him, he'll arm himself with the axe his foe was using.
This is a tremendously bad idea for anyone who is not as badass as Logan Grimnar, because using weapons of powerful chaos warriors is often a surefire ticket to being driven insane and or evil by said weapon.
But Logan Grimnar is by the rule of tautologies as badass as Logan Grimnar, so he managed to successfully use the axe, then had it remade in order that people who weren't as badass as him could be around it without risking that they might residually fall to Chaos from being in the same room as the axe he was holding…
The "moral" that Alex provides at the end is likewise taken from Warhammer 40K, slightly modified to describe "evil" rather than "chaos".
What matters most, and what you probably realized yourselves already is that this particular story about someone managing to use an evil weapon to do good deeds is very near and dear to Alex's heart, for reasons that likewise can probably figure out without me telling you.
Oh and in D&D 3.5 (and most other versions of D&D I could find, as the over all point held true when I looked at 5th edition real quick) dire wolves are Int 2, same as normal wolves (in 5th they're both Int 3) with only a +4 in Cha when it comes to changes in mental stats. That said, I'm going to go by the principle that dire animals are at least a little bit brighter than normal animals, by default being bigger they have to have bigger brains. Anyway, the issue of if Gavin has any dire wolf blood in him is entirely still up to debate, Alex is just making up a theory to try and explain what he's seeing.
In all likelihood wolves that you meat in G'Henna are probably just a bit smarter on average than say wolves in Verbrek, simply because it isn't easy at all to survive, and so the smarter ones also tends to be the ones who reach mating age and reproduce most frequently.
Also hey, look at this, I finally managed to turn this chapter out in something approaching my normal quick time frame… expect the next one to be up in two weeks or so though since I'm not sure I can keep up the one a week pace again yet...
