RUSELM'S BESTIARY
CHAPTER ONE ─ FIGHT OF THE WARG, PART ONE

"EXCUSE ME, SIR, but could you spare a moment to talk to me? I only have a few questions, as I overheard you talking just a few moments ago to your good friend about the beast which you've encountered in the forest." Ruselm examined the man before him with a careful eye, successfully attempting to mask his inner conclusions about the plump traveler before him. Who was he to judge the newcomer, after all? It's not as if the vagabond had anything to indicate he was above this man and his companion. Ruselm was simply burning with curiosity, desperate to figure out what could be plaguing his fellow compatriots this time. Perhaps the beast would be real for once, and not a joke to which everyone laughed but him!

The man, he must have seen fifty winters with his sparse graying hair, turned to look at Ruselm with a glimmer of surprise in his sapphire eyes. He exchanged a wary look with the unfamiliar traveler beside him, presumably his friend. Ruselm predicted this to be true with how close the two were standing together. "Aye, I suppose I could," the older man nodded. "What do you want to know about that monster?"

Yes!

Ruselm could hardly contain the excitement flowing through his veins, sending pulses of secondhand adrenaline through his extremities. He tried to keep his voice low as he spoke, drawing out a fresh leather-bound journal that was perennially tucked under his arm. A white quill, taken from an eagle, appeared in his hand from seemingly nowhere as he poised it above the page, experimentally raising his eyes to the travelers in front of him while performing his miraculous balancing act. Around the three men, the local villagers went about their business as though they were invisible for they were quite used to Ruselm's incessant prodding, if not thoroughly annoyed by it already. He'd questioned nearly all the merchants and pestered every last man who claimed to see a shadow until they were blue in the face.

They didn't see any reason to bail the travelers out to keep them from his harassment, either.

"What did this beast look like?" Ruselm lifted his eyes without moving his head, pinning the travelers to the ground they stood on with his probing gaze alone.

The younger traveler with thick hair as brown as a doe's hide spoke up first before the older man could get a chance to answer. "It's no 'beast,' you ass. It's a monster, an abomination!" His voice was surprisingly soft and melodic, a harsh contrast to the foulness of his language and the venom with which he spat his words. It was like being cursed at by a rabbit. Mellow, but crude.

With a bow of his head, Ruselm rephrased. "What did this monster look like?"

"Shut up, Luvrad," the older man was speaking now, annoyance making his sharp features more jarring to behold. He crossed his arms over the indigo tunic which was a tad too big for his large form. "The monster was as overgrown as a horse, I tell you, with jaws that could stretch to fit around a boulder! Its teeth were yellow. The ugliest shade of yellow you can imagine, with black eyes to match. It looked like a wolf but it was far too large to be one."

"Its pelt must have been three times thicker!" Luvrad added, excited. He gestured with his hands as he spoke, using lots of expression to get his point across. "A thick brown coat, about as dark as your own hair. Darker, even. He was by the river."

Ruselm nodded noiselessly, taking notes. He held a small well of ink tucked between two olive fingers as he balanced the journal on his forearm, nose close to the page to make sure he got the information correct as he wrote it down with a rapid hand. He hummed a few times to show the men he was still listening.

"Ben," Luvrad was turning to the graying man. "What's the word that it's called? It starts with a W, like 'wolf' but it's completely different..."

Before Ben could answer his friend, Ruselm spoke up in a small voice. "It's a warg," he didn't look up from his writing. "It's actually a subspecies of wolf, a much larger breed and far more prone to violence against humans. Congratulations on surviving, lads, wargs don't usually let their prey get away."

The travelers exchanged a startled glance, silence festering when neither man could find the words to speak their thoughts. Ruselm didn't need to hear anything more from Ben or Luvrad, at least, because he was unsure either would be able to provide him with any solid answers. If Ruselm wanted to figure out more about the warg the men had seen, he'd simply have to go see the beast himself, even if it was dangerous. Who else would venture out and do it? Ruselm was entirely sure that the current bestiaries that common folk used were filled with misinformation due to the cowardice of their authors.

Well, not Ruselm's. His would never be like that. He needed cold, hard, irrefutable facts and the only way the Nazairian could get those was by observing the warg himself. No matter the danger.

Snapping his journal shut with such vehement force that the men before him visibly flinched, faces contorting with surprise for a brief moment, Ruselm turned his eyes up at them for the first time. He smiled in a kind way, the book becoming tucked under his arm once more and the quill disappearing somewhere up his sleeve where the ink well had vanished.

"Thanks for talking to me!" Ruselm beamed, white teeth flashing them a bright smile. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'll be on my way to the forest."

"What the hell are you going to do in the forest?" Luvrad challenged with a hardened green eye. He stepped forward as though to move and stop the author, but paused. He didn't touch him. "You can't be going to find the monster? You certainly don't look like a witcher."

"That's because I'm not one," he shot back.

"Then what are you doing?" Ben interrupted. The older man frowned so deeply wrinkles formed at the corners of his eyes, weighing down on his face with the weariness of age.

Ruselm waved a hand nonchalantly. "I'm going to take a look at your warg! I've never seen one before," he gushed, excitement coloring his tone. "It would be quite the start to my bestiary if I could write about a fearsome warg haunting Sodden!"

Luvrad snorted. "What? Never handled a warg in Nazair before?"

This time it was Ruselm's turn to frown, the action hard for his face to make the expression correctly. It wasn't often that he found himself unhappy or down by another's words but it was easy to mix the ingredients a different way when Ruselm's Nazairian heritage became a topic of discussion. He knew after leaving his home that others would always find a way to nitpick at his privilege. After all, nobody was particularly fond of Nazairians so why should they bother with being polite?

"In fact," Ruselm took a deep breath, an action he often forced himself to take in order to keep his emotions in check. He forced a tight smile. "I haven't. They're not fond of the terrain there, but up by Sodden? I'm not surprised. Now, gentlemen, I'll be taking my leave. Thank you for your invaluable information."

He turned to leave before either idiot could open their mouth with a retort. Flames chased Ruselm all the way to the edge of the forest, heat rising up the back of his neck and hot on his heels. The Nazairian was more apoplectic with anger and annoyance than he'd originally estimated, the emotions only fueling him further to take his first step past the treeline and into the darkness the canopy offered with the dying sunlight. This darkness matched the shadow of his soul.

Tenebrosity loomed in the air, black shadow engulfing the entirety of the forest surrounding the cluster of the village homes and shrouding the environment around Ruselm with a blanket of darkness. The air itself had become three shades darker, a chilly wind blowing between the tree trunks as he stepped carefully over rocks and sticks in his path. He knew his way to the river where the warg was spotted, having roughly sketched a map of the area around this town at Ruselm's arrival a few days prior.

That was the author's routine: arrive in a completely new area, map the surroundings, pester the merchants and travelers, read their notice board and maybe nick the drawings and descriptions of monsters from there. Interview the villagers, write in his journal. Every part of this way of life came naturally to him as though Ruselm were never meant to settle down and live a life of silence or solitude.

No, he couldn't see himself doing anything but traveling.

The man's home in Nazair had been extravagant but simple, built by the hands of generations of men from Ruselm's family. His great, great-grandfather, Florys the Strong, had been the one to begin the foundations of their home and Ruselm's grandfather, Stefan, had finished them. Theirs was built with care and attention to detail but it had been no home for the aspiring author.

How could he cultivate his mind if he stayed cooped up his whole life in a house only he had known? The answer was simple. He couldn't, and it was when Ruselm had reached manhood that he ventured from Nazair into the world unknown. Travel to places he had only ever heard of was particularly difficult; the road was long and lonely, and he often missed the companionship of his childhood playmate, Maurits, who had been by his side since birth.

They were not related but Maurits's father worked under Ruselm's. The boys grew together, fed from the same breast, played together, learned together, read stories together. Leaving behind his faithful companion was the hardest thing Ruselm had ever done, though in the end he knew it must be so. The world would not wait for him, thus he could not dally when matters of adventure called his name.

Maurits had vehemently disagreed.

Though this journey was not about Maurits. It was about Ruselm of Nazair, author and adventurer extraordinaire! The Nazairian would brave beasts and men alike if it meant he could one day live up to his dream of creating the perfect bestiary.

Quiet, Ruselm. His instinct chided him, calming the thoughts that continued to swirl and consume his mind and leveling the cries at his injustice in mere seconds. Ahead, do you hear it? Ahead, ahead, ahead. Water. Snarls. The warg.

Ruselm quieted. Listened. And he heard it.

The gentle gurgle of the river that cut its way through the forest, powerful swaths of water rushing over stone smoothed by years of patient pressure. There was the disruption of the tributary's harmony, an aggressive noise cutting in and out, which could only belong to the warg himself as the sound was a wolf's guttural growl. A rolling noise, nasty to hear and terrible to behold. He could tell it was close and crouched low to the ground, ducking between trees as he neared the water.

If he could avoid being detected by the beast, Ruselm was willing to go to any lengths necessary to ensure their paths would not cross.

Checking the wind with a quick swipe of his tongue over his finger, the man was relieved to find that he was downwind of the warg. He would not be scented during his approach and was free to observe as long as he could stay silent. This was an opportunity to examine one of his beasts up close! Well, not necessarily close, but in person! Which was something almost no other authors could truthfully claim to have done.

A crackle of thunder boomed across the sky overhead, splitting the heavens open and pouring its contents on the forest below. Ruselm loved rain (especially the smell, it was so refreshing!) but he especially loved that the sudden downpour would help mask his scent even if the direction of the wind happened to change as it was so notorious for doing to travelers. The soft pellets of water first hit Ruselm's nose and forehead, but soon began to dampen his hair and clothes. It was cool but revitalizing.

He was unconcerned about the journal inside his coat, its leather binding was waterproofed and the pages were safe within. The thought of protecting the journal came first to Ruselm's mind but he knew, after a brief moment of thinking, that the act was unnecessary. It was out of harm's way. He, however, was not.

Ruselm was beside the steadily flowing water now, tucked behind the impossibly thick trunk of a tree whose impenetrable bark looked tougher than leather. He risked a quick peek around the tree, eyes immediately zeroing in on the wolf-like creature, rain pattering in his ears, only to widen his eyes. The beast before him was magnificent in a oddly gut-churning kind of way.

Nothing could truly capture the beauty of the warg who, after a moment of study, Ruselm knew had to be a female. She was much larger than her male counterpart would be and her pelt was lush, very clearly splendidly taken care of. Resplendent black eyes were scanning her surroundings, an eerie sort of magisterial attitude, as human as it was, filling her canine features as she examined the territory that belonged to her now. The warg's handsome russet coat shone, slicked wet with rain, and he could see through the deluge of heavenly water that she was clearly well fed.

On what, Ruselm's mind asked, on what is she well fed?

The author could not bring himself to answer his own curiosity, instead settling for ignoring it as it sat in the corner of his mind, untouched. He knew without questioning what the diet of a warg entailed: meat. Human, goat, horse, cow, cat — there was no restriction, the warg was a carnivorous creature who thrived on blood and bone. And Ruselm knew it, even if he wanted to exploit the innocence of ignorance.

Nevertheless, as he stared upon the beast with squinted eyes against the rain, Ruselm couldn't help but find himself electrified. He had finally seen his first beast with his own eyes!

Ruselm made mental notes on the warg's appearance, observations he would write later when pouring rain was not present to smudge the ink of his truths. He imagined the detailed drawing he would make of her in his bestiary, oh it would be quite the sight to see! Canine features, manlike eyes, shoulders positioned farther back than a wolf's, long and thick neck that was as big around as he, and claws so wickedly curved that Ruselm was certain they could peel his skin from his bones with ease. The thought excited him beyond reason. Just how legendary was this warg?

He shifted his weight, leaning his shoulder further into the tree which he carefully hid behind. What he was unaware of was the stick that cracked under the pressure of his heel. The warg was a thing of nature's true pulchritude, of that Ruselm was positive, and of that fact he found himself completely and wholly entranced.

Her dark eyes snapped toward the author's direction. They made eye contact for a split second before he ducked back behind the protection of the tree's thick trunk faster than a snake slithering into its hole.

She saw me, Ruselm's mind screamed. She saw me! What's she going to do?

The logical part of his brain was too busy calling him an absolute divvy (and all available variations of the insult; idiot, fool, even cabbagehead made it onto the list) to answer. The chorus of insults turned into a mess in his brain, half of it calling him stupid while the other half panicked and told him he needed to run as far away from here as he possibly could. After all, his brain said, if he didn't run, he'd be warg food.

Taking a chance to gauge the warg's position, Ruselm peeked from out behind the tree where he'd last held eye contact with the warg. The spot was abandoned.

Well, at least this way he'd be able to experience being a warg's prey! Ruselm tried to put a positive spin on this misfortunate turn of events, though his racing heart was quickly filling with dread that couldn't be pushed back down. He could learn their hunting patterns, he reasoned with himself. Learn how they move, how they track, how they fight. It would be beneficial for the... accuracy... of the bestiary!

"If I were a warg, a carnivorous dog with..."—he hated to say this, even to himself—"with a taste for human meat, what would I do first?" Ruselm muttered the words lowly under his breath, throwing his entire mind into the inquiry. His eyes scanned the trees around him, the rain doing quite a good job at shielding his vision farther than twenty feet on all sides of his position. Sometimes talking to himself was useful; it gave his brain a reason to shut up, anyways.

What would I do first?

"Get in a position to observe..." Ruselm found himself saying. He placed a hand over his brow to block the rain from dripping into his eyes, narrowing them to see his surroundings clearer.

The way he had come from, a slightly worn foot trail the locals used when going to the inlet for fishing, seemed a logical place. Often, wolves could circle around to entrap their quarry. That's why she wasn't in front of him anymore and why he could feel violent eyes boring into his back every time he turned around to peer past the other side of the tree. This was making more sense the further Ruselm examined his situation.

When he felt hot breath on the back of his neck, Ruselm knew... he just knew he was in trouble.

Shit.