Trading Stories

Renee’s story was a fictionalized account of how she had first discovered the shadow in her blood, which would later lead to her sorcerous magic. The improvised story was about a little girl who spoke with her friend in the shadow, a small cat that never grew up and whispered to her in the dark of night, keeping her safe. As the girl grew that cat remained the same until one day she mentioned her shadow-friend to a real friend - a boy from town. It didn’t take three days for all the children in the town to know she spoke with shadows, and another two of the children to call her Witch.

It was when they brought torches, to scare away the shadows, and they hurt her friend the cat that the little girl’s world truly turned upside down.

The story was dark and sombre but sweet, and as Elyse told it should paced back and forth down the length of the game room. In the end, as she improvised how the girl took the cat into her own shadow to protect it forever, she raised one corner of her embroidered robe and ran a thumb over part of it, then smiled and showed us at the table - hidden into the embroidery was the shape of a cat.

“Amazing, Elyse,” I praised her once she sat back down, starting to applaud and quickly joined by Tori and Rhia.

“I felt so bad for the little girl,” Rhia said, putting on a pouty face. “I’m so glad that she protected the shadow-kitty.”

Elyse was beaming and took a long swig of her drink. “Thanks, guys,” she said.

“Alright, I think a story like that definitely deserves a roll with advantage,” I said.

Elyse rolled twice, nailing a natural 18 as her highest. With her bonuses that made a 24.

The Coalblack family was enraptured by the tale spun by their shadowy guest around the campfire. Rowan, the runeworker husband, even joined in by spinning runes in the fire - it let out little puffs of smoke that briefly formed the shapes of a girl and her cat. When Renee finished her story they applauded her and said it was a good tale, with strong roots.

“What sort of story would you like in trade, Lady Shadow?” Rowan asked.

Renee hesitated - she’d come seeking information about the Burnt Men, but she was personally more curious about something else.

Elyse shot a guilty look at her friends across the table.

“Tell me a story about Houndsfang,” Renee said. “Of wolves and bandits, and the one who leads them.”

“Mm, this is a difficult story to tell,” Agate, the elder of the barbarian-wives, said as she settled next to her husband on the log they used for a seat. “Only the man himself could tell the full story, and we have only gained parts of it, so much of the truth may not be so true as we might think.”

“Tell me anyway, what you can,” Renee said, leaning in. “Before this man asks or demands something of us, I want to know the measure of his reputation.”

Rowan and Agate glanced at each other and then nodded. Rowan stood and piled more logs to the fire, and then took up his poker and began to draw in the coals while Agate told what they knew.

A boy when he arrived in the woods of the Eastern reaches of the King’s Way, it is said that Alexander Houndsfang had travelled the entire length of the old road. Born to a family who lived at the far end, some claimed he had been the son of an Innkeeper at the edge of the world. Or a Baron’s whelp. Or a simple farm boy. None were certain, for he never spoke of home beyond the fact that the rise of the Dark Lord had **** him west. The Inn, or the Barony, or the Farm, was gone.

He was a smart boy, too smart at times for his own good, and learned the trade of theft and **** in the woods while the King’s patrols were still thick enough that only the most skilled, or lucky, survived more than a few summers living in the forest depths. He learned at the foot of Wandering Welcsh, who had called himself King of the Wood for a while and claimed to be the brother of Duke Unger and the rightful heir of the duchy.

Alexander was a survivor of the Owedswood Massacre, the last true culling of the banditry in the Eastern forests, before Duke Unger marched for war in the West. It was possible that, if he had been taken in by someone else, found succor along the King's Way in any town or city, Alexsander Houndstooth may have willingly marched to war against the evil that he upturned his life.

Instead, he had been at the back of Wandering Welsch when the 'king's supposed brother marched on the woods, fired the hunting cabin that was the man's castle, and scattered the bandits. Some claimed that Alexsander killed Welsch himself, though no one stands when asked if they witnessed the act themselves and none can say why the lad would have done it. Only that they had heard a whisper of it from a stranger.

The lad, now a young man, disappeared for a time following the Massacre and returned sometime later grown like an oak. The tracking of time is a fitful thing in the forests, it may have been five years or ten. And 'returned' is a word that has more than one meaning - it was possible he had spent all that time within the wood alone, in hiding or lord of some hidden grove. Or perhaps he roved into the mountains and beyond, or south towards the heartlands. Some whisper he found dragon's gold and has come back to add to his hoard, though most think that foolish - if a man found dragon's gold, why would he seek to add to it with the pittance to be scraped from the villages of the Unger duchy?

Wherever he returned from, what is known is that he returned with three wolves that would answer his call. Said to be over-large, with a touch of the old Primal in them, they were too smart and too cunning. With their teeth, Alexander Houndsfang carved out a corner of the forest for himself, and then set about gathering about him his gang.

Some say that the wolves left him, the more civilized he became again. Others that he sent them off on errands in lands far away, to call on powers that would bring him even more strength. A few even say that the wolves became men themselves, that his lieutenants Torra and her brother Rolf are two of the wolves.

For seven years, Alexander Houndsfang has stalked the Owedswood, the Rimeswamp and Harold's Cut, gathering the Risen Wolf Gang and keeping them moving like a roaming pack of wolves. He's slain the last two tax collectors sent by the King, three bounty hunters sent for his head by Duke Unger, and supposedly slew the Undorith reaver Galen Two-axe in single combat when he roved down from the northlands.

And now, called King of the Woods by those who remember the stories of old Wandering Wlesch, he has called this meeting and none of the bands and gangs have refused the call for fear of what his retaliation could be. They will listen to his proposal, or demand, and will decide whether to submit or rebel. Whichever it is, few doubt there will soon be blood spilt in the name of Houndsfang.

“Fuuuck,” Elyse groaned.

“We killed his wolf. He’s gonna be pissed when he finds that out,” Tori said.

“Do you guys think Torra and her brother are werewolves and not Alexander?” Rhia mused. “What if he’s something else?”

I shrugged. “Guess you’ll need to find a way to test your theories.”

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