A Day in the Life of a Mischievous Fisher Cat: Books, Naps, and Jumping, Oh My!

By Cat White aka Esther

Sunlight streamed in through a small opening in a room of the ruined keep, a few doors down the wing from Kindrianna’s room. Inside the room was simple, with a small sleeping pallet in the corner, a trunk against the wall, and a small table with a chair on the other end of the room that held assorted rocks and other mysterious finds from the forest. A mountain of furs and wool blankets were piled atop the sleeping pallet with no indication that perhaps there may be someone or something under them. That is until a small wiggling nose slid from under the cave of furs and blankets. The nose moved to the right, then to the left, sniffing about. Suddenly, the nose slipped back under and an arm stretched out lazily in its place.

A mop of black hair poked above the blankets and a small young woman, Esther, sat up looking around the room blearily. She squinted at the sun light as she stood and stretched. Her eyes briefly danced over the black and green scarring on her right arm, but quickly she forgot about it. She ran to her door and darted around the corner, nothing but a brown furry blur.

As she ran down the hall, she noticed a candle lit in Kindrianna’s room. She poked her small under the door and sniffed, but she didn’t actively smell Kindrianna. Up to her tricks, Esther squeezed her furry bottom under the door to see if Kindrianna was in her room. Sometimes if she was lucky, Kindrianna had some jerky or something so she didn’t have to hunt for breakfast. Looking around she didn’t see Kindrianna, or Mouse, anywhere. She walked up to her table and hopped up on the chair and sitting up on her hindquarters peered out the window. She didn’t see anyone, except for a few of the other wolves that she tended to keep away from. It may just be her nature, but she didn’t full trust them either even if they did follow Hygar.

Something to the side caught the little fisher cat’s, as she peered over and saw something shining and twinkling. She dropped down to the chair and peered up at it and realized whatever “it” was, was sitting on a shelf with a few books on it that she heard Kindrianna call a library several times. She wasn’t really sure what exactly a library was. She carefully sat back up and gently rested her paws on the edge of the shelf to stare at a strangely glowing crystal that was really pretty. Esther picked up one of her paws to bat at it, but put too much weight on her other paw and toppled down to the table bringing half the book shelf down and a few books down on her head, creating a mess of the table. Esther sat up on the chair, rubbing her now human head.

Esther looked at the table with realization. “Oh no, Mouse is going to be so angry,” Esther said to herself. She hopped up on the window opening back in her natural fur, as she was continuing to regard the mess she made, her stomach gave a protesting growl. She darted out the window in hopes of finding a nice fat porcupine for breakfast, completely forgetting the catastrophe she left behind.

In a large grassed area around the keep, all looked serene and peaceful, until one’s eye caught what looked like dirt flying out of the ground. It was Esther digging what she deemed a rather perfect hole for napping after having a filling breakfast. She popped out of her in progress hole, though at this point it may as well have been a burrow, and looked around. It was a mine field to a poor unsuspecting soul who unlike the pack, knew not to look before walking. Though the pack still had a hard time with quelling and reigning in Esther’s digging habits having struggled themselves almost breaking an ankle regardless of two legs or four.

After a great nap in her very warm and snuggly hole, Esther crawled out stretching with a tongue curling yawn. Esther walked towards the keeps armory, paws and fur sliding into limbs and skin. She pushed the door open as she arrived and was instantly irked. How many times does she have to tell these mangy wolves to keep her armory orderly? Weapons and armor of all sorts were lying around and haphazardly put away, it was a mess.  As she picked up a piece of armor and inspected it, it was dinged up and dirty and it looked like the rest would match. Sighing and muttering to herself she began her work of cleaning and fixing the armor and weapons, putting them away as she went. As she came out of the armory, she heard Kindrianna yelling. Straining her human ears, she tried to make out what she was saying. “What in the world? My books! Hygar!!! Kodan is at it again!,” shouted Mouse. Esther cringed, uh oh. Esther had completely forgotten about the mayhem she had created and left in Mouse’s room. She hugged the wall and slipped towards Osag’s Den to avoid Kindrianna’s wrath.

“Esther what have I told you about jumping at people without warning?” asked Hygar as he held up a squirming fisher cat by the scruff in his hand, bringing her up to eye level. Esther stopped squirming, legs and tail hanging limply. She looked around at some wolves Hygar was training. She was wandering around looking for pack members, she wanted to play. Then she found Hygar in the middle of training some new straggler wolves and she jumped at him in her excitement. However, Hygar had caught her by the scruff before she could make contact. “That I….,” Esther began looking contrite. “Shouldn’t do it?” She asked bright eyed, hopeful that giving the right answer would forgive her the transgression. Hygar shook his head at Esther’s antics, “Exactly, now maybe you should go work on your reading and writing.” Esther pouted, “I don’t wanna, it’s no fun and it makes my head hurt”

In the end, Esther sat cross legged on the floor of Kindrianna’s room her tongue sticking out to the side in concentration as she drew a new letter she learned today while Kindrianna watched her progress as she worked on a scroll. After working on her reading and writing, Esther lazed around on Osag as he patrolled, played one sided hide and seek with Stewhart, played with Wynn, and ate dinner with the pack. At the end of a nice moon lit run, well more like a ride, with the pack, a very sleepy fisher cat comically slid to her room and into her warm mountain of furs and wool.


The Okami Pack: Part 2 by Gundulf (Adrian Cronin)

Gundulf felt like he had been climbing for ages. Looking back he could barely see the bottom, but looking forward, the top was far from sight; a mist clouding his ever pressing destination. His exhaustion grew and grew, far beyond expectation. For although Gundulf was well known for his over indulgence when it came to food and drink, and his physique reflected such lifestyle, his wolf blood often afforded him greater stamina than the average man.

On this occasion he found the sweat to be pouring off of him, and air coming in measured breathes. Finally, he was forced to take an early rest.

As he sat, patting his head of sweat and embracing the cool mountain breeze, he found his comfort return albeit slowly. He had never felt such exhaustion, even after a night of heavy drinking. Looking about, he noticed the path flanked by rich vegetation. Hoping to find a bit of food, he decided to cut through some of the brush.

In his haste, and his exhaustion, Gundulf failed to see that beneath the brush was the largest grouping of Wolfsbane he had ever come into contact with. Tearing away the vines and brush that had grown over the Wolfsbane caused the deadly fumes to fill his lungs. And alas poor Gundulf fell to the ground, and into that heavy space between life and death.


Gundulf suddenly saw a great temple. Upon the gate were massive claw marks and a great padlock that was intricately adorned with all matter of runes.

He approached the gate, each step feeling weighted, terror reaching up inside of him and grabbing hold. Where was he? How did he get here?

As he touched the gate, after several moment which felt like an eternity, he felt words form absent intent.

“Hello?” He cried, as a child would call to their mother in the night.

He heard a horrible snarl behind him, yet he lacked the courage to turn and face it. Instead he banged on the gate, failing to remember that it was clearly locked from the outside.

Gundulf could feel the air currents rushing past him as if something were bearing down on him yet again. He could not turn head to face it. He felt tears welling up inside as he crumbled to the ground.


Gundulf opened his eyes and sat up straight, taking a measure of his surroundings. He was in a modest bed, although feathered and expertly crafted, it wasn’t quite as large as would be needed for a man his size to consider “comfortable”. The room he was in was strange, even by the worldly bard’s standards. The walls were a mix of paper and bamboo, but expertly crafted to give the impression of absolute security. His bed was also quite low to the ground and the ceiling just high enough for him to stand straight without bumping his head. A single candle burned within a lantern across the room, the dim light illuminating the room delicately in a mesmerizing way.

After wiping the immense amount of sweat off of his head and face, he drank deep from the pitcher of water that had been left on the nightstand next to him, ignoring the glass beside it altogether.

It was indeed water, though herbally infused and quite refreshing. From across the room, a stranger watched him curiously.

“I am quite pleased to see you on the mend young wolf,” said the stranger, who had decided to make his presence known.

Gundulf, still quite delirious, sniffed the air in hopes of catching some glimpse of who or what he may be dealing with. No wolf was accustomed to being taken unaware after all. But all he could smell was the sweat from his lips and a bit of incense that must be burning somewhere nearby. Gundulf sprang from the bed and readied himself.

“Now, now young one. You are a guest. It takes only a snap of my finger and you become an intruder. I should state that many have visited our great temple as guests, however, no intruder has ever left alive.”

At this, and at a complete disadvantage, Gundulf relaxed and decided to take on a more amenable position.

“Apologies. I’m afraid I am a bit disoriented. I’m having a bit of trouble remembering how I’ve gotten here. My name is Gundulf, of Voraniss.”

With the statement hanging in the air, Gundulf’s memory of the climb, and the events that had proceeded it, came to memory. Small fragments of the Wolfsbane mashed together with his fever dreams also rushed forward and caused him to hold his head in his hands.

“Come, Gundulf, I must show you something. Then we will take morning meal and discern your purpose here.”

The two walked slowly through the darkened halls of the temple domiciles, only that same ornamental lantern carried by this strange man to light their way. Their walk at last led to a door which opened up to a small balcony overlooking the darkened courtyard.

They stood there but a moment before dawns first light broke over the mountain top. The sun’s rays came crackling down the mountain, giving way to all manner of beautiful flora. A wondrous waterfall streamed off of one of the cliffs which broke into a stream that led right into the side of the temple, and crystalline pools of water, expertly crafted, took up a large portion of a great garden.

The garden was something from a storybook, artistically tended to with love and devotion. But all of the flowers were of a singular color. Purple.

Gundulf’s eyes followed the newfound illuminations from the sun as it revealed a true spectacle. Standing in the courtyard as statues were dozens of men and women in modest temple garments. As the sun hit them, they broke into a series of coordinated movements. Some movements appeared as a dance to Gundulf while others seemed to be combat maneuvers. Whatever the case was, their movements were quite beautiful.

Stunned, and honestly wondering if the Wolfsbane had killed him and this were some afterlife, Gundulf followed the tiny man back into the temple hallway and down a spiral staircase which led to a large eating area.

The room was filled with long benches and tables, and many servants seemed to be placing large bowls of soup with baskets of freshly baked rolls. Gundulf didn’t need his werewolf sense of smell to appreciate the aroma within the hall that morning. Several of the temple’s patrons were funneling in and taking their seats when Gundulf and his compatriot made their way to one of the benches.

None of them paid Gundulf much mind. The room was filled with quiet conversation, smiles, and a sense of community. Gundulf took his meal slowly, enjoying every bite and waiting for his shadow to broach conversation; which of course finally he did.

“So have you decided yet?” asked the strange man.

At this question, many of the table’s occupants subtly quieted themselves and turned their attention towards the question, in curiosity towards its answer.

“And what decision am I to be contemplating?” asked Gundulf in genuine curiosity.

“Have you decided if any of this is real or not?” asked the man with a grand smile.

At this, the table and much of the room laughed politely. All eyes were on Gundulf at this point.

“To be quite honest, no, I haven’t decided. But though this place has the staunch beauty of an afterlife, it isn’t one I’m deserving of. So either it’s real and you are all having a laugh at me, or it is indeed an afterlife and I’m in line for some sort of torture. But considering the Goddess of werewolves is also the Goddess of madness, I’m a bit at a loss for what a faithless wolf may expect from the afterlife. So why don’t you tell me?”

The room quieted at this answer, as if a practical joke had back fired. But his shadow, this curious man who still wore his cowl over his head obscuring his face, wasn’t the least taken back.

“Perhaps we should start with something simple. Why are you here?”

“I’ve come to apologize to an elder werewolf whom I seem to have offended with my reckless nature. I am not to leave without his forgiveness,” said Gundulf, who decided being forthright may be his only hope of getting out of this place and back to his home, which he was beginning to sorely miss.

“That may well indeed be why you came, but why you are here remains to be seen,” said the hooded man. Upon completion of his statement, he removed his hood to reveal his visage. The monk was bald, with small dots tattooed on his forehead. He appeared to be quite old, however, there was no slouch in his body and he moved quite gracefully. There was a claw scar across his face in which two claw lines went across his eyes. This revealed the man’s eyes to be pale grey and lifeless. He was blind in both eyes or at least appeared so.

Gundulf instinctually averted his eyes for a moment before returning his gaze for closer examination. A large smile crossed the monks face.

“I seek only to apologize to your master….” Gundulf began to explain, but all within the room began to clear and clean the tables; which happened with such haste and precision Gundulf took too long staring to realize it may be courteous to help and missed his chance.

The monks all made their way out of the room, some staying behind to tend to the kitchen and sweeping the dining area. Gundulf followed the precession of monks outside and found many of them to be stretching and gathering bamboo staffs and unusual looking weapons from weapon racks which lined the courtyard.

He decided to keep to the side, his shadow no longer in sight, and observe all he could from these strange people. The demonstration did not disappoint. Many of the monks paired off and began sparring vigorously to dazzling effect; their movements precise and swift.

Letting his eyes wander to take in as much of the courtyard as possible, he was again drawn to the garden and decided to move in for a closer look. As he approached, he realized had he entered the garden it would have meant his end, for it was filled with Wolfsbane. Gundulf quickly turned around and moved towards the main courtyard once more to seek out answers as to why so much of this poison was being grown here. His mind racing, he wondered if Hygar had sent him to investigate this folly with virgin eyes. He quickly turned from the thought. Hygar wouldn’t endanger Gundulf’s life without telling him so, would he?

When Gundulf reached the courtyard he witnessed the monks gathered in a circle, all whispering to each other and backing away slowly. In the center of the circle was a man. He was convulsing on the ground and tearing at his robes. Many of the monks began to cry out in a language Gundulf did not understand. Other bowed their heads and prayed. Where once stood the monk now stood a gargantuan werewolf, bloodlust in his eyes and foaming at the mouth. And standing across from him was the blind monk, a long spear in hand.

The wolf charged crazily towards the blind monk, and Gundulf attempted to make his way through the crowd towards the clash; but too many stood between him and his destination.

The blind monk sidestepped the beast and launched a palm into its side. The beast fell to the ground in a roll. When once again the beast charged, the monk sprang into the air, stepping on the beast’s head and running down its back. The monk then spoke to the beast, and although once again in a tongue unfamiliar to Gundulf, it seemed like a plea.

The beast rushed towards the monk a third and final time, and with a flash barely visible by the naked eye, the beast was impaled by the spear and was quite dead.

The monk yelled first in that same strange language, then again in the common tongue.

“Junji gave into his bloodlust. He betrayed himself and this temple. This is a result of lack of discipline and a sickness of the spirit. He is not the first to be lost to us, nor shall he be the last. Mourn him, clean his body, and remember his sacrifice. Training is finished for the day in light of this tragedy. Meditate on this my brothers and sisters, or follow in his wake.”

Gundulf stood in terror. He wanted to run straight back to Hygar and Mouse, and all of his friends in the tranquil woods of Voraniss; but before he could claim his thoughts, he found himself face to face with the blind monk.

“Follow,” muttered the blind monk. And so he did.

He took Gundulf to a pair of stones that were smoothed into seats. The blind monk gestured and the two sat down.

“I fear tragedy pushes our revelations quicker than I would have liked,” said the blind monk.

Gundulf had no words and elected to remain silent, yet focused, on the man.

“You are in no danger here, Gundulf. You remain a guest as I’ve explained. Junji was here for different reasons. This place is a sanctuary where a wolf may learn control. Many wolves travel here as a last effort to control the wolf inside. Many struggle with it every day. By joining this monastery, Junji made a promise to never shift within these walls and, more importantly, to never again taste human flesh. But he only sought to control the beast within in the hopes of unleashing it upon his enemies, for personal gain. This is a path to ruin.”

“Are all who dwell here werewolves?”

“Most are. Some have beastblood from different animals. We have been host to all sorts of magical creatures, but we all seek the same thing: Harmony with body, mind and spirit.”

Gundulf looked out down the mountain towards the woods of Voraniss. This was such a strange place and he longed for the revelry of a campfire.

“I would but deliver apology to your elder. I’m not to return until I have received forgiveness for sitting in the chair.”

The old blind monk perked an eye brow up at the remark and smirked slightly at the young wolf.

“You have no right to ask of me anything. Not now anyway. I saved your life upon the mountain trail and would see debt repaid before we speak of forgiveness and chairs.”

Gundulf sighed, knowing it wasn’t going to be this easy after the spectacle of the day. But if it meant balancing scales so that he may return home, then so be it.

“What would you have of me?”

The blind monk smiled and gestured towards a broom.

Lore of Voraniss: The Okami Pack by Gundulf (Adrian Cronin)

As the packs within Voraniss began to intermingle, wolves who had spent generations in complete ignorance of each other were sharing their culture and finding common ground. Great warriors were learning how to use their beast blood to heal others instead of just themselves. Members of the nocturnal pack, who grew up without any human comforts, were trying their first sips of ale and many of them were wearing clothes for the first time in their lives.

This brought the Druidic Circle within Voraniss great joy. For though Voraniss was host to a number of magical creatures and human settlers, if the wolves rejected the inclusive goals of the Voraniss hierarchy then the forest would surely fall back into chaos before long.

Within the great gathering of Alphas, Hygar sat at a large round table shoulder to shoulder with the leaders of the Voraniss packs. The table had been modeled after one of Hygar’s favorite legends. He had invited Gundulf and a few of the other settlers there as guests to get a chance to meet their neighbors and to make their faces and scents known in case they wandered off where they shouldn’t.

There was one seat at the table which remained empty. Ominously so. No one seemed to pay it any mind. Although the many alphas were packed tight at times, leaning in to have words with one another, they avoided entering even the space which the chair occupied.

In front of the chair was an empty plate and glass; perfectly clean, pristine even, all set for a guest that would never come.

Gundulf took note of the strange behavior and assumed, that like many things within Voraniss, it was something routed in superstition. So of course after a few drinks when the Moot turned into a celebration, Gundulf wanted to see how close he could get to the chair and measure everyone’s reactions.

And so first he bumped into it. Seemingly no one in the room paid any mind.

After a few more drinks, he leaned on it. A few Alphas saw him, but made no real outward reaction toward him.

And finally, he decided to make his move. Gundulf lifted his foot up and untied his boot stealthily. He then walked up to the empty chair, pulled it out, sat on it and began tying his shoe.

The room didn’t exactly fall silent, but the change in volume was obvious. As many of the other wolves looked to one another, some in astonishment, some in amusement and others in anger.

One gaze had been fixed on Gundulf throughout this entire escapade. Hygar Athame. But apart from a dead stare from across the room, even Hygar didn’t make public comment.

When the meeting had ended and many of the wolves were running off into the night, Gundulf gathered himself and prepared to head back to his grove where he was building his home. But before he was able to stumble out the door, Hygar put a firm hand on his shoulder. He then spoke to him very sternly.

“When you get home, pack your things. I’ll be there to collect you in the morning,” Hygar stated without a hint of emotion.

“Come on… is this about the chair? No one seemed to mind!” Gundulf yelled to a Hygar who was already gone and paying him little mind.

And so, Gundulf traveled home to his grove. Electing to walk in human form this night, enjoying the stark beauty that was Voraniss. He couldn’t believe he’d jeopardized his place in his newfound home. Utter despair washed over him and he slept not a wink.

When morning came Hygar arrived with Mouse. Both seemed in a chipper mood, laughing and gossiping as they made their way towards Gundulf’s camp. Gundulf didn’t know whether to be offended or relieved by the revelry that he heard approaching.

“All of my things are packed. I’m so sorry for offending you, Hygar, and I’ve made my peace that I will be leaving my Voraniss adventure… a bit sooner than I had hoped.” A terribly exhausted and anxious Gundulf stated while trying to appear stoic, if not for the visible tears in his eyes.

Hygar and Mouse looked at each other and burst into laughter.

“You aren’t being banished, Gundulf. And it isn’t Hygar you’ve offended,” said Mouse.

They then explained to Gundulf that there was one pack that was afforded a seat on the Alpha council that chooses not to attend. But that the seat remains empty as a sign of respect.

“Well why couldn’t you have just said as much?” asked Gundulf.

“This Pack has a very ancient way of viewing transformation and even the world at large. There are as many opinions about their way of life as there are wolves in Voraniss. We make it a rule not to bring up an unrepresented pack without their presence. It keeps the meeting’s integrity intact and fosters respect between the Alphas,” explained Hygar.

Gundulf held his face in his hand. His mischievous nature had gotten him into trouble before, especially where drinking was involved, but usually he had the upper hand in these matters.

“So I’ll take you as far as the mountain path, then you are going to apologize to their elder. You are not to return home until you’ve apologized and made amends. Please take this seriously Gundulf, for if you return without things being set right you will have to leave Voraniss. We can’t risk destabilizing everything we’ve built for one wolf’s pride,” said Hygar.

The three of them marched off into the woods for what would be a full day’s journey, which for Gundulf was a nightmare. Having had no rest the night before and still very little understanding of where he was going, not to mention the hangover! To Mouse and Hygar’s dismay he was uncharacteristically quiet on the journey. But Mouse and Hygar treated it as any other day, a beautiful walk through the woods within their borders.


It was nightfall when they finally made camp at the bottom of the great mountain.

“Are you going to tell me anything about these wolves? Are they friendly?” Asked Gundulf as he chewed on a bit of bread he had brought with him.

“All will be revealed in the morning,” said Hygar, poking the fire.

Mouse sat staring at the moon and singing a song in elvish. Gundulf didn’t speak elvish, to his dismay, for the song was quite beautiful. He was able to make out the words “Luna” and “Gaia,” for the names of gods had often had a way of transcending language.

Gundulf passed out almost as soon as his head hit his pillow.

When morning came he awoke to an empty camp site. Apparently he’d slept through breakfast for the first time in his life. In the dirt there was a huge arrow drawn pointing towards a narrow path up the mountain. Also, he found a small parchment wrap filled with a biscuit, bacon and a few sardines folded far too eloquently to have been folded by Hygar.

“Vandor! God of vengeance and breakfast!” Gundulf heard himself yell a bit too loud in excitement. For a moment he feared Mouse may have heard him…

Gundulf ate his breakfast and began his long hike up the mountain.

Legends of Voraniss: Riel the Ram

The lands of Voraniss weren’t always filled with werewolves and giant men. There was a time, long ago, when the Elves flocked to her forests to enjoy a deep and profound connection to the natural world. This place has always been a haven to those with respect for the wild places, and so it was only right that the Elven people should also make a home here in the shadows of the ancient oak trees.

The locals believe that the Elves treated these lands not as a place to settle or conquer, but as a spiritual retreat more than anything else. Some people even believe that it was the Elves that built some of the oldest shrines you can find here still. There is one thing that is consistent in their stories and memories, however, and that is the legend of Riel’iefyr; fondly known as Riel the Ram.

While they may disagree on the term: Wizard, Sorcerer, or Druid, everyone agrees that Riel’iefyr was a master of fire. He was a paragon of his art, truly a prodigy of evocation and flame. It was he that tended to the many torches and bonfires of the shrines and always made sure that the spirits had a guiding light with which to find their way home. More than that, it was he who always made sure that the Elves and peaceful folk of those early times never went without warmth during the long winters.

Riel’iefyr went about his work without complaint and even seemed to enjoy using his gift for the benefit of the people around him. He did what he could to make their lives bearable, and in turn they would offer him food, drink, or shelter for a night here and there. His work allowed him to travel much of the forest that otherwise went undisturbed which allowed him an up close and personal view of many of the different creatures and animals that made their home in the undisturbed wilderness. Life probably would have gone on much the same for Riel, but as is its nature…change was destined to come.

Nobody really saw the Darkness coming. If they had, surely they would have taken preventative measures to limit its influence. There were hints of its malice in the beginning, but only vague oddities that could be chalked up to unseasonable coolness and early sunsets. It wasn’t anything they hadn’t seen before, and so all of the warnings went unheeded until the Darkness could no longer be ignored. Those that were there finally knew there was a problem when one summer day the sun just didn’t rise, at least that’s the story that has been passed down through their families.

Problems only escalated from there. Without the sun everything became dark and cold. Even bonfires were refusing to light. It was as if there was a heavy blanket cast down over the land that smothered any hope of radiance. Nobody could see their way through the forest without light, and many Elves became stranded despite their innate visual prowess. There was something unnatural about this Darkness, and it sucked up more than just light and warmth. Hope became a rare commodity, for how can one fight what they cannot see?

Riel’iefyr took this assault on the light very hard. To him it was a personal attack, or some kind of insult to his honor. Was he not a bringer of fire and heat? Living in a world where he was not allowed to use his gifts did not interest him, and so he stubbornly set out to find the source of the misfortune that had befallen the people and land he loved. He struggled to find his way, but his feet remembered what his eyes could not find in the endless haze of darkness. Step by step he wandered deeper into the forest, afraid of what he would find.

When the Darkness overwhelmed him, Riel’iefyr knew he was close. The shadows were so heavy that they reminded him of the space between the stars in the heavens, the endless void of emptiness that existed only to make the illustrious brilliance of the cosmos appear all the more radiant. He had read about things like this before; spirits of darkness that fed off of the light and life force of entire peoples. They were so terrible and feared that they had never been given a proper name, but they were supposed to be myths! It couldn’t possibly be what they were dealing with now…could it? The Elf shuddered at the possibility and wrapped his arms around himself to shield his body from the cold.

“You do not belong here,” a deep voice whispered.

Riel’iefyr jumped, his skin crawling with discomfort. He couldn’t be sure, but it had felt like the voice was speaking directly into his mind. There was understanding without sound, and certainty that the message had been specifically intended for him. “Who goes there?” he cried back. “Show yourself!”

“I am all around you,” said the voice, “I am Darkness. I am Despair.”

“Leave this place!” Riel’iefyr shouted again. He waved his arms through the air in an attempt to dissipate the concentrated blackness. “You are not wanted!”

The sound of laughter echoed everywhere, mocking the Elf’s demands. “I will consume this place.”

The shadows began to shift and change, rushing past Riel’iefyr in a tangible whoosh. He squinted his eyes to make sense of the movement and a horrible ethereal face flashed before his eyes. This continued for what felt like an eternity as the Darkness danced before him. One moment the face was there, and then it was gone. The creature was everywhere, and the poor Elf couldn’t be sure that it hadn’t devoured him already. He felt weak and lost, like all his efforts had been in vain. What could he possibly do as he stared down the face of an ancient spirit? It was so mighty and he was so, so small.
Riel’iefyr clenched his hands into tight fists and dug his fingernails into the palm of his hand. He was so frightened that he didn’t realize how powerful his grip was, and the warmth of his own blood startled him back to reality. He couldn’t let himself be lost to this creature. His people were counting on him. This forest was counting on him. The Elf defiantly raised his eyes to match the gaze of the haunting face of Darkness. “I will not let you expand your grasp on this world any further.”

“Pathetic mortal. What hope do you have in the face of my power? I have taken all the light from this place. You have nothing that can stop me.” The great being retorted. It seemed amused by the futile act of defiance.

It may have been true that all the light was gone. It may have even been true that on his own Riel’iefyr had nothing he knew of that could have stopped the malevolent spirit, but that wasn’t going to stop him from trying. The Elf grit his teeth and concentrated on the warmth of the blood that had awakened him from his lament. There was some heat that still lived, some fires that never went out. So long as his heart continued to beat, he would carry his own flame.

Energy began to gather about him. Other spirits who were drawn to his determination began to pull away at the Darkness with curious fingers. His stalwart resistance began as a single spark within the space they created for him, and the stubborn Elf poured all of his courage and will towards stoking that ember. The cold was starting to fade from his body now, and he could see his fingers start to glow with golden light.

“Your efforts are meaningless,” the spirit barked again. “I will put out your light forever.” The Darkness converged all around him and attempted to grab him. It would have succeeded too if the goodly Spirits of the forest, which Riel’iefyr had long tended to, hadn’t placed themselves in its path.

Riel’iefyr cried out louder, and the light on his fingers and hands began to spread rapidly over his body. Soon he was fully encompassed in the golden glow, and the Darkness was forced to retreat back a little ways. “I’d like to see you try!”

Furious, the Darkness drew in its breath and began to suck the other spirits out of the air. If they were going to protect the pesky Elf, then they would die with him.

A bone cutting chill erupted throughout the area, and Riel’iefyr could feel icicles growing upon the ends of his ears. This light was only enough to keep the creature at bay, not enough to slay him. He needed more power. More light. In that moment, he knew he needed to push himself beyond his limits if he was to have any chance of taking this thing down.

Placing his palms together, Riel’iefyr formed a circle with his arms and closed his eyes as he tried to concentrate. He listened to the beating of his heart, to the blood rushing through his veins. He could feel the warmth from the golden light that had surrounded him and continued to push what energy he had left into amplifying it. He wasn’t sure how long he could keep the magic stable, but he was also too stubborn to give up. The golden glow turned red, shifting through a spectrum of fiery colors before it finally turned white and solidified around his body like a tangible shield.

The Darkness shrieked and lunged forward, lashing out at what he most feared. Riel’iefyr was ready for him this time, and he released the tenuous grasp he had upon his explosive magic.

Silence. Nothing but silence at first. Gradually a dull roaring sound filled the air, and then finally, an explosion of light and flames. Riel’iefyr’s body was torn apart by his own magic, but the furious light could not be held back now that its handler had released the reins. The brilliant white light lit the area and the Spirit of Darkness shrank into nothingness beneath its blinding rage. It was done.

They say the land experienced immediate relief after that explosion. The fires they had been trying so desperately to light flickered into existence all at once. The sun came back, and the cold was snuffed out by a warm wind that gushed forth out of the area following the blast.

The Elves and other locals were so grateful to Riel’iefyr for his aid that they implored the spirits to reward him for his deeds, a request which they were only happy to oblige. His heroic spirit was given new form beyond death, one that honored the nature of his life. Riel’iefyr became Riel the Ram: representative of Fire and Light in the spirit realm; known for strength, stubbornness, and sacrifice. To this day they say you can find him wandering the forests and mountains of Voraniss; leading lost adventures to safer places and lighting any unattended shrine fires and torches with a touch of his horn.


Places of Voraniss: Arashimura

Hidden upon a cliff overlooking the southern forest, the ruined keep of Arashimura blends in with the stone of nearby mountains. As far as recent memory can recall it is one of those structures that has just always been there. Its appearance gives testament to that fact, for the land has reached out to start reclaiming it, and has done quite the number on the place. The roof has mostly crumbled away, and the walls are green with vines and roots both inside and out. If you get close enough the pungent odor of damp earth will envelop you. A heavy blanket of silence rests over this place as it lies forgotten in its eternal vigil, waiting for some adventurous soul to come and unlock its many secrets of once upon a time.

In an attempt to discover the origins of this place I quickly came upon a problem. None of the locals knew anything. The keep was too old. Too mysterious. It hadn’t affected their families, or their history as far as they knew, and so they had left it to its own devices with nothing more than mild curiosity. I asked all the werewolf packs, who directed me to the scant few Elves that remain within our borders. Then the Elves directed me to the Trees. They were the oldest and wisest of beings, the Elves reassured me. If anyone had been around to see the construction of the keep it would be them.

I set off from there to find the Ent Grove. It shifts around every so often so you can’t always count on it to be in the same place twice. It surprised me that I hadn’t considered talking to them before until I remembered that they were notorious for slow speech and straying off topic. If I was going to get the information I needed out of them, it was probably going to take a while. No matter, I told myself. There was knowledge to be had and my mind was hungry for their truth.

Through Voraniss I hiked until I found them setting down their roots close to the river fork that lives halfway between the shrines of Bear and Wolf. I could hear them before I saw them as they gently swayed in the breeze, sighing with happiness as they reached up towards the sun with ancient creaking joints. The Ents always make me smile. They are huge creatures, capable of great destruction if they chose to march into battle, but they are also very gentle. They appreciate the simple joys of life and from them I believe all of humanity could learn how to better love the world they are a part of.

I approached the Ents and greeted them; customarily listing out all the types of trees that were gathered in the area: Oak, Birch, Maple, Ash, Beech, Elm, and so on and so forth. It is important to the Ents that each Tree receive its own recognition in greeting. Once I made the mistake of not distinguishing between Sugar Maple and Red Maple and they were very offended. Hard lesson learned. I was fortunate this time and didn’t make the same mistake, so the Ents were forthcoming with information. I would need to go and speak with Autumn-Elm.

For those of you reading this tale that don’t know who Autumn-Elm is, he’s the oldest tree in all of Voraniss. He’s so old that most of his leaves are gone, leaving him in a perpetual autumnal state; thus the name. He is venerated by all races and peoples of our land, and considered to be blessed by Gaia herself with longevity and wisdom. It is said that when he was in his prime one leaf given freely from his branches could heal even the direst of ailments. Since then he has been a collector of history and legends, sharing what he knows with those that come to speak with him…provided you have earned his trust. I knew I couldn’t go see Autumn-Elm empty-handed. We weren’t that well acquainted yet, and I didn’t want to start our relationship off on the wrong foot. Up to the Shrine of Salmon I ventured, collecting a vial of sacred water from a nearby stream. It would be the perfect thirst quencher for a blessed tree.

I’m sure you don’t care about the tedious portions of my adventures, the ones in which I wandered around the Voraniss wilderness and hopped from place to place as I followed my trail of inquiry. I shall spare you from further derailment, and tell you now what I learned from Autumn-Elm; along with my reassurances that he was very grateful for my gift. According to him, the story begins not in Voraniss itself, but in the lands of Teng Hua with a woman named Tatsukawa Yamabukime.

According to Autumn-Elm, Yamabukime was a Priestess from across the seas who was guided to Voraniss by a great Serpent spirit, or some kind of wingless dragon. She wasn’t your typical pacifist Priest, or froofy ceremonial type. Yamabukime was a Warrior Priestess who spoke with the authority of thunder and struck with the speed of lightning. When she came, all she carried with her were the clothes on her back and a beautiful katana bound in deep blue and adorned with aquamarine stones that reminded her of the sea.

The spirit led her great distances and up the cliffs until she arrived in the area where the present day keep stands. From up there she could see far across the beautiful and foreign landscape, knowing deep within her heart that she would never return home to Teng Hua. Before the sun set she could make out the approach of heavy storm clouds and knew that she had to make herself some shelter if she was going to survive in this place.

That night the winds raged and the rain fell in violent torrents from the sky. The storm did not disappoint the Priestess, and was as dangerous as she had predicted. Suddenly, without warning, lightning split the night sky in a powerful flash of blinding light; and the rocky cliffs shook with heaven’s fury. But the lightning began to move with purpose and took form as the great Serpent that she knew from her travels. He curled himself into a circle as he neared the ground, still sparking and flashing as though his body was made of the lightning itself. His powerful heat charred the earth where he spiraled and soon he was gone.Lightning Strikes

The next day, Yamabukime rose from slumber so that she might get a better understanding of what had transpired the night before. It had been hard to see exactly what happened in the dark, so it fell upon the light to provide answers. Much to her surprise, a perfect circle had been burned into the rocky ground where the lightning serpent had touched it. This was the sign she had been waiting for, a sign of her purpose in this place. All around her she could feel the power of the natural world swelling with pride, and the song of the elements in harmonious rhapsody.

Brick by brick Yamabukime began to build around the circle. We know now that the structure wasn’t a keep at all, but rather a temple or monastery intended to act as a point of empowerment for the elemental spirits. She made slow progress until Autumn-Elm took up some of the heavy lifting, and some playful Pixies started to help by enchanting the stone to be lighter. Each time she put a stone into place, Yamabukime would say a heartfelt prayer to the sky. A normal person probably would have grown weary of such endless manual labor, but Yamabukime never tired. She worked for years until her task was finished, and the stone monastery was complete; centered on the circle of lightning that had marked the earth. The place was aptly named Arashimura, which in her tongue used the words “Arashi” or storm, and “Mura” meaning circle.

Autumn-Elm believed that Yamabukime had intended for this place to be enjoyed and beloved by the peoples who worshipped the elements as she did, but when he went back one day to visit her…she had disappeared. He can’t be sure where she went, but he believes that she finally grew her own wings and was carried off by the breeze to where she was needed next. All that was left behind was her beloved katana, which he sealed up within the temple walls for a worthy soul to discover when the time was right.

Arashimura has changed since then. Now it is mostly inhabited by us werewolves of Hygar’s line looking for a place to escape the sun and find a shady corner. I myself have my own room within the keep where I keep a few modest shelves of books and scrolls that I’ve collected over the years. I call it my own personal library. It is hard to imagine that once upon a time this place was built by the determination of one woman and her wild friends, a woman that vanished without a trace. I wonder what happened to her, or where her blade might be hidden, but those are mysteries that must be solved another day. For now, I have a newfound respect for this place and will teach the others about what I’ve learned. The story of Yamabukime will not be forgotten again.

Lore of Voraniss: The Asena Pack by Gundulf (Adrian Cronin)

The Asena Pack, though not the oldest pack in Voraniss, was one of hardest for Hygar to convince to join his newfound nation. These wolves had taken to the darkest aspects of their nature. They would raid the villages both within the wilderness of Voraniss as well as outlying neighbors.

Many of their Pack were the remnants of what was once known as Darkspire. Without a diplomatic purpose most armies break, giving into desertion and infighting; but the bonds of the pack are not so easily cast aside. And so when the strongest of the wolves arose, a bitten lycan General by the name of Brutus, the pack was given purpose once more.

As Brutus grew bolder, even building ships in order to raid the coast of faraway nations, a different wolf was organizing the other packs.

This wolf was, of course, Hygar Athame; the future Arch Druid of what would come to be known as Voraniss. Hygar knew that Brutus was getting out of control, but did not yet have the numbers to challenge him directly. And so Brutus attacked the many strongholds of neighboring nations; never returning to the same place twice, swelling his ranks with the bravest of warriors from each nation and preparing for the conquest of the Darkspire wilderness. 

It was not until Brutus began to turn his warriors back towards the peaceful villages within Voraniss that Hygar knew he was out of time. For Hygar’s counterpart, Mouse, had witnessed the destruction of one of the villages. Hygar knew if he did not act quickly, that numbers be dammed, she would be bringing the purging light of Vandor to the Asena tribe.

So he mustered what he could of his ever growing Druidic pack and called upon as many allies as he was able before meeting Brutus on the battlefield.

On the eve of the battle, the full moon rose. And something did not feel right in Hygar’s gut. There was a stillness in the air, and it wasn’t long before he heard the howling of Brutus’ first wave. Mouse was already at the vanguard with a sizeable force of Vandorian Templars who had answered her call, and they were cutting a bloody swatch through the front line of the Asena pack. Hygar decided to tap into his growing mastery of nature and discern a path to Brutus himself. Oddly enough, Brutus was attempting the same thing towards Hygar, hoping to slay Hygar and swell his ranks with limited loss of future minions.

Hygar transformed fully and charged off towards Brutus, spotting him long before Brutus had been able to focus his senses. When Hygar landed in a crash before the General and his bodyguards, much of the battle came to a pause upon hearing the magically infused roar that Hygar blasted in Brutus’ direction.

Hygar was by far the largest wolf any of the lycans had ever seen. While the Asena pack looked forward in awe, Brutus’ rage doubled and his body cracked and distorted into the form of a hideous, drooling wolf with shambles of cracked armor adorning his menacing body.

The two clashed ferociously, smashing and splintering nearby trees. The battle lasted many hours with most of the wolves of either side looking on in amazement.

Alas, Hygar was outmatched in terms of sheer martial prowess. Brutus had been a veteran of countless wars across the years. But Hygar carried the blessings of many of the totem spirits this day and, unbeknownst to him, the favor of both Gaia and Luna. The longer the fight lasted, the stronger he became, and the faster he seemed to be regenerating. Finally Brutus, covered in blood and patched fur, including a nasty wound across his eye which looked to be permanent, fell to his knees and told Hygar to finish it.

For a moment, drunk off of battle, Hygar considered ending Brutus and taking control of this massive pack. With an army this size Hygar could shake the realms to its very core. But this was the corruption of Darkspire. A corruption which had distorted many of these beautiful creatures into the monsters that now stood here before him.

Hygar walked toward Brutus slowly, shifting effortlessly without slowing pace, and placed Brutus’ head in his hands. As Hygar’s hands laid upon him, Brutus’ many wounds began to heal. Even his mangled eye. Taking a cue from their master, the many Druids began to heal and resurrect the fallen warriors of either side.

Brutus could not comprehend such mercy. A mixture of shame and humility washed over him and seemingly without notice, he felt his head bend into a bow.

Hygar allowed Brutus command over the Asena pack, but peace would be brokered between all the packs within Voraniss. Their differences celebrated with their wolves free to choose which pack to follow. All Alphas would report to Hygar and they would unite in times of conflict and strife.

Many of the Asena pack broke off and joined with packs better fitting their values and customs. The need to follow strength now a choice instead of a necessity.

Creative Showcase Double Feature

The Dream by Lyra Corvo


She cleared her mind of all but that longing, that deep need of her beautiful hidden world she shared with none. As she walked out into the water, her bare feet sinking comfortably into the soft silt of the bottom, she could think of nothing else. Lazy dragonflies welcomed her as she waded deeper, then finally dove beneath the still surface.

The water was muddy green-brown with spears of light giving her glimpses of turtles and tadpoles before her eyes adjusted to the filtered glow. Effortlessly, she glided far below the murky surface through a wonderland of tangled mangrove roots. Reaching out to touch their algae slick surface, she marveled at the beauty of it all. Everything was connected and she was a part of it.

Forests of gently waving lily pads dance far above her, and the wind whispering through the swamp grass knew her true name. Home. She was home. Here in the murky depths, looking up at the pale checkered belly of an alligator, she found solace. Quick as an eel, she wove in and out of massive root systems, and all the awkwardness of society melted away.

Poem of Wind by Artair

Wind Clipart


Mischievous child of earth and fire
constantly fleeing from the freeze
stirring dust and agitating trees
throwing around water causing ire

fueling storms that soak and mire
adding more energy with every breeze
you whip up frenzy and cause unease
constantly moving with unknown desire

though your energy cannot be restrained
you bring about much needed change
spreading words and warning    longer

with whispers and scents of life contained
you carry seeds to places strange
because of you the world is stronger


When magical creatures and their allies unite in defense of their freedom and the forest they love, there is no telling what kinds of shenanigans might ensue.