𝐑𝐔𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐌'𝐒 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐑𝐘 † THE WITCHER (ORIGINAL)

𝖎. 𝔣𝔦𝔤𝔥𝔱 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔤 (𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 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?