The Wilderness earned its name due to the outlaw nature the people living there thrived under. It also happened to have a majority of its northern territory covered in a thick forest where a myriad of creatures lived. Big and small, weak and powerful were among the descriptions for the beasts waiting in the shadows of the trees, or under the brush for some careless being to wander within easy reach.
Life under those conditions hadn't proven easy for anyone choosing to leave the comfortable confines of the northern kingdoms. Both beasts and people struggled to survive on a daily basis. Nowhere in the forest was that more true than in the area known as Darken Woods. Sitting to the west of the thinnest portion of the forest, Darken Woods derived its name from being the oldest, thickest, and most dangerous portion of the forest, whither few traveled and whence fewer returned. The struggle to survive in the forest was difficult enough without one pushing their luck in such a remote and evil place.
Home to various creatures, the Darken Woods hosted some of the deadliest known in all of Pyrain. The dominant animals were a mix of three predators. The dire wolves, dire bears, and dire cats fought one another for the perch of dominant animal in their dark domain. While wars between the different species were commonplace, the struggle within their societies proved even more complex. Following nature's course, and therefore the path of the Gods, the alpha leaders were challenged on a weekly basis by those wishing to have the power of their kin behind them.
Such an event was nothing new for Cimble, the former alpha of the dire wolves. For more than four years, he led the pack against the other dire beasts for supremacy with marked success. Greater still had been his ability to fend off upstarts and rogues wishing to usurp his position, or cement themselves within the hierarchy of the pack. Without faltering, he held what was rightfully his by defending his position, his right of first selection of the females, and his right to eat fresh kill first. That was all before he lost the challenge to Yuvor, a young wolf that, by all rights, shouldn't have been challenging him for another handful of years.
Cimble failed to defend his position, not because he was overpowered or outsmarted, but because his hind paw slipped and he fell into the river. Seen by the others as a cowardly escape attempt, he was banished without remorse for attempting to flee from a challenge. While he knew that wasn't the truth, none would listen to his pleas to continue the challenge. He left, never to return, under penalty of death.
It was for that reason, and not because of sickness or injury, that he now walked alone through the Darken Woods. While not the most intelligent of beasts, dire animals had a higher thinking process than other beasts in the wild. With the ability to outthink their prey, dire animals adopted an ambush predatory style similar to smaller or immobile creatures when dealing with humans, Elves, and Dwarves. For either of those races, a lone dire animal would often be powerful enough to bring them down, but a predator rarely risked injury to itself for the sake of food. So long as travelers remained wary and aggressive, they faced little threat aside from a group of beasts.
Those thoughts, and other similar ones, floated through Cimble's mind as he stalked his way through the Darken Woods. More out of heartache than necessity, he wanted to put as much distance between himself and the pack as possible. There was a danger of humans in the thinner portions of the forest, but he also knew there would be other prey that would be easier for him to hunt.
Cimble wasn't aware of how long he continued along the path as he was lost in deep thought. The first visible sign of his leaving the Darken Woods was the brightening of the sunlight shining through the canopy above his head. He lifted his nose and sniffed the air. There was something nearby. In an instant, he pivoted and launched through some brush to his right. The high-pitched squealing told him his senses hadn't failed.
The medium-sized hedgehog was knocked onto its side by the dire wolf's sudden explosion through the brush. In an effort to avoid being eaten, the hedgehog tried to regain its feet and run, but a large paw landed on its shoulder and pinned it to the ground. All the hedgehog could do was squeal and struggle to get out from under the large paw of the dire wolf.
Cimble had his prey at a precarious position. The hedgehog couldn't bite him or defend itself in anyway, stealing the thrill of the hunt for a brief moment. His hesitation was barely noticeable before striking at the hedgehog's tender underside. With the thrill of the hunt gone, the dire wolf began to feast on the hedgehog's entrails while the small beast was still alive.
An hour, maybe two passed after the kill until Cimble paused by a slow-moving stream and sniffed the air and ground around him. There was a different smell than he was used to. It didn't belong to prey, at least not the type he was accustomed to hunting. The more he smelled, the less confused he became. While he didn't know the name of the creature he smelled, the dire wolf did know it was prey. It was like humans, but smaller and far more tender. Drool began to drip from his mouth, mixing with the blood from the hedgehog before dripping to the ground. From the way the ground smelled, the small people came there often and there were a good number of them.
Cimble knew he wouldn't be able to hunt from his new spot for long. After he made his first kill, it would be a matter of time before his new prey came looking for him. It was a risk he was willing to take. After all, life was full of rewards for those bold enough to take the risk before them. With a mild shake of his head, the dire wolf lowered his muzzle to the cool water and drank his fill. When finished, he turned and began searching along the bank of the stream looking for the perfect place for him to sit and wait. Prey were nothing, if not predictable. At some point they would have to come to the stream to drink, and he'd be waiting.
As the sun began to sink and the shadows grew long, he stretched out in a small makeshift burrow roughly thirty feet from the edge of the stream to wait. He doubted if any of the two-legged prey would come to drink with the falling sun, but other beasts weren't nearly as intelligent. With a sigh, he lowered his head and closed his eyes. His ears remained standing to allow his sensitive hearing to alert him to any approaching prey.
*****
Reinhart looked up at the darkening sky seconds after a cool breeze blew through the center of the village. It was one of the few times in a long while that he wasn't fearful for his life. He wouldn't complain, as it wasn't in his being to do so. It was simply one of those moments in time that's brief and poignant enough to strike someone and remain with them for some time afterwards.
The strangest thing about his current situation was that he was enjoying himself. He'd never been one to mind sitting outside to eat, so when Eron and his family joined him he felt as though he were a part of something. He knew it was just that, a feeling. He was no more a part of their family than they were a part of his.
Seeing them brought back memories of his family. It'd been twenty years since he last saw them, since his sister married the local innkeeper. For him, his real life began when he was conscripted into serving in Baron Bordie's army in defense of his kingdom. Growing up, all he ever heard from returning warriors were how glorious the battles were and about the bravery each man showed facing certain death. The truth of what he saw was more horrible than anything he could've imagined.
Hobgoblins were one of the most vile and vicious creatures that ever graced the world of Pyrain. The Baron had been fighting against them for several years before Reinhart arrived. Throughout his training, Reinhart refused to believe the enemy was anything more than beasts needing to be put down. Even while marching to the scene of his first battle, his arrogance refused to allow him to take his fellow soldiers stories as anything more than an attempt to scare him.
A man marching on his right side claimed he witnessed one of the creatures begin eating a fellow soldier while the man was still alive. The veteran and some of his fellows lost their last meal at the sight and couldn't find the strength to force their legs move. It took the whip and further threats from the man's commanding officer for the men to find their courage and attack. Once they were moving, the men couldn't be restrained as they continued striking the creature until all that remained was a pile of red meat.
A second veteran pulled Reinhart aside and told him about their smell. Hobgoblins, like their cousins the Goblins, never took the time to cleanse themselves, even to prepare for their death. The man told him that one would need to mix Ogre droppings with old blood and rotting meat to come close. Hearing both of their tales, Reinhart felt his courage weaken but he was bolstered by his conviction they were only telling him those things to upset him in some type of pre-battle ritual.
Once he stepped onto the field and saw the shapes of the Hobgoblins across from him, the weakness in his stomach returned. When their smell reached him, Reinhart's lunch tried to leave him but he refused to be sick and show weakness before the enemy. He had his pride, and he'd spend an eternity in the Abyss before showing weakness on the field of battle. His strength lasted until the first horn of battle blared across the humans' ranks and they charged. His legs pumped as they carried him across the field and crashed into the nearest Hobgoblin.
The creature's dark skin was spotted with sores and an orangish type of fungus. Screaming in their guttural language, the creature raised its weapon to strike the human warrior down. Reinhart acted without hesitation; allowing his training to take over. In a single smooth motion, Reinhart lowered his left shoulder to avoid the strike and drove his sword under the breastplate of the Hobgoblin's armor and into its soft vital organs. With a spasm and greenish blood pouring from its mouth, the Hobgoblin fell over dead. It was then Reinhart realized what had just happened and his bladder emptied as he avoided another attack.
The day he was released from conscription and returned home was supposed to be the happiest day of his life. After three years of fighting for the Baron, he wanted nothing more than to walk into his parents' home, hug them and his sister, then go to his room to sleep for a month. Instead, he found his parents' home was no longer theirs. They sold it a month prior to his return and moved into the local inn.
When he first entered the inn, Reinhart was greeted by the man his father allowed to marry his sister. Standing no taller than five feet, the man weighed at least two hundred pounds with a face that belonged on a pig. The man had greeted him warmly, as if he were Reinhart's own family or longtime friend. The man introduced himself as Versil. He had moved into the small town a year earlier, two years after Reinhart was conscripted, and began claiming property by collecting gambling debts.
Hearing Versil's gratiating voice and story was enough to drive the warrior to contemplate splitting the man's skull with his broadsword. Knowing his family would suffer more because of his actions was the only reason the man lived as long as he did. Reinhart was forced to listen to Versil for several heartbeats before being interrupted by a familiar scream.
Reinhart's sister, Mare, slammed into him at a full run. Only the strength he gained through years of training and combat kept the pair from toppling over. He breathed in the smell of his sister's rose petal-scented hair and returned her embrace.
"Reinhart, by the Gods, I'm so happy to see you!" Mare tightened her grip on him, and he returned the favor.
"You've grown. Last time I saw you, you couldn't reach this high."
"Hush, don't make me regret this moment."
Reinhart laughed and enjoyed the feeling of someone being close that didn't want to kill him. After a few moments, the two separated and he noticed the purple swelling around her mouth. "Mare..."
Realizing what he saw, Mare raised a hand to cover her mouth and acted like she was chewing her finger nails. "Mom and Papa will be pleased to see you. It's been so long."
Reinhart's eyes moved from her mouth to her left hand and the band of metal on her ring finger. His eyebrows shot up at seeing the wedding band and his unspoken question was answered by Versil wrapping an arm around Mare's shoulders. He pulled her into his sweat-smelling side and grinned at Reinhart. To the young warrior, Versil looked like a hunter displaying his prize after a successful hunt.
"A shame you missed the ceremony, but I always get mine." Versil burst into laughter and smacked Mare's face a few times with his free hand. He hit her hard enough to cause her to flinch and her cheek turned bright red.
In an instant, Reinhart took a step forward with his sword drawn. The surprised look on Versil and Mare's faces combined with a shout from off to his side. None of them came fast enough to stop his motion as the flat of his sword struck Versil on the right side of his pig face. The force sent the overweight man to the floor with a thud.
No sooner had Reinhart returned the favor to the man for hitting his sister, than his father grabbed him and pulled him away. "What's wrong with you? Without him, we'd be without a home!"
Reinhart recognized his father's voice, but it did little to calm him. The young man had grown quite a bit over the last three years. With a shrug, Reinhart threw his father's hands off of him. "You let him... and Mare..." Rage flooded Reinhart's veins and clouded his vision. Somehow he was able to rein his anger in enough to talk. "You let him take our home... to violate Mare... and you stop ME!"
Through most of his life Reinhart had respected his father as being a good man, but at that moment all of those thoughts and memories were of a stranger, not the man standing before him. Still, part of Reinhart wanted to hear what his father had to say, but even that was taken from him.
"I'll teach you to strike me, devil dog!" Versil lunged towards Reinhart with his hands aimed at the warrior's throat.
Through the brief confrontation with his father, Reinhart's drawn sword was forgotten by everyone in the room, family and patrons alike. When Versil came at him, Reinhart's reflexes and training took over and his sword plunged into the man's midsection. Blood poured over the blade of his sword and he could hear Mare scream. Before he had the opportunity to fully absorb what had happened, his father shoved him out the door of the inn and down the wooden stairs. Had there been more than three steps to the ground Reinhart most likely would've fallen on his own sword and his story would've ended there. Instead, he stood two feet from the bottom step looking up into the eyes of the man he'd always sought to please.
"Versil helped us when no one else would and now..." He waved his hand at Reinhart. "You have to leave before the Magistrate arrives. I've lost one son today... I don't want to bury another."
Without another word, Reinhart watched his father turn his back on him and walk back into the inn. As he stood there attempting to understand what had happened, the sky opened above him, dousing Reinhart in a downpour. With nowhere to go, he turned and began walking down the road in the direction he'd arrived in. For the first time in his life, he had no family and no friends.
With the memories came a swell of emotion, causing a tear to run down his face.
The tear paused long enough to be noticed by Eron. "Why are you crying?"
The sound of the Halfling's voice brought Reinhart back from his thoughts. How could one answer that there was no reason? In the end, Reinhart decided to be honest; it was his one infallible trait. "For myself." He could see Milda and Surie watching him, but his attention was on the boy sitting off to the side.
Eron paused for a moment, his face twisted in thought before he spoke again. "Is there anything I can do?"
Milda's hand tightened around Surie's shoulder; she knew the look in the human's eye. It was one she had seen in her own reflection for many years.
After a moment's pause, Reinhart shrugged and offered the one piece of advice he had. "Take care of your sister."
Eron's face brightened, "Oh, I already do that. Even if she is a thorn." He turned to face his mother, "Mom, can I get a blanket and pillow for my friend?"
Reinhart smiled and shrugged at seeing the look Milda sent his way. Over the short time they'd been around each other, her approach had softened towards him, but he knew she didn't like having him around. In the end, he left the decision up to her.
Milda chewed on the inside of her lip for a few seconds before answering her son with a yes. It was hard for her not to return the smile to the human. When they first met, she had hoped to keep her son from forming a bond with the stranger. It was a battle she was destined to lose from the beginning.