THE WITCHER AND THE WOLF

 

THE WITCHER AND THE WOLF

CHAPTER SEVEN: THE LYCAN WAR: PART I

Amadeus got off his horse, Knight and made a small campfire at the edge of the forest. There he made dinner by the fire from previously acquiring rabbit game. On these nights he wished his family was still alive. But who was he to dictate life’s unfortunate events. A piece of him died when his family passed. All that remained were memories of a distant past.

Snow with his dazzling white fur gave a sharp contrast with the night time. Amadeus gave him a raw bone to chew on. He quickly devoured it making a soft whine, a token of appreciation. Snow had nearly doubled in size after a long winter and was now becoming a monolith of a monster.

He had heard stories about this part of the forest about how the Lycan Empire and the Vampires of royalty were at war for a millennia until the Chosen One a half human, half vampire and half Lycan hybrid brought peace as the herald of uniting the two creatures. But a decade had passed after the chosen one’s death and the war was more prevalent than ever.

The war had spread through all of Earthrealm, fighting for peace where there was none to be found. Villagers were caught in the cross hairs of this war that seemed to never end. Leaving a wake of terror and constant fear among the mundane.

The Lycans were a vicious race their leader Lord Dimitrius ruled with an iron fist his followers were a savage race. After every full moon they would turn into werewolves massacring innocent lives feeding on their flesh like sheep.

They would turn into huge monsters, their bodies would turn to a thick coat of fur, their backs arched like that of minotaur, their faces turn into fierce nozzle like that of a hungry wolf, their teeth would form a jagged razor-sharp weapon that could cut through the toughest steel. Their eyes would turn blue to that of a fiery luminous flame.

They always travelled in packs like that of a modern-day wolf. They would kill any enemy that would travel these parts of the Dark Forest but Amadeus did not fret he seemed unbothered and indifferent by the Lycan war against the Vampires even though he was the Monster Hunter.

From a distance he could hear the howling of what seemed to be a large wolf. Snow howled back in synchrony. He grabbed his sword Stormbringer close and slung it over his back sheathing it perfectly.

The full moon was in perfect precision. It gleamed from a distance illuminating the Dark Forest home of the Lycans. Suddenly something moved within the bushes not too far from the camp fire. Amadeus cast a spell summoning his eagle vision to activate, a way Witchers could see thermal footprints once engaged.

To his surprise, it was a Lycan but in man’s form.

“Who goes there?” asked the Witcher

“It is I Cornwall of the Wolfsbane gate, here to deliver a message” said the half human hybrid.

“Well then spit it out. I do not have all day” said the Witcher in a gruesome low tone.

“The Vampires and Lycans have been at war for over a millennia. And the death of the Chosen One has broken the treaty for decades now. Oh, great Witcher, you need to intervene with the guild of Vampires, we cannot endure the blood shed no longer. Every other Witcher from here to the North of the Edge of Earth would kill us for game” said the man pleading exuberantly.

“The Witcher’s made a pact with the Lycans and Vampires hundreds of years ago not to interfere with the War and I intend to keep it that way…” said the Witcher.

“They have my daughter Amadeus” interjected the Lycan half breed.

Cornwall shook at the very name of her daughter. “Amelia” he said trembling.

Amadeus disgruntled, sighed in exhaustion.

Without a word he got onto his black horse, Knight.

“If what you say is true then the Lycans really do need my help. I have heard rumors of your kind going extinct in the Midlands. That shall not be the case. We Witchers are a testament of nature and nature must have a balance no matter how cruel it will be. So be it, I will be your peace broker between the two tribes.” Said the Witcher as he trotted off on horseback.

“I will see to it your daughter is safe Cornwall. Now go about doing whatever you Lycans do” said the Witcher.

The sun rose over the horizon giving life to the Dark Forest. Its warm rays of purple and azure filled the air with hope and benevolence. Birds could be heard singing their tunes to break the silence and monotony of the dark. The sky became clear and the sun glistened into a fiery infernal ball of fire.

The forest came to life within a few seconds. All forms of flaura and fauna once docile springed to life like a new born baby from her mothers’ womb. A low tremor rippled through the roots, subtle enough that the smaller creatures dismissed it as the shifting soil. But the elder trees those that had stood for centuries recognized the vibration. Their bark seemed to shiver, their branches whispering warnings to one another in creeks and groans.

Deep within the forest’s heart, where sunlight dared not reach, a single crow launched into the air with a frantic cry. Its wings beat against the silence like a drum of impending doom. The forest paused, listening.

Then came the second tremor louder and more deliberate.

A hush swept over the foliage. The birds fell silent. Even the wind seemed to retreat, holding its breath as if something had awoken a sleeping giant. He felt a great sense of dismay and discomfort of the journey ahead. He knew well not to dwell in politics of the realm.

But this was for a greater cause he told himself.