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Revelation by Moonlight


He awoke suddenly, the full, bright, Papuan moon filling his bedroom with its ethereal, smoky, gleaming rays filtering through the open window. He sat up in bed, then turned, planting his bare feet onto the floor of his bedside. Scar was shirtless, sleeping only in a thin pair of black linen trousers. His dark, raven-black hair, unkempt and unwashed, dangled in tangled strings down the sides of his neck and back. He bowed his head, placing his hands over his face, wiping off the sweat with his fingers, letting them slide down his cheeks and onto the disheveled hairs of his goatee before letting them rest on the tops of his bent knees.

The dream.

It was horrible. Fantastic. All too real, all too familiar.

He was the wolf again, racing wildly through the jungles of the Lost Lands. Whatever he came across that was living, he shredded with fang and claw, leaving a wake of blood-swathed forest behind him, corpses mangled and torn apart. He came upon a man, a farmer or herdsman, out in an open field surrounded by his flocks. The man saw him, his eyes widening in mind-numbing terror, and he froze, his mouth agape, lungs filling with air, building the impetus necessary for a supreme cry of horror… one that never came. Crushing the hapless victim under the enormous weight of his body, the wolf stood over him, slavering, opening its mouth wide to tear open the exposed and defenseless throat…

And then he had awakened, sweating. His heart raced wildly. His breath came in gasps as he sought to control his own fear and terror.

And then he saw the blood on his hands…



News from Delucia

The professional militia discovered the torn and broken body of Eben Turol, a local herdsman, in a field near the town today. His family has been contacted. Services are yet to be announced. He leaves behind his wife, Estel and five children, ages two to twelve. It is believed this heinous murder was perpetrated by the beast spotted in the area recently, but it cannot be confirmed. Experts claim it is no ordinary mauling by ettin, troll, orc, or similar creature as the attack was so sudden the victim had no chance to flee at all and he still had gold coins in his pocket. Any information that can be provided would be greatly helpful. The guard captain will pay handsomely for any well-founded tips or information.


Revelation by Daylight

For the next few days, Scar remained in Papua, conversing with anyone who would stop and talk long enough, to find out if they had seen anything odd or unusual lately. He got no surprises from anyone; things were going “business as usual” in the sleepy town. Scar finally asked the Inn keeper about it. He had heard about the killing in Delucia and people here were on alert but nothing had been seen, and he had seen the bowl of bloodied water left in his room a few days before. “Don’t you remember? You were drinking at a table… quite a bit I must say, and you dropped a bottle of ale onto the floor. You were good enough to try to collect the broken glass and you cut yourself but were too… preoccupied, shall I say… to have noticed. I told you to get that bandaged and you sort of stumbled off to your room. Later, I saw blood on the bed sheets too. You really should be more careful sir, and, if I may be so bold to say, please ease up on the drinking,” he added cautiously. “You are too good a man to destroy yourself like a common sot; it does not become you.”

Scar chuckled. “I will, thank you.” His words brought a tremendous sense of relief despite the rather frank chiding. For even though they might not be the actual facts of the matter, they did offer a possible, even probable explanation. But if it was not he, then who, or what, was it? The information Latifa had supplied brought to mind the very likely truth that more than one of his kind existed in the realms. Fire dungeon, the book had said, the lair of an ancient hell hound was the ancestor of an original case of lycanthropy. It had to be investigated thoroughly.

He returned to his room, undressed and lay down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. There was a knock at the door. Having told the Inn keeper that he wanted rest and was not to be disturbed, he got up, went to the door and opened it. “I told you I…” he said testily, then recognized the maiden, Malissin, with whom he had spoken before he had left Sanctuary for Papua. “I’m sorry. Come in,” he said to her. “I will get a shirt on,” and he went to the armoire to get his leather tunic. She politely turned her back to him as he put it on. When he had finished, he invited her to go into the dining room to talk and she consented.

He ordered food for her but she gave him most of it, except for the tomato soup. They talked about his departure and were soon joined by Itannar who had had the idea to visit the town in search of him. Scar explained the issue in great detail, telling her about his evil past and that, in both hearing her say that he murdered a man, and also inquiring if she loved Torak which insulted her, had created a tense scene between them. Malissin and Itannar’s words of comfort did little to relieve his anxiety but they were welcome. They departed and he returned to his bedroom to ruminate over the conversation before finally falling asleep.



It was midday. A soft knock on the door woke him up. The intense heat had transformed his room into a sauna, and the sweat rolled down him as he rolled out of bed to answer it. Much to his surprise, though not a thing unhoped for, was his wife, holding the note in her hands that he had left, informing her where he was but asking her not to come. Tears welled in her eyes and she held up the note. He saw the mixture of sadness, hurt, and some anger in them and reached to hold her close, but instead she stepped away, falling to her knees, weeping.

The ensuing moments were emotionally draining as they sought once more to find common ground through patient conversation. Their love was strong and could not be, would not be, broken by a simple, momentary, conflict of ideals. She did not love Torak; it was a purely platonic, childhood, friendship, and he was no murderer; she had not called him that. He confessed his foolishness and misconduct but accepted the truth that he was not as he was and would never be again. Their storm had passed and both reaffirmed their love for one another.

But she did agree with him that he needed a bath as soon as possible.