Tales From Sios: The Wishing Well Arc

Chapter 13: Rouk

Deci 29, 4980vaxm

On the western pass, called BearRun Pass, of Mount Æncherage in the town of Etlisk, in the home of the bear breeder, known as Bjoreg'l Bearmater. Beginning of Winter.

Rouk's brown eyes popped open allowing the dimly lit ceiling, a barren frame work of thatched roof exposed from below, to come into view.
As his senses settled from a burning nightmare that ravaged him from his slumber; one of fitful tosses and sweaty remembrances coupled with the steely jaws of a bipedal wolf man, tearing him through over and over again.
The metal chains tethering him to a steel bracing, cemented into the stone work where his straw mattress piled into a poor excuse for a bed upon the five foot slab of misshapen masonry, clanged loud as his ankle kicked and found his limited range of movement. Rouk was breathing like he ran for miles—with chest and broken limbs repaired from his struggle nearly a month ago–but the wound from the notawolf closed and scarred with the impression by the jaws of the savage beast still held black sickly thin veins that spread out from every scar and grew down his chest in spider webbing tendrils towards his heart.
The nightmares began after the first week of captivity when the shaman, a wiry human with more beard than body named Jarrek performed a series of healing spells on him, but nothing could be done to cure the inky veins that have only spread since.
"B-Bellis...Bellis! BELL-.." Rouk stuttered his call to the would-be jailor, at first, but the effort to shout sent him into a fit of chest rattling coughs.
Within minutes a girl of fifteen came into the room, her hair a tossed mess of raven hued locks that steadily spilled on her pale and slightly chunky facial features. A scowl held in her emerald eyes as she began on Rouk, "I bloody 'eard ya. Your gonna wake Da, you keep yer whining up."
In her hands was a cup with an extended handle and a plate of bread and crumbly cheese balanced in the other.
Rouk sat up on his straw mat before he reached for the ladle, grabbing it by the handle from the lass, spilling some of its contents when he greedily brought it to his chapped lips, shaking while he indulged his thirst.
"Ye 'ave anudda dream?" Her voice squeaked out with concern, catching Rouk off guard and forcing him to pull back from his water, only to offer a sullen nod of his head affirming her curiosity before downing the remaining liquid, adding a grateful sigh as he handed it back while he wiped his chin with the back of his other arm.
"I 'eard de elder says the dreams will only get worsening from 'ere on 'til red moon blooms full." Her face a pained look, painting her sympathy in obvious concern, but held an innocence in her eyes as she handed the plate to him.
Rouk wasted little time grabbing the wooden dish to take the cheese crumbs into a dirty palmed heap before scarfing it down, ravenously. The chunk of bread left unmolested as he held the lacquered wood out for the chamber maid, but the maid cocked her hips and left her hands—balled up into fists—pressing in on each side of her simple dirty dress; allowing her curves to peek her blossoming figure.
"Nah, eats it Rock. Ye needs yer fill, nah jus' de cheeses." Her failed attempt at pronouncing his name went unchecked as Rouk pulled back from the plate with arm extended to its limit as far from his own face as he could muster which only made Bellissa Bearmater bristle.
"'Onestly yer worsen a child." Bellissa complained before she conceded, snatching the plate from him in a fit of annoyance, forcing the bread to go flinging on to the ground and roll into the corner were the stone floor met larger-stoned wall. Immediately a rat scurried from the shadows beside his stone slab and pounced on the partial loaf, waddling with it half under its own steps as it scampered off, stumbling and tripping over the large unexpected prize, until it was out of view and disappeared into the hallway.
Bellissa gave an exaggerated scoff before she turned and left the room, however before she could make her leave Rouk suddenly doubled over the side of his slab of raised stone to vomit a sickly yellow substance that streaked with orange and was covered in a white foam. Rouk had little time to grasp the lip of his bed when the waves of nausea crashed over him once more, but there was nothing left in his gut to give so he began dry heaving and salivating his plight. Bellissa screeched and said something, which Rouk couldn't make out, before she ran from the room leaving the sick young man convulsing.
Rouk's head felt like a wooden stake was being driven deep into his brain making his vision blurry and his eyes well from strain until his arms gave out, releasing his bracing that kept him on the corner of his bed. He then went crashing down to the floor, face first, smashing his nose onto the stone ground before immediately continuing his series of painful heaves.
Suddenly Rouk felt large hands roll him over, exposing his blood and saliva drenched face as his eyes lulled and his convulsions remained with pathetic appeal.
The man who spun him over gave a guttural growl, much like a bear, before lifting him up with ease and placing him back on the stone slab. Rouk knew then, despite his lethargy, that the man was his host and warden—Bjoreg'l the bear breeder. Rouk couldn't break from the episode of sickly determent, but could hear the deep voice of the man barking orders to someone behind him.
Within moments Rouk felt the giant hand of the warden grip him by the cheeks, forcing his mouth ajar, before pouring something down on him. The cold liquid dropped on his mouth and lips until the aim perfected and began draining down his throat. A flavor that brought Rouk back to clarity for a brief moment before suddenly bringing him beyond into a ravenous fervor as he became lost in the taste. He reached for the wooden bowl that contained the glorious nectar and forced his face from the strong man's grasp just to bring his lips to the dish as his hands tipped the bowl still held by Bjoreg'l. He swallowed deeply, several times before he felt the grip of the large man release the bowl to permit him the delicacy, but the dish ran dry and Rouk buried his face in its opening lapping with a greedy tongue for any delicious wetness remaining and at that point the large hands of the bear breeder moved in to separate him from the now empty blood-stained container.
"It's empty you dumb cunt, let it go!" Bjoreg'l spat before he roared his demand at the seemingly feral young lad whom only growled his response back.
Without warning the very large man slammed his head down on the defiant Rouk, smashing him behind the ear on his cranium—sending a series of bright twinkles to burst throughout the young man's vision—ultimately subduing the captive to finally rip the bowl free at last.
While Rouk gained his senses back, he could hear the bear breeder addressing his daughter Bellissa who stood at the threshold, "Run, let'a Chief know 'is boy will turn at first crimsoning tonigh'. Tell 'em Jarren's spell didn't work and that this one was fer certain bit by Falshorn and dat I'd put me prize bear onnit."
"But'a moon wont be full for ano'er couple days...How can ye know, Da?" Bellissa reasoned before she quizzed him with her features twisted into a puzzlement as she tried to understand his reasonings.
"Only'a blood of'a bear sate the savagery of the dire notawolf. Now go, nigh' be on us soon!" The tall man urged his daughter with massive hands shooing her away at his last.
Bellissa tore off with bare feet pattering down the hall, fading off in the distance of the large single story dwelling, leaving her father alone with the chained young man in the guestroom-turned-dungeon.
Rouk shifted on the slab, feeling the growing knot on the side of his head with one hand as the other smeared blood that began to dry around his mouth from his nosebleed.
Rouk's head was a swim with details of all that happened, but mainly what the father and daughter had just discussed. Knowing he drank a large bowl of bear's blood, though unsettling, was the least of his concerns as the fear of the night and what he would become settled a despair that filled throughout his chest.
"What will happen to me?" Rouk's question meekly broke the silence when he spoke, more into his chest than to the larger man, whom even sitting, towered above him.
"Yer gonna change boy. We canno' undo what 'at been done ta ya." Bjoreg'l's gravely voice grated his solemn expectation while his massive hands rubbed upon the empty bowl still held between them.
Rouk eyed the bear breeder with growing suspicion while the two sat in silence. The young man's brain raced as the notion of changing into that horrific beast that mauled him on the slopes sank in.
"Will this chain even hold me?" Rouk wondered aloud, moreso to himself, but the question didn't hang in the air long.
"Aye. Yer cer'ain to snap 'er." Bjoreg'l gave a wary glance at the ankle bound chain with links as thick as the bigger man's thumb, before solemnly confirming Rouk's fears.
"What will you do?" Rouk aimed the question, with much due concern, but this time the answer was nowhere to be heard. Instead the massive guy shifted uneasily on the edge of the slab and only drew the moment into a morbid silence.
"You're going to kill me." The wonderment burst from his own lips as dry affirmation as his head bowed with dismal ambition.
"No boy. We do dat and yer sure 'a jus' change and possibly bring de devil 'imself down on us when yer do. We 'old ya un'il mornin' dawns." Bjoreg'l offered, unconvincingly, without the slightest glance in the lads direction.
"You're the biggest– well, one of the biggest men I have ever seen, but if i become what bit me...I don't think even you could stop me. Even if that giant of a man helps you." Rouk postulated as the image of the Chief's impressive frame came back to him, standing several inches above the bear breeder when he first met the two of them in this very room.
"Not 'ere, no. Bu' da's why we won' be 'ere when ya change." Bjoreg'l corrected matter-of-factly, but Rouk held to his doubts when the door ripped open suddenly.
Bellissa, red-cheeked and breathing heavy, stood at the threshold with hands grasping her sides in a sprinters anguish as she managed through labored breaths, "Chief– Chief on 'is... 'em on 'is... 'e jus' behin' me, fuckin' 'ell."
Ahead of the Chief of the Bearmaters response to his daughter, the heavy footfalls of Gyereon Javōl rattled the wooden walls until his shadow darkened the doubled-over Bellissa, still in the open portal way of the chamber. A massive hand gripped the side of the door frame before a head popped into view high in the corner of the opening.
His long straight black hair layered and spilled toward the ground from where his head now hovered on its side with a bulbous nose and large teeth like a horse, it was hard to tell if he was about to laugh or start shouting. With his bright icy blue eyes the latter could be affirmed as they lingered on Rouk, burning something like loathing into his core, when Bjoreg'l Chief of the Bearmaters spoke up, "Chief'ain Javōl, 'is lust is a comin'. We need ter bring 'im ter da field."
Rouk shot Bjoreg'l a precarious look when the ruler of Etlisk, Chieftain Javōl, replied with a booming voice that startled Rouk, "Well 'urry de fuck up wi' DAT!" The last words growled something savage and cold with such sudden animosity that Rouk actually jumped.
Bellissa tried to give an over the shoulder claim while she began to slip around the chieftain to make her leave, "Ill go make ready de field!"
Gyereon Javōl put his free hand down on her shoulder, in a flash, which kept her in place—albeit without any force—until he gave a deep chuckle when their eyes met and her face twisted into incredulous stupor at his sudden and humorous denial.
Before she could question the cheiftain her father and chief of the Bearmater clan broke her ambition with two pretentious words, "Yer stayin."
Rouk's head was on a swivel going from Bell to Bjoreg'l to Gyereon as the tension filled the air, from the young lass, until it mounted into an electrified current when her face went from befuddled to out right enraged.
"Bu' Da-" Bell's defiant start ended, before any damning words could actually be said, for B'joreg'l cut her off, when he roared out, "Enoof!"
At that Bellissa turned hard on her heel and stomped away towards the left, heading deeper into the house, away from the chieftain and the exit beyond him.
Rouk turned to Bjoreg'l who shook his head in quiet disapproval, staring off out the chamber, but the shackled lad didnt dare speak of what just happened for he already assumed he knew why, 'He is terrifying, but he is a good father.'
As the thought rolled in his head, the massive chieftain broke the silence with his heavy boots as he crossed the chamber from door to slab in two short steps. Rouk slid back against the wall, like a trapped animal, when Gyereon approached.
The large man ignored the cowardly motion and grabbed the chain pulling it and Rouk closer to him with one arm as he produced a single key from his belt pouch with his free hand, which looked comically small in his oversized grasp.
Rouk—once he realized what the ruler of Etlisk was doing—held his hands out with anticipation of cuffing only to have them batted away by the elbow of the man finishing his task at the lad's ankle. Once the pin clicked and the shackle released the chieftain finally spoke, "Keep up. We go ta field now."
Rouk gave a bewildered look as his head  nodded an understanding, but Bjoreg'l grunted as he stood, while taking his leave, which drew the freed lad's attention from Gyereon, but when the Bearmater Chief made the door, the Chieftain of the Bearblooded–still looming over Rouk like a giant hinge–furrowed his brow at the lad in quite frustration before motioning with an outstretched arm for Rouk to follow the bear breeder. Rouk moved with due haste; oddly reminding himself of the rat who scurried away earlier, only his prize was freedom and it clubbed his legs with burdened spite as he marched from the ancestral home of the Bearmater Clan.
Once outside, the fresh smell of snow fall and pine filled his nostrils as the sun sank beyond the mountain ridge that dictated the horizon line to the west, painting the splendor of Mount Æncherage to the east in hues of shaded purples and pinks.
Here beyond the simple single story home, at the fringe of the Etlisk town limits, the wide man leading the trek came to an abrupt stop in the middle of a snow drowned field with evergreens drifted and capped in the outskirts of the clearing that now encircled them.
Bjoreg'l turned back on them with the snow swallowing him just past his knees, making the effort somewhat strained, but ultimately didn't seem to phase the large mountain man, whom made the turn in place to cast a grave look at their approach with ease. The snow coming up to Rouk's calves made keeping up with the wide chief's gait a struggle and several times in their short journey, to this would-be field, Gyereon was right on top of him growling his annoyance at the slower lad who threatened to stumble in the drift at the chieftain's complaints. When Bjoreg'l turned; Rouk came to a stop tens of feet away, but the chieftain did not follow suite and barreled through the young man sending him to belly flop into the icy snow drift.
"Yer like fawn; spillin' and fallin' at every divo'." The cieiftain chastised with disappointed disbelief as he grabbed the cloak of the downed lad and hoisted him back up to his feet with one powerful arm.
Rouk pulled away from him, after digesting his mockery, ripping free and nearly falling back to the snow in his attempt.
Bjoreg'l, after doubling back over to where the two of them stopped, shouted in what has become to Rouk; an all too familiar tone, "Enoof!"
Rouk stayed fixed on Gyereon, while Gyereon held up his arms in open denial of involvement with a cheeky look of guilt reigning his features when Bjoreg'l started in on him, leaving Rouk perplexed.
"Yer not makin' dis any easier, Gyereon. De boy about suffer 'is first 'our of be'oldment, the first when crave consumes...'im probably scared." Bjoreg'l berated the Chieftain of the Bearblooded boldly, keeping mind not to puff his chest, for they are bear. When the moment comes for a brawl it just happens, no hard feelings were ever seen—or at least not whilst Rouk had been their guest and undoubtedly their prisoner.
"Dinni' mean no 'arm." Gyereon spoke from his chest with barreled purpose, scratching under his mane of hair at the nape of his neck.
Rouk finally cut across, with a question that was burning in his mind, "This crave consuming, will it be wise to be near me when I'm...consuming?"
Before the question could even begin to pose; Rouk suddenly felt from under and behind him huge muscled arms come swooping up over his chest and back down over his shoulders, hooking him at the shoulder's in a flash and wrenching him up off the ground by at least a couple feet.
Rouk began to panic, but Gyereon spoke with deafening will, " 'is plan what a let ye go. I t'ought o' t'is."
Rouk groaned his confusion as he writhed in the man's hold.
"Jus' shu' up and ye migh' learn sumpin' Roak. Been sayin', –erm, well 'rying a say da' yer gonna change, bu' we gonna kinda 'ave a make ye change..." Bjoreg'l trailed his statement, going flat to match his tone as he stepped closer to stand within reach of Rouk dangling in the Chieftain's burly musclebound arms.
"What do you mean? Make me chan-" Rouk's panic poured and abruptly stoppered when Gyereon flexed the iron vice, which is made by his biceps crushing Rouk's shoulders while the Chieftain's bulky and hardened bare chest pressed outward into Rouk. With unbelievable and sudden force, this motion buckled Rouk forward with two distinct popping sounds resonating from both shoulder-sockets while his arms stayed firmly in place and his body arched outward with morbid appeal.
"We gotta rip the wolf ou' ya boy. I's only way. And when we do i', da' devil Falshorn be here and ge' ya. And when we kill 'im you be righ' again. We jus' need a make ya a wee bi' red firs'."
Most of Bjoreg'l's speech distorted when the pain washed over Rouk and burbled out in an anguished wail. Meanwhile, Bjoreg'l stepped in closer, where Rouk was held aloft by the Chieftain, and squared up on the defenseless lad before adding, "Sorry boy, one day ye'll unders'and."
At that Bjoreg'l twisted his upper half, with both feet planted shoulder-width apart, in a slight crouch, and spun back with a right hook that found its mark below Rouk's rib cage; sending his lower half into a dangled swing, but the left hook was waiting and found its mark opposite to the first only this time the pain froze the lad as the blow forced his body to seize as his liver tore from the impact.
Before Rouk had time to comprehend the pain, Bjoreg'l straightened his stance and came up from the bodyshot to bring a left hook to his temple, but only to catch him in the side of the lower jaw; snapping his head after a crunching pop as the lad felt blood fill his slacked maw.
Panic was no longer in the mix of emotions as the pain took him to a new threshold of inner contemplation where fight or flight were options no longer viable in the struggle, only more heavy fisted blows clobbering in on him, but his world refused to blacken.
Instead, despite his blurred vision and the unending violence, he was focusing his attention somewhere beyond this world, in the red hues of the near full moon that crested the tree line now.
His shoulders suddenly clacked and then popped as they unexpectedly found their home in socket once more without any assistance almost as if to spite the chieftain who still held him in the iron vice.
Rouk could hear the screaming of Gyereon in his ear, but no longer understood the words as the crimson light washed over his face and a high pitched tone drowned out his reality.
That alarming ring of sound in his head quickly turned to a snarl. A growl of beastial effort, no longer in his head, one that turned to a howl when it broke free from his snout before he brought his arms in front of him with ease flexing the smaller man off of him. Bjoreg'l, now several feet shorter than him, tried to step back, but Rouk's clawed hand flashed out slicing four deep cuts across the man's face with tremendous speed.
From there Rouk spun on the one who had been holding him with claws lashing out in dangerous arcs, but Gyereon was no longer himself and Rouk's claws found the hip of a notabear that dwarfed his new form by a couple feet.
The chieftain roared at the clawed blow from Rouk as he brought his own heavy paw down on the hybrid dire wolf's head, from the left—slicing him on the right side from his brow to cheek—which twisted the monstrosity, but did not bring him down.
Immediately Rouk, without any sense of the man he once was, rose up from the hit by Gyereon and snapped his dangerous maw upon the notabear ripping and tearing through the fur and flesh of his chest before the notabear could deliver another blow when all of a sudden the air was split by a far-off howl.
The howled response froze the two locked combatants for a split second before Gyereon's massive arms wrapped around Rouk's upper back, clenching him before bringing his fangs down on the notawolf's nape of neck, but Rouk's hands stabbed long black claws in the abdominal wall of the notabear while he continued to ravage the hybrid bear's chest with his bite.
Blood and fur marred the snowy field as the two beastial titans continued to clash. Gyereon's massive frame, standing nearly at fourteen feet tall, was keeping pace—blow for blow—with the dire notawolf. Both demonstrating the raw power and speed of the large monstrous forms as well as their innate healing abilities, which made the clearing seem like a battlefield where hundreds had fallen.
The tide of battle abruptly swung in the bears' favor when Bjoreg'l's hybrid form came charging into the fray, but the notawolf deftly spun out of harms way from the chief only to be speared in a tackle by Chieftain Gyereon that brought the fight to the snowy ground.
Rouk attempted to slip the grapple from the bottom, shredding chunks of fur from the notabear as he clawed his way out with all limbs—in a panicked flail of lethal proportions—but Bjoreg'l pounced on the notawolf's exposed upper half that dared to escape.
Herein the fighting remained for a long while with both hybrid bears dominating the ground game of it; pinning the hybrid wolf and forcing him to only give snarls and futile snaps of his powerful jaws on empty air. This made the frustrations mount for Rouk as a series of whimpers and yelps began from him, subconsciously, that turned to pained howls of a helpless tune until Gyereon tightened his grip flexing his monstrous arms that felt like unruly chunks of steely cords crushing into the notawolf's hips and with such force that the outnumbered nota creature couldn't even make a sound as the squeeze by the hybrid bear ceased Rouk's tragic yelping in the instance.
Rouk's world was not his own, the red moon painting the field of snow now made the clearing seem like a placid lake of blood except for where the three now lay in a quieted devastation of their own. Thick fogged breaths clouded the air about them as chests heaved from exertion, but the piling of fur, claw and muscle stayed relatively still.
Until Bjoreg'l, still maintaining his hybrid form pushed off of the notawolfs neck to stand at his impressive stature that boasted over thirteen feet—a mere half a foot shorter than the chieftain—when he abruptly turned and stridden over to an unsuspecting splotch of snow and knelt down sending a bladed claw strike deep into the snow.
The chief of the Bearmaters ripped free his arm, pulling from the snowy depth a massive great axe that sent a cascade of snow from its four foot head of silver steel when he drew it from its hidden winter sheath.
Bjoreg'l switched the axe between powerful hands that maneuvered the eight foot haft of darkened oak as the now freed hybrid humanoid paw plunged back into the depths, this time ripping from the snow an axe—that was facing the opposite direction as the first drawn had been—with near mirrored proportions and features, this one was like a silvery twin to the first.
The giant half-man–half-bear wasted little time, once he retrieved the two giant axes, swiftly making his way back over to the two still locked in a pinned grapple, but only to rebury the weapons near the nota creatures current struggle.
For minutes Gyereon and Rouk stay locked in the stifling clench of bear besting wolf with Bjoreg'l pacing the piling of fur, muscle and violence where Rouk refused to go idle, squirming and snapping any chance he found, but the monster called Gyereon kept him relatively still.
Periodically, while the seconds poured into minutes, the chief pacing would lift his snout to scan the air, sniffing for rogue scents with powerful draws by his coal black nostrils to no avail; typically ending with a low growl of disappointment before the pacing would resume.
Rouk could only comprehend one thought, 'Escape!' Over and over it pleaded echoing in his mind. In the beginning it demanded this, but as the titan bear hybrid bared down upon him and eventually silenced him under his ton of determination forcing the imposition to burden the expectation into a frantic desire for survival that was off in the sense that the dire situation lacked pain and really any form of real damage, bringing the endeavor into an awkward prose.
Wherein Rouk, crazed by the primal instincts of the dire notawolf form, suddenly felt a presence close in on him. Like a dark cloud sweeping overhead and binding all in its shadowy prison, the sensation was one of belonging relief arriving, instantly putting Rouk at ease and bringing the beast to obey.
Only Rouk felt this incredible aura, leaving the two notabears oblivious as they maintained their tasks, when the wind shifted and sent an aroma down to the three of them, one of youthful nerves both excited and worried.
Bjoreg'l's face twisted into an irate look of frustration as the smell of Bellissa wafted over them. The chief and chieftain exchanged ursine glances that ended when Bjoreg'l started towards the scent's origin, but before he could leave their grouping the sound of his daughter shrieking in pain echoed out in the dark red tinted night.
The chief gave a dreadful roar in response before quickly moving to where the axes had been reburied. In a blurred flash of movement, the hybrid bear man snatched one enormous axe from the hidden icy sheath and within seconds, after Bjoreg'l was gone from the two wrestling in the snow, the distant sound of battle churned the silent night air into a tumultuous series of howls, growls and metal ringing with occasional protest of nature as snapping tree trunks cracked and boomed in the onslaught.
The storm of violence raged on for minutes in the backdrop as Rouk remained in the unbreakable hold by Gyereon still pinned to the snowy sios. When the noise quieted an uncanny stillness settled in on the clearing and only the smell of blood remained when the light began to fade for Rouk as he felt his world begin to grow. His body contorted and snapped with sickly appeal as the fur sloughed off his visage and he morphed back to his usual self, steaming naked in the hold by the notabear, blind in the siosen night once more with head reeling from the intense change of sensory input.