Shadow and Memory

Part 1

Thoughts bored through Wulfric's mind, moving sluggishly and aimlessly through the morass of his brain. It hurt to think, each wayward thought leaving behind a trail of pain like someone was dragging a hot wire through his brain, it would be more merciful to simply hang here in silent oblivion until whatever had caused this faded away. But there was... something in his mind. Some sense of urgency that was compelling him to focus, no matter how much it made his aching head throb. What had happened to him to put him in such a horrible state? What had he been doing? With a terrible effort he focused his thoughts on the immediate past, trying to remember what had come before all this pain.

There had been a job. Yes, that much was certain. He had found another employer with silver to spare and need of his particular services. His fighting prowess, his field craft, his more abnormal powers granted by his people. His employer had been... A face swam murkily into his mind's eye. Ah yes, a Vaden nobleman, one of the dozens of royal families that ruled the petty kingdoms of the Vadenland. An age ago the land had been dominated by a great empire, but some half-forgotten calamity had sundered that vast nation into dozens of successor states that traded and squabbled with each other. He had been hired not to find or to hunt, but to escort the king's daughter to some conference or meeting.

Another face swam before his sightless eyes. A young woman, pale skin, black hair, hazel eyes. A calm and reserved lady of Vaden nobility, perhaps slightly less pretentious than most. There had been a plan, of course there had been. A mercenary company, one of the many private armies that found employ across the fractured kingdoms of the Vadenland, had been hired to escort a decoy along a different path, while Wulfric and the princess... Carol was her name, on a more direct path to this conference. The politicking of Vaden nobility always confused him, as it often had to do with centuries old treaties and agreements or who was related to who else by what family member and it was all much more complicated than it needed to be or which Wulfric cared to understand.

None of which of course really explained why he was now hanging in darkness with this severe pain in his head. They had set out along the arranged path easily enough, making quick progress. The princess rode a horse dressed as a simple traveler and Wulfric had taken the form of a wolf to run alongside her as was his usual custom, in that he did not know how to ride a horse. For two days they had traveled without incident or hazard until... until the tavern.

In one agonizing flash it all came rushing back to him. He had warned against it, but the princess was not used to such continuous hardship and demanded they stop at a roadside inn for some hot food and a bath before continuing on the next day. He had grudgingly agreed to her demand and they had stopped for the night, Wulfric giving her the privacy she demanded to bathe while he got food and drink from the bar. He had tasted the poison in his drink as soon as it passed his lips, for whoever was lying in wait to attack them had not counted upon his superhuman senses. Whatever it was had been very potent and he could feel himself growing more sluggish as men in the tavern drew their weapons and made to finish him.

Had he been an ordinary human he would likely have been killed then, but these men had never seen a Valdyrkin before, and likely only heard of them in vague legends. Few knew of Wulfric's people as anything other than tribes of barbarians from the icy northlands beyond the Vadenland, where at the north most reaches the winter had been unbroken since time immemorial. There were tales that they revered some primordial winter deity and could speak to wolves. Some even claimed they could transform into feral beasts themselves, but these were dismissed as tall tales and exaggeration, the stuff of legends. The men who had attacked them in the bar had certainly not been prepared to see a legend come to life in front of their eyes.

Sickened and enraged by the poison, Wulfric had not bothered to go for his weapons, but had simply launched himself towards the nearest assailant. Claws had replaced fingers, shaggy fur had spread and enveloped his clothes, his face had elongated into a lupine snout. Wulfric had taken the form of the Varulfur, the werewolf, a being so rare even to his own people that the rumors of his kinds existence were dismissed by outsiders as fantasy and fable. He had torn into his opponents with claws and fangs, before the poison managed to weaken him enough for a great blow to the head to knock the sense from him and send him to the floor.