Bea'savak finds closure

Nighttime. In the village of Kalingham a human man stumbles through the streets, shaking as though his legs would give out at any moment yet some great force propels him forward in sheer desperation calling to put one foot in front of the other. All buildings are dark save for the inn which leaves some candles on inside both for late night arrivals and those who wish to catch a last drink in the downstairs tavern area. The man pounds out three great raps on the oaken door before dropping to his knees, panting. After a moment, a dwarven woman in a bonnet with a great knotted beard hefts it open and casts an inquisitive glance at the crumpled figure on her doorstep.

“Oi! Name’s Kenda! This here’s tha Hoard’s Hall, an’ ahm tha ownah. You look like you seen it rough mah fellow, not un-expected with travel these days sance tha war… Let’s get some alcohol in yah first an’ see if yah got tha coin for a naht. We got all you could need heah…”

He cuts her off. “Bandits! And some sort of monster! Ambushed us and took half our party on the road four miles south towards Hopburn!”

A hush falls over the tavern as much of the drinking games and discussions cease, distracted by this new bit of gossip. Some excited murmuring strikes up among the different tables that are still awake, and one fighter-looking human nudges a cleric-looking gnome who hurriedly whispers back, “look, you can go get yourself killed, but I have no slots left to revive you!” In the back of the tavern, a figure in shining plate armor stands too his feet, revealing the full magnitude of his stature. A golden-scaled snout protruding from his helmet betrays his heritage as a dragonborn, and he ducks to avoid his head colliding with the rafters of the low, dwarven-made inn. In a deep voice, he announces, “I am Torm, Wanderer and Paladin of the True Forgiveness. I will see too it, be it within my power, that your companions, if still alive, are brought back safely.” He turns to Kenda and drops a couple copper pieces into her hands. “For the hospitality, and in case I return with additional guests,” He rumbles, before departing into the night.

The full disk of the moon casts shadows like phantom beasts in the woods as he rides southward on a massive white warhorse, hooves pounding against the road like rainfall. The signs of the destruction left by the bandits are immediately apparent. An overturned cart and a dead horse lie to the side of the path, along with spatters of blood, but no bodies. Footprints like that of a massive beast lie alongside humanoid boot-prints, leading into the woods. Torm dismounts and orders his steed to stay by the road, as he explores deeper, pushing through the twisted thicket. The prints lead to a cleared area, where it seems a cave has been barricaded for use as a hideout. A flickering light comes from deeper inside the cave, and as Torm looks about he observes the heft of an arrow sticking into a tree. He takes a step and narrowly avoids cutting himself on a discarded sword in the grass. All around, the detritus of battle lies scattered like flotsam, but not a soul in sight. Then he notices two individuals tied up and dangling from a tree, unconscious. The hostages. He checks around, surprised not to see any traps, and brings them both up with one point of lay-on hands each. He looks to each.

“Fear not, I’ve come to save you. What can you tell me about what did this to you?” He asks.

“The monster… it went deeper into the hideout.” The stocky one replies.

“Like a terrible beast with a human shape!” Adds his partner, a mousefolk with one eye.

“I see. I have heard reports. And what about the bandits, can you tell me how many to expect?” Torm inquires.

The stocky one falls silent, and is eyes dart side to side as he attempts to make up a believable story, but his attempts find themselves in vain as his partner, not quite as quick on the uptake, exclaims “No, we’re the bandits of the lost gorge company, this is our hideout and we were att-” The stocky one shoots him a glare. “Broccoli! Where’s your brain? He was untying us damnit! You absolute fool! You buffoon! I knew your mouth would get me killed one day!” They continue bickering as Torm steps away, perplexed. He pushes deeper into the cave, and begins to notice all around him similarly restrained bandits and scattered weapons. Finally, he reaches the back room of the cave, where it opens out into a little area open to the sky, where vegetation has been cultivated into a space for a garden, and a strange tiny throne sits on a pedestal at medium-creature eye level. Behind the throne, lounging among some of the plants sits a ginger halfling woman in a large wolf-skin cloak, gazing up at the stars through the hole in the roof. As Torm enters, she perks up and waves.

“About time! I was wondering when you would get here. I dealt with the bandits for you, but don’t worry, I didn’t kill any of them, since I figured you always taught me to give people second chances. I gave the hostages their horses so they can ride back to town on their own”

“Miss Bea Whitehill? Is that you?” He looks shocked. “It’s been years! How are you? Did you find what you wanted in the east? And, also, how did you know I was going to be here?”

Bea smiles. “It’s Bea’savak now, the east is a long story that I can’t wait to fill you in on, and as for how I found you, I’ve had the fortune of meeting several talented diviners in my adventures, and this wasn’t too hard for lin’selda to manage. Besides, these folks have been trafficking people, and it wasn’t too out of the way. You know how I value freedom”

“I remember. I’ve heard a lot of the tales too. ‘The Chainbreaker,’ ‘The Slayer of Xovreme the Terrible’… You’ve gotten quite a reputation, very different from the ‘Wolf-Beast of Brent’ you were when I first met you. Although I hear some Brentish parents still use you as a story to scare their children at night.”

A wolfish grin stretches across Bea’s face at hearing the last bit of news. “Glad to know part of me still lingers.”

“Did you find your answers in the east?”

“Some of them. Some answers I was looking for, and others I didn’t know I needed. I found the past of the cloaks, I met my death, and I found a new pack. I even have a daughter now. She was a surprise, and I wasn’t sure she was something I could handle at first, but I’m glad every day that I have her. She just started school with all the other young ashborn a month ago. I have so many people around me now, and I’ve learned to balance the wild beast inside me with the woman who wants to care and protect her community and family. I came here because I wanted you to see what I’ve done with the second chance you gave me.” She spreads her arms wide, presenting herself as though looking for the approval of a parent, something she has done before, and rarely received. Torm reaches down, picking her up and embracing her tiny form in a massive hug.

“you’ve done well, Bea.”

Bea smiles for a while, hugging him back. Then she mentions, “Oh, and it turns out the bandit leader was a pixie who was polymorphing people into bears and t-rexes and the like to use for attacks. I guess that was the 'monster' people were talking about, not me. I made her promise to stop, since fey can’t lie, plus several other layers on top of that to avoid loopholes. Valorie has taught me well with fey lawyer-speak. I was disappointed because I hoped it would be another werebeast of some kind. I’ve been searching as I’ve been travelling trying to find others of my kind. I turned a massive forest into a refuge, and I hope someday others like me might be able to live there too and be themselves freely. But, I’ve had no luck finding other werebeasts so far.”

“Perhaps I can be of some help there, I’ve heard tell of some packs in southern Emperoria that have had trouble with hunters. It’s just a rumor, but maybe if you find it they might be interested in joining you. I can’t imagine your neighbors in the east would share your dreams, but perhaps your example might change their minds.”

“I hope so. But first, I have a great many stories to tell you of my adventures.”

              And with that, the two talk until dawn, when Torm eventually takes the bandits, promising to help them reform as best he can, and both he and Bea part ways. The last he sees of Bea in the morning light is her transforming into her dire wolf form and darting off into the woods. As for Bea, she follows familiar scents found in her memories to a dried out riverbed, then down the river until it reaches a basin surrounded by the ruins of a once prosperous town, now abandoned but reclaimed by nature. A sign covered in kudzu proclaims the town to be the town of Whitelake. With that, Bea begins her search. She knows where each of them fell, images burned once again into her memories, but no longer quite as painful as they once were. She finds each of the bones and buries them one by one on the hilltop where the pack used to sleep. Iscar, Sima, Thew and Drew together beside each other, and Canea buried surrounded by her treasures. Then Bea climbs down the hill to the center of the dried lake that brought Whitelake to ruin by the greed of civilization. From her bag Bea produces a strange device made from spellcraft. It resembles a large amber and wood seed, and in the center a faint blue light flickers. It is the combination of help from Gonerton, and Ark, made with tears willingly donated by Sidurna, amber from the Fellwood, and Xovreme’s liver, and functions as an Eternal Spring. She carefully plants it at the center of the lake, and immediately water begins to pool in the basin, rising rapidly ad lapping at Bea’s heels as she leaps and bounds up the lakebed with the power of the dragonslayer’s greaves, landing with one final bound on the bank. Behind her, the lake has been restored, the river refilling in both directions. An unexpected consequence of the Fellwood amber built into this Eternal Spring is felt by the nearby plants, causing them to grow just a little bit bigger, growing and covering over the last bones of the fallen warborn, hiding the last traces of the battle that once took place in the town long ago. As Bea looks around at the life she has revitalized in this place of death, something catches her eye in the shifting mists of the newly formed lake. Perhaps it’s a mirage in the morning light, or just a trick of the eye, but for an instant Bea thinks she sees on the other side of the lake the shapes of five wolves gathered together. She wipes a tear from her eye, and lets a long and mournful howl pierce the cold morning air. And maybe, just maybe, she thinks she hears it answered.

The next night, sometime before Bea teleports out of Brent with Valorie, howling is heard in Hopburn and all of the animals at the Whitehill farm are mysteriously devoured by wolves. Come morning none of the neighbors can explain why it was the only farm that was attacked.