Rise of the Blood Moon

> "**The worst wolves are hairy on the inside.**" -- *Tale of the Maiden and the Wolf*
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## Part One

The early morning fog cloaked the land in mist. A horde of hunting dogs dove into the wilderness, their bumbling master a few steps behind, torch in hand and a couple of dead babbits over the shoulder. Their noses pressed against something trapped in the depths of the murky swamp and, as trained, they waited for their master to inspect their find.

“What you got now, then?” Wybert sighed as he trudged towards them, the cold, crisp air turning his words into ephemeral vapour.

The stench of death was everywhere ‘rounds these parts, barring the few instances where it was beaten by the stink of manure. How the dogs distinguished scents in such a place was a miracle. Wybert eased himself into the ditch the dogs had gotten themselves into, boots sinking into and rising out of the bog with every step.

He saw what the hunting dogs had found, took out his pipe, bit on it and frowned.

It wasn’t rare to find bodies while out on a hunt, many a young ‘un on their first hunt had come across one which always gave Wybert a chuckle; the fright always knocked some sense into the cocky bastards. But this was different.

The only prints around apart from the dogs’ were large paw prints. Weird, the wargs usually stayed to their damned Dark Woods and the b— witches would’ve taken care of them. Also, from what he saw, the poor sap’s body was just torn apart by whatever attacked him; no sign of feeding. Any carnivore would’ve enjoyed sinking their teeth into fresh prey, leaving only a carcass behind. This… Well, something had simply shredded the body and left it there, like toddler in a tantrum with a ragdoll.

One of the dogs whined and approached Wybert. He took his cap off and padded the hound’s head, “I don’t like this much, either. C’mon, pups, let’s stroll back down’t village.”

The way back was uneventful, the monsters had yet to wake up. Still, Wybert’s mind kept conjuring up the image of that corpse. *‘Probably nothing*,’ he kept telling himself, *‘Yer got yerself a bunch of catches and nuthin’ caught yer, a good trip.’*

Nevertheless, routine took over concern. Wybert went through the motions: seeing to the dogs, butchering the dead babbits and tossing the prepared meat into a pot, along with what vegetables he could find. Afterwards, he lit the fireplace, got the stew bubbling and took a nap.

Wybert woke up near evening-time and went down to the local watering hole after he had his fill of stew. Wybert opened the door to familiar faces: Carter, Gaff, and Ol’ Algar. Of course, there was Tilly manning the bar as well.

“Oi Bert! ’Ow do?” Gaff said.

Wybert shrugged, “Middlin’. Found ‘nother dead ‘un while oot again.”

“Babbit or a bloke?” Carter jested.

Wybert shot him a look, “Listen ‘ere yer rum'n, it were a body o’ some bloke sunken in t’plother, all strewn around like. Nuthin’ got nashed by t’rack o’th’eye an’ there was print all ‘round it like ‘em wargs but a mite smaller.”

Ol’ Algar coughed, “Some babby warg pup got lost?”

Carter laughed and clapped himself on the knee, “That’ll explain t’howlin’ last night ‘en.”

“Howlin’?” Wybert raised an eyebrow, “Oh aye?”

“Stop luggin’ ‘im around, Carter.” Gaff yawned, “That’ll jus’ be yer pups I’ll bet.”

Wybert shook his head, “Ye kaliyed lot can flaff aboot all ye like but it'll be wa’ n’ that, methinks.”

“An’ ‘ow d’ye know that?” Gaff said.

“Jus’ a feelin’.” Wybert replied, giving another shrug.

Ol’ Algar scoffed, “Our bitch’ll take care o’ it if it’s trouble enough.”

The others murmured in agreement then a silence fell. As usual, Carter tried to lift their spirits with bad jokes but all seemed to be spending time staring at the bottom of their steins.

Suddenly there was a crazed thumping on the door, the men froze. Tilly smirked, “That’ll be ya spook.”

Gaff pushed Carter towards the door as the others got their weapons ready. Carter turned back to them, gave a nod and got a nod back. Carter’s shaking hands curled around the door knob and pulled it open…

…A youth almost collapsed into the tavern, his eyes were wide and wild. Garter and Carter caught him. The youth was almost rabid, “Somefink’s out there. A.. a.. a black beast, a monster, a d-d-demon! Gods help me! G-g-gods help us all!”

Carter slammed the tavern door shut as Ol’ Algar gave the lad a smack across the face, “Get it together! Yer all flayed ‘bout nuthin’! We’ve gots light an’ stone protectin’ us, never mind t’bitch.”

The youth stammered back, “S-swear on me life, I spied a huge sort o’ wolf a-and light nor stone or t’bitch’ll do nowt to save yer from it!”

 “What’s yer name, lad?” Wybert chipped in before things got too hysterical.

The boy managed to quiet down as he answered, “W-w-willam, sir. I live o’er yonder.”

"Well, William, yer bleedin'." Wybert remarked, indicating the red stain on the lad's dirty shirt.

In turned, the frightened boy's hand wavered above the stop then touched it. The huntsman was right. William coughed, "'Ad a nip on me then? Bitter Bitch's bonnet, 'ow much blood 'as been spilled tonight?"

Gaff stood up and went to get some bandages, "Calm yerself lad. 'Snot common fer t' rush of fear to block out pain."

Wybert nodded, “Hm. I’ll muzzy up t’guard an’ make sure things be reight. Tilly! Fetch this ‘un a thimble o’ yer best an' make sure Gaffer 'ere don't make a mess o' that wound. N’arn, Will, tell us yer story.”

“W-well—“William was about to continue but he was handed a mug of warm milk and brandy. He took a sip and felt comforting warm travel down his throat. Afterwards, William cleared throat, “Me and me mate was jus’ faffin’ a'gate t’swamp, checkin’ our traps ‘round afternoon. We ‘eard pred-a-tor-re activity but we jus’ paid it no notice. Long story short it came after us an’ me mate, umm, he dint made it. An’ then everythin' went black. When I came to, first thing I did were ran blind lookin’ fer somewhither civil."

Tilly went over and hugged William, “Poor dear, yer welcome to stay t’night ‘ere.”

“B-but, it’ll come, an’…” William sobbed.

“Yer safe now, an’ these gents’ll make sure o’ that.” Was the barwomen’s reply.