Origin of Werewolves

10. Laurence

The plaith's presence loomed over the room like a shadow cast by a flickering candle. Laurence looked at the old Orc as he hobbled around, noting the weathered lines on his face that told tales of ages past, etched with the weight of his hobbled stride, both ancient and timeless.

"She will be fine, physically. That's the good news," the plaith stated as he closed the door behind himself, his voice a gravelly rumble.

Fixed on the orc's movements around the room, Laurence's curiosity piqued. "So, what's the bad news?"

"I can't do anything about her size. But there is something more," the plaith replied, his tone now laced with a hint of gravity.

Something more?

Laurence's mind raced with possibilities, searching out through the essence for what this more may be. At least Avni was going to be okay, and he wouldn't have Yadiel bringing the wrath of Allencore down upon him. "What would that be?"

"She's been touched by a darkness. Something this realm hasn't seen since the gods burned the land, iced the sirens in the seas, and bought a reign of destruction when those who walked, fought against the gods." The orc's voice trembled with the weight of his words, as if he carried the burden of centuries past.

Laurence stood up, peering into the eyes of the orc. "You men to tell me that bird was consumed by the darkness?" he asked, his voice laced with a hint of intrigue mingled with concern.

The plaith erupted into laughter, the sound filling the room with an unexpected yet sadistic joy. "No, I'm just messing with you. She'll be fine; I just need to know who to bill for my services. That's what the bad news is." He turned, reaching for a bottle of rum and two goblets, offering one to Laurence.

Taking the offering in hand Laurence continued to keep his gaze fixed on the orc's face. As he took a sip, he weighed the plaith's words and the potential ramifications of his actions to come. "You know of Yaidel, the high wizard of Allencore?"

"Allencore, you say," the plaith mused, sitting in a chair in the corner of the room. "You're a long way from Allencore. But yes, I am Aware of Yaidel Alexander." He stated leaning the chair back onto two legs.

"Yes, that's him. He'll understand, bill him for our services," Laurence declared confidently.

The Orc narrowed his eyes with suspicion. "You do know that those who take advantage of a high wizard without the appropriate permission tend to get turned into iron and melted down into horse hoes, and the high wizard always finds the culprit." He placed the goblet down on the table, showing his distrust with the action. His arms bulged with similar tension that now filled the room as he crossed them. "I'm not willing to discuss that any further with you unless you can prove it, as I don't want to be the one interrogated about the bushy man and his half-sized accomplices." He uncrossed his arms, and looked at Laurence with a gaze that could pierce through stone. "Or are you having me on? Because that isn't a very funny joke."

Laurence hid his reaction to the intimidating look from the Orc, necking the rum in the goblet then gently placed it down on the table, next to the plaith's. "There will be no interrogation, I can assure you. I have proof. My half-sized accomplice, is the high wizard's apprentice."

The plaith huffed and leaned forward onto the table, sliding it towards Laurence with a deliberate and untrusting thrust. "Is that so?"

"Yes. Come and I'll show you."

The orc stood and raised his hand in a gesture of compliance, his eyes fixed on Laurence with a mixture of scepticism and curiosity. "Lead the way then. Oh, and if you are lying, I can assure you it's not going to be a nice ending for you or your friend."

Laurence nodded, as a chill ran up his spine and attempted to shake the tension from the plaith as his essence shifted the feeling of safety from within the walls of the room. He walked past the orc towards the bed where Avni lay. She glanced up at Laurence before directing her gaze back towards the ceiling. "I think I preferred being encased in ice, or being in that plant."

"I am more than happy to arrange either of those things again later if you want," Laurence replied casually.

Avni rolled her eyes, "I have no idea how Cora puts up with you. It must be an elf thing," she said with a hint of frustration in her voice.

The plaith cleared his throat impatiently, his focus now fixed on Avni.

Laurence turned to acknowledge the Orc, then leaned in closer to the half-sized woman. "I need you to show him your tattoo."

Avni screwed up her face in protest. "Why? I'm not supposed to show it off," she whispered.

"We need a way to pay for what he's done, and we kinda don't have any money right now."

"How will the tattoo solve anything? Are you stupid? Wait, forget I asked that. You are stupid," Avni retorted, frustration evident in her tone.

Laurence shook his head, a flicker of irritation passing over his features. "How did you get your tattoo?"

"The only way to get it is to become an apprentice of Yadiel..." Avni trailed off, a sense of resignation creeping into her voice. "He's not going to be happy about this, you know."

The orc grunted, his impatience growing more apparent by the second.

"It's your funeral," Avni muttered as she lifted her side and exposed the tattoo to the Plaith.

"Well then, consider this your lucky day." The plaith stepped forward, his weathered fingers tracing the lines of Avni's tattoo with a practiced touch. The essence with the markings began to glow softly as his touch activated the embedded ink. "Authentic, this is one of those tattoos you just can't fake, ya know?"

Laurence observed the mixture of relief and gratitude in Avni's eyes, a sense of reassurance spreading across her gestures like a gentle wave. The plaith released Avni from his touch and turned towards Laurence.

"If there is anything else I can do for you, please let me know," the Orc offered, his voice varying a tone of genuine concern.

"If you could point us in the direction of Allencore, that would honestly be a big help," Laurence replied, his hand absently scratching the back of his head.

"Right, I have a map," the plaith responded, making his way back to the other room.

As Laurence prepared to follow, Avni's small hand reached out and clasped his finger. "Hey, Laurence, thank you. Is everyone else, okay?"

He nodded, "Yeah, Cora and Maz are fine, just out of sight for now. The plaith let us stay in a small cabin just outside."

"I bet you charged that to Yaidel too didn't you?" Avni chuckled.

Laurence smiled, "You just rest for now, and we will sort out what needs are to be sorted once you can walk again. The plaith said it would be later tonight, once his manipulation of your essence heals you, then your wounds will heal."

As Avni settled back onto the bed as Laurence retreated into the other room, closing the door behind him. The orc unrolled a large scroll across the table, and the map's intricate lines and markings sprawled out before him.

"Been a while since I have seen a map like this," Laurence stated. He took hold of the map on the far side of the table, pulling the parchment back, as far as he could without it spilling onto the floor and flattening out the surface. "So, where are we?" he inquired, his gaze lingering on Allencore, marked at the opposite end of the table, beneath the Plaith.

He placed a goblet over the city's location, "Allencore."

"I gathered that. So I am guessing we are closer to Wellhorn than Allencore? I still don't know what this town is called," Laurence remarked, his brow furrowing as he searched the map.

"Croydon Bridge," the Plaith replied with a chuckle.

Laurence searched the map once more, his eyes searching for the elusive town, but it remained absent from the parchment's surface. "I don't see it," he admitted with a hint of frustration.

"Yes, I'm aware of that. Croydon Bridge isn't exactly on the map, but a map can be more than just ink on paper. Call upon our essence," the orc suggested, his gaze fixed intently on Laurence.

It was a strange proposition to do, calling upon his essence to read a map. Something Laurence had never considered but this was one of the downsides to being self-taught in the use of magic. He placed his hand over the map and leached his essence down onto the table. The trees around Stanburh started to grow, as fields and rivers coloured the barren parts of the map. The table beneath it creaked and groaned as the map fixed itself on to the tabletop and the topography of the land reflected itself upon the table. "I didn't know I could to this," he said in awe.

The orc lifted his goblet to his lips and took a sip. "Not everyone can. However, as you will notice, not everywhere is filled out. Only the places you have a good recollection of. Notice the detail in Stanburh and Wellhorm. I can tell you've spent some time in those places," he remarked, his eyes gleaming with a hint of amusement.

Laurence looked down at the two towns, and peered in close, eyeing what looked like townsfolk walking the streets. "So how does this help me with where I am going or where we are?

The Plaith smirked and placed his hand over the table. The lands began to extend out across the rest of the land, trees, towns, temples, appeared and filled the map. The detail was just as in depth as Laurence's was of Allencore, Stanburh, and Wellhorn. "The advantage of a map, made from the essence of life itself is those who contribute, have the ability to collaborate. Essence isn't just a means of war; it's a tool to be shared and respected." He walked around to the back to the table and pointed a finger. "Croydon Bridge."

Laurene studied the map intently, noting that the town lay not far from the west coast. "I honestly didn't expect to be this far west," he remarked as the sense of distance dawned upon him.

"You have your work cut out for you if you are walking all that way," the Plaith observed, his tone now laced with concern. "Most folks head south for Vegra and take a boat to Bellport, catching the trade winds. But beware of the sirens," he warned, shifting his gaze towards the southern expanse of the map. The plaith moved his hand over the ocean and uncovered a drifting ship. Small figures leaped from the water and crossed the deck.

"What's all that about?" Laurence inquired, curiously.

"Sirens, very dangerous," the orc explained. "They have unique abilities. Those souls they don't feast on, they manipulate with their voices. Can turn a man into an animal with their song."

"I'm guessing this is your way of recommending we don't go that way," Laurence remarked wryly, his eyes fixated on the hazardous scene unfolding on the map, as the figures who were not dragged into the depths of the ocean, shifted their forms to that of wolves, bears, and bores.

"You do you," the plaith replied with a shrug. "I mean, a shrunken sorceress, and a nimbat are already really odd companions. But on a serious note, you have a full cycle of the moon worth of travel ahead of you. The cold winds of winter are coming too," he cautioned as he crossed his arms. "I mean, you could always stop in Stanburh. You seem to know that place well."

"I may have visited the town a few times; it's nothing to write home about," Laurence admitted with a chuckle.

"One of the things with a map like this is the amount of detail it can replicate on places you have spent the most time, or had the most memorable parts of your life in," the orc remarked. He pointed towards a particular building. "You can see the most detail on this brothel over every other building in this town."

Laurence felt a flush of embarrassment creep across his body. "I may have spent a night or two in that place," he confessed sheepishly.

"Just a night?" the plaith quipped, waving his hand over the building and causing its roof to vanish.

"Perhaps a few nights," Laurence conceded with a guilty grin.

Every room materialised in meticulous detail, and the orc shot him a knowing smirk.

"Okay, at least six nights," Laurence confessed, his voice tinged with embarrassment.

With a flick of his hand, the plaith caused the first floor to vanish, leaving only the ground floor visible. "Six?"

"Maybe twelve," Laurence admitted hesitantly, feeling the weight of the orc's gaze.

The plaith brushed his hand over the brothel once more, causing the roof of the barn to disappear alongside it.

"Oh, come on! Nothing happened in there. I legitimately needed a place to stay that night!" Laurence protested, his frustration evident as he slammed his hands down on the table, knocking the back half of the map scroll off the table and onto the floor.

"And?" the orc prompted; his tone unwavering.

"And I've been there enough times, I'm on a first-name basis," Laurence confessed in a hushed tone, feeling his essence populate a new section of the map as he spoke.

The orc's expression shifted from light-hearted to serious in an instant. He rushed across the room and lifted the scroll from Laurence's feet. His eyes studying the new path through the trees. "The Rajani Alliance, that's where you came from?"

Laurence glanced down at the map, tracing the trail through the trees. There was no use hiding the truth from the plaith. "Yes, that's correct."

"If it is the business of Yadiel for his apprentice to be in that place, then you need to leave... tonight after sunset. It is not my place to ask, but if you were there, then you put us all at risk if you stay any longer," the Oorc warned, his tone grave.

Laurence stepped back, watching as the scroll on the table wound itself up, returning the map and landscape to their former state. "We need to get to Allencore," he declared firmly.

The orc nodded solemnly. "Leave after sundown. Stay off the roads at night if you can help it. I felt an odd darkness ever since you arrived in my presence. You will be hunted."