Fang & Bone: “5. Ramshackle”

This is the fifth chapter of the Fang & Bone serial; click here to visit the previous installment of Fang of Triseria. Please share your thoughts on the story in the comments, or visit the project hub for more information.

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The town of Gordhurst was apparently not the original town, judging by the somewhat ramshackle construction of the shelters along the primary road, which itself was rutted and not really a proper road at all. It was walkable, to a degree: Erryl had twisted his ankle twice on the way there. Erryl presumed the old town had burned down or fallen to some tragedy, and the residents picked up and started over. Some grimness seemed to mark the faces of the denizens passed in the early morning hours. Furtive glances and distrust met them from hovel to hovel they passed. 

Now, Erryl and Fang were at a crossing that appeared to be the center of the town. There wasn’t much beyond a relatively well-kept inn, at least in comparison to the tents and shacks surrounding it. There was a stable, perhaps part of the inn, but the shack which appeared hastily attached to it suggested maybe it had become its own business, though there was a single nag, worn and grey.

The crossing itself was more like the muddy and pockmarked route through the woods, splintered off to an access road to the side of the inn, and that was about it. A cluster of makeshift homes sprouted along that route like mushrooms, clustered around a log. Further down the main road were two other relatively sizable buildings; one was a spacious home likely about as familiar to this road as the inn, though worn from the general rot that pervaded this area. This hadn’t been a town so much as a stop for travelers.

The other building was more interesting. Erryl took in the general shape of it – it was not much more than a combination of boxes with pitched roofs. The wood appeared almost untreated, and one side of the building featured hasty boarding nailed to a more developed framing. This building, whatever it was meant to be, had been under construction and finished in the sense that there was a roof and four walls and decent wood.

“Curious, is it not, my wolfen friend?” Erryl waved a finger back and forth toward the makeshift town. “Something amiss, yes?”

Fang nodded. “Place reeks of misery.”

“Any thoughts as to why that is?”

Fang had tried to glance back over his shoulder, but his heavy, narrow hood prevented him from getting much of a view behind him. He had to turn his massive frame toward the opposite direction, back the way they’d entered. After a moment, he did the same toward the road at the side of the inn and then glanced down the road that cut through the rest of Gordhurst.

Erryl waited patiently as Fang looked around, eager to see what his companion saw, and if they were on the same page regarding their prospects here. Fang’s senses were sharp, and he would pick up on things that Erryl could not – it is how they had made it so far together until now. That and burying the werewolf’s frame in bulky fabric. The Wolf made sure not to indicate anything about his true form beneath his massive traveler’s cloak. His movements were slow and steady to keep from billowing or presenting a glimpse of him beneath the weighty fabric. The size of the Fang, however, drew enough attention on its own.

After a moment, Fang gestured under his cloak, a limb pointing down the main road that would take them through Gordhurst. The fabric was pulled back slightly, and an observant passerby would have noticed the distinctly paw-like feet and digitigrade ankles had they not been avoiding the travelers. They had been met with a disinterested interest that spoke greatly on the mood of the settlement.

“Road ahead. Notice the barricades? Side road here has some reinforcements as well. Road behind us is reinforced as well. Not as much, but something has them worried ahead.”

The Wolf was as perceptive as Erryl. The Barber nodded.

“Something worrying probably moved them here,” Erryl added. “Makes one wonder what?”

Erryl tossed the bag of ghoul’s teeth in his hand. They rattled as they landed in his palm and settled awkwardly into a lump within the thin fabric.

“Maybe they have some work for us then,” said Fang. His voice rumbled.

The early morning street was still quiet, but a few villagers were already bored with the presence of the strangers and off to eke out the day. A pair of haggard men dutifully trudged off toward the Inn. Down the road, a girl approached the large house and knocked at the door. 

Erryl continued to observe every motion in the area. No sign of a guard or patrol. Curious.

“Feh.”

Erryl turned to Fang and noticed his snout was rankled and drawn into folds.

“Stinking of drink,” he added.

“Might be the best place for answers about who we talk to about these teeth and the chance at more work, yes? Who might know better than the barman?”

“You’re not just hoping for a drink yourself, are you?” The wolf’s voice was accusatory.

“Oh, come, surely you know me by now. I’m no souse.”

“I do know you. That’s why I said what I said, Barber.”

“You can call me by my name, friend. We’ve been on the road together for months now.”

Fang was silent for a moment. Something had caught him off guard, and Erryl noted it. 

“Has it been that long?” the Wolf asked under his breath, though the statement sounded more revelatory than inquisitive, by Erryl’s observation.

He’d been trying to understand just who the Wolf was for a couple of years now. He was generally stoic and rarely spoke on things beyond immediate concerns, such as travel, contracts, and coin. Curiously enough, he was prone to haggling over road expenses. Fang had pulled a fast one a time or two since Erryl first met him among other members of the company, and more often than not, Fang engineered a way to have his expenses covered from his companions’ pockets.

Erryl was onto him but said nothing and continued to humor the wolfman. It was best to be on his good side, as he was a reliable protector. Still, the thriftiness was remarkable and a sign of a life before his present bestial existence.

As the sun climbed higher over the horizon, the town remained gloomy. It was remarkable how pallid the ramshackle town and surrounding woods remained, even as greenish-blue sky continued to emerge. Then, with a sudden shift of the breeze, thick, misty clouds sluiced across the sky and the morning sun faded away, washing the grim town in an unfavorable green darkness. It was almost supernatural, and Erryl began to wonder about the nature of the undead they encountered on the way toward the town.

“I don’t like the air here,” Fang said.

The Wolf seemed almost as though he had been peering into Erryl’s own mind.

“I still smell the dead. A lot of them. It’s been constant.”

The larger figure shifted under his gigantic cloak, and only now did a heavy, clawed hand emerge from beneath the folds. A thick, reddish-furred finger, tipped with a dark brown sickle, pointed to the distance, down the road, out of town.

“The stink is overwhelming.” Fang shuddered. He continued, “I’m going to find some herbs for my nose. The rot is making me sick.”

Erryl nodded.

“Fair enough. I’ll ask around and see who we might want to talk to about these teeth.”

The Wolf began to trudge away toward the woods opposite the inn side of the street, seemingly guided by the scent of some floral or herbaceous bouquet. The gigantic, cloaked figure stopped for a second and then turned, again avoiding a billow.

“Save the Inn for later. Don’t waste a coin on a drink yet, or I’ll gut you.”

With that, the Wolf turned back toward his current task, and the Barber started at his.

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Click here to visit the project hub for Fang of Triseria; click here to read the next installment of Fang & Bone.