Werewolves
Werewolves
a humorous trailer.
By Sharpfang'2004
Dedicated to: Marga FP - It's nice to have a fan.
This story could be considered fan fiction of Terry Pratchett's the Discworld series
Despite it looks like a part of something bigger - it WON'T be continued
Werewolves ==========
Shenk's Kiss was one of many bars in the Kilon City. Kilon City was a big one, and there were probably all kinds of bars, suitable for everyone there. Bars for rich noblemen, for the corrupted guards, for poor workers, for smelly beggars, for sneaky thieves, for mysterious mages, for traders and for priests. Many bars for adventurers of different kinds, and quite a few "non-specific" ones, where everyone was more or less welcome. Shenk's Kiss seemed like one of them, with constant clientelle of different material status, pretty good food, decent beer and wine. Like the ones you drop in every wednesday afternoon for lunch and every sunday evening when your boss thinks his wife is on her weekly conjuration course, and in fact she drops in here too, to eat nearly-romantic dinner and go to the park for some quality time with you. But that was just looks. Shenk's kiss was a strictly "themed" bar, where random newcomers weren't welcome. The newcomers that didn't take the clue from silent looks of patrons, murky whispers and way slower than normal moves of the barmaid, and returned for second beer, often got eaten. Shenk's Kiss was a bar for werewolves.
On that day, very non-distinct one, with some white clouds that roamed the sky, threatening the city with rain, but never fulfilling their threats, with sun struggling to... but we're not here to discuss the weather. Well, on that day a newcomer came to Shenk's Kiss. He wore a long, leather cloak and a helmet made of wolf's pelt on his head. Glass eyes of the unfortunate wolf looked over long, white muzzle from above his face. He looked young, battle-hardened but not really experienced. Well, at least not experienced enough not to show up in the wrong place in wrong clothes. A long, two-handed sword with some runes was hanging across his back.
Voices lowered. People looked at each other and began whispering. "Damned adventurer. May be trouble." "Just look at him". John the Carpenter looked at Celie the barmaid and rubbed his hands vigoriously. If you looked at the furniture, it was all very simple but mostly quite new. Even the huge tables made of logs from aged trees cut in half along, seemed new. You see, werewolves are strong and things sometimes get broken in a barfight.
The newcomer walked to the bar. He asked Celie for a beer.
Celie was a fat, always smiling woman, in her fourties, in a checkered dress. She smiled with her big, fat cheeks and poured the beer. One Beer. That was an unwritten law, every newcomes should learn during drinking the One Beer. Sometimes Hurried And Thirsty ones were allowed Two Beers or even Three Beers, but they had to drink them fast.
The newcomer tilted his head a little and said:
- Aroo.
Several people by the tables slapped their heads. They looked differently, but they they all thought about the same thing: "An agent. Not again. They get dumber each time they come". The agents of the City Intelligence were a cautiously selected group, selected for their skill and intelligence. More precisely, for not too high skill and not too sparkling intelligence. The noblemen who decided about the service had their own secret affairs they didn't really want revealed, their own plans they didn't want compromised and positions they didn't want endangered. So, there were many idiots in the Intelligence, but there was none so far to come clothed like THIS.
But there was always the chance and it had to be be checked. Celie nodded to a patron who was sitting by the entrance door. He turned the key in the door lock, removed it from the lock and tossed to another guy in the opposite end of the bar room. Well, if someone asked, there came that guy and made some sounds of a werewolf. Everyone confirms. And everyone knows The Werewolf supposedly sometimes comes here. How were we to know he was an undercover agent?
Well, actually they could. Sometimes agents learned werewolvish, but nobody who wasn't a were could get the pronounciation right.
Cellie tilted her head a bit and said:
Grrh?
Yip. - answered the newcomer.
Aroo. Yi-ip? - asked Celie.
Rrrr. - the newcomer raised his hand a bit - grr-grr.
Arrr. - continued Celie - Aroooorrrrgh. ArooooooOoOoOo. - she howled.
Aroooooooo - the adventurer made a pretty long howl.
Aroo aroo. Yip! Yip Aroooo! - Celie said, apparently displeased.
AroooooOoOoOo - newcomer modulated his voice a bit.
Grrrrr. - apparent anger sounded in her voice.
Wowbowwow. - in high-pitched voice the man answered.
What?
Wowbowwow.
You got me on that. Could you elaborate?
BowwowwowwowwowwowwowWow! Wow!
Celie thought for a while and asked.
YipWow?
Bow-wow-wow-wow-wow-wow-wow-Wow! Wow! - the adventurer repeated slowly and clearly.
Yip. - Celie sighed. - GrrrWowbowwow?
Yip. GrrrGrrrBow. AroooooOoOoOo Arrrrhrrrrhr. Rrrrarooooo. - the adventurer paused to drink some beer and continued - ArrrrRooooo Arrrrrrrgh grrrrr grarrrrrrWow! err, sorry, grarrrrrrooo.
So your father works in docks and your grand grandmother was a... - Celie sighed. - Get that thing off ya - she poked him with her finger hard - or you get a dagger in your back as soon as you leave this place. You know, The Werewolf sometimes visits this bar - she said in scenic whisper. - But that's a seeeeecret!
The newcomer laughed, several chuckles sounded from nearby tables. The key flew across the room and the door got unlocked.
Sorry, completely forgot about this thing. - he said, pointing at his head - I wear it too long. By the way, don't blame me. My meal from two months ago was wearing it. By the way, I'm Paul.
Celie. - Celie shook Paul's hand.
Celie, one thing more. Grrrhhhchmchm.
Got that, but don't use The Speech around here if you don't have to. You know, newcomers.
Celie bent to a small window to the kitchen, where the cook was sitting and watching the whole event.
Got that one too. One big bloody beefsteak. Just tell me what the hell did you talk about in Dog? - asked the cook.
You'd better not know.
The cook turned around to prepare the beefsteak. Paul took a place by a nearby table, took the swordbelt with the sword off, removed his cloak and helmet, packed the helmet to a big bag he had by his side, rolled the cloak and attached it to his bag. Blacksmith Bork stood up from his place and sat by Paul's table.
Tell us all about that adventures you had in the North, the ones you mentioned to Celie - he said. - I always wanted to be an adventurer, but I heard it's too dangerous. I mean, easy to get compromised.
The trick is to have a good cover story - began Paul...
. . . . By Sharpfang. 12 Nov 2003