Swimming across open water was one of the last things Vorador ever suspected he would do, whatever form he happened to take while doing it. The panic of having so much of the once deadly substance all around him was so acute that it took all his willpower not to translocate himself away on instinct alone.
The elongated body of the serpent was suited for navigation through the water, slipping from side to side. Such motion was far superior to the up and down motion of mammals in the water and he found himself clearing distance much quicker than expected. The island that was his destination began to increase in definition and size as he approached.
Through gaps in the gently drifting tide of icebergs he could see large cliffs of dark granite topped with snow covered pines. While the foliage seemed similar to that of the mainland, there was an undeniable sense of foreboding, as if he were looking at the precipice of a different world where he was not welcome. Still he pressed on, if for no other reason than to be clear of the water.
The island was almost all cliffs to the south and to the west the gravel bank was too steep to climb. To the east, however, the land was gradually sloping and had a proper beach. Driftwood was piled up high along the water’s edge at the high tide mark and behind these, Vorador surfaced.
He coiled himself into a ball and waited, forked tongue flicking out to taste the air around him. While the salt from the seawater was strong, it did not hide the lingering tang of the Werewolves. There was no doubt now that this was indeed their lair. However, it remained to be seen if Bane himself was here amongst them.
He sensed no movement in his immediate area except the trees waving in the strong wind off the sea and quickly he flowed back into his regular form. He kept himself low, not willing to give himself away to any sentries. Making sure he was covered by at least one piece of obscuring terrain at all times, he made his way up from the dirty beach and into the tree line. There he had more than enough cover as growing all around the pine trees was a thick ocean of tall grass and large clumps of a peculiar, angry looking bush with needles instead of leaves. He could not indentify its species at all but he knew enough about botany to know that with isolated spots, the local flora would develop its own peculiarities.
As the island was so far north, the icebergs around its shores were a permanent orbiting barrier against encroachment by outsiders. Such ice had also begun to build up in various spots where the water from the sea collected and then froze, leaving spires of ice jutting up from random locations.
-0-
“This island was a choked maze of winter forest, arctic foliage and permanent ice. The perfect home hunting ground for a Werewolf pack. If I wished to survive this environment I ought to remember that.”
-0-
As much as the geography and the local plant life were fascinating, Vorador reminded him quite sternly that he had a task to perform here and only so much leeway to get it done. He would not be able to hide his presence on the island forever, assuming that the Werewolves did not already know he was here.
Gently he began to push out with his senses, feeling with his heightened perception. He made his search very subtle for there was no telling what sorts of triggers Bane had set in place to warn of intruders, assuming he was here.
The response was a peculiar one that puzzled him. It felt as if his senses were pushing against a barrier made of paper. It bent but it did not break. Like oil on water, his senses could ripple across the surface of the barrier but not penetrate. Such a barrier was all around him and it prevented his senses from getting a firm hold on anything that might reveal the barrier’s nature or what it was trying to conceal.
-0-
“There were forces at work on this island, a latent magical energy that subtly hung beyond the periphery of my senses. I knew it was there, could almost taste it, but it remained beyond my skill to feel it out. Whatever power lurked here, it was preventing me from finding Bane’s lair. That in and of itself revealed to me that the Druid was indeed here somewhere. All that I needed to do now was pierce the glamour that concealed him. The question now was exactly how to do that.”
-0-

Faced with no other option, Vorador began to sneak on through the underbrush. The only way now to find Bane’s lair was to locate it by sight. The sheer size of the island hampered that effort considerably. The interior of the island was a maze of rising hills, steep valleys and hidden wooded copses. There were a few paths going here and there but they seemed to be wandering tracks left by wild game. There was no sign of Human habitation at all.
That abruptly changed when Vorador came to the edge of a cliff and looked out across a valley that stretched below. The trees in this open space had been felled to produce a small grazing field where a flock of sheep with thick white wool were milling about. Vorador paused to observe, certain that they were not wild sheep but farm animals. Then he saw the herd’s keeper. Sitting on top of a rock nearby and watching the herd with unblinking disinterest was a white Werewolf.
The beast was just sat there with its tail swishing out behind it in a bored sort of way. It didn’t even seem as if it was watching the sheep. The creature had the posture of one who was daydreaming about somewhere else he’d rather be. The sheep themselves didn’t seem that bothered by its presence either, happily grazing on the long grass and some even coming within arm’s reach of the creature. They did not seem to care that it could reach over and grab them for a meal, nor did it try to when they did.
The idea of a Werewolf playing the shepherd was somehow vastly amusing and frighteningly disturbing at the same time. Vorador did not like having his comfortable view of the Werewolves as little more than savage, untamed and uncivilised brutes challenged like this. It left him feeling unsure of a lot of things.
Further exploration of the island’s many valleys and hidden places revealed similar scenes. The Werewolves were everywhere and were all engaged in herding small groups of sheep. Vorador had to have passed by over half a dozen such examples of corralling. Practically, he supposed, keeping a breeding population of animals that provided both meat and wool made sense in this northern, frozen climate. The beasts were primarily hunters but if they wished to sustain a large social group they would need a regular and reliable food source to fall back on. Werewolves were very much like Vampires in their dietary needs. They needed bloody flesh in order to survive and could live on that alone, permitting them to live in places where planted crops would not grow.
Soon he began to sight evidence of permanent habitation. This did not come in the form of crude shelters that he would expect from the beasts, but rather log huts built within circles of thick trees to protect them from the worst of the arctic wind. At first there were only a few small huts dotted here and there, but soon Vorador began to sight larger log buildings that bordered on the size of a proper mead hall. They all had high, towering thatched roofs to prevent the snow from building up on a stable surface. The thick wooden doorframes were all elaborately carved with curving rune-like patterns so deeply into the wood that no knife had made them.
For a brief moment Vorador wondered if Humans lived here as well, but he was disabused of that notion when he saw one of the white beasts trudging up a slope towards the largest building he had seen so far. Once it got to the doorway, it paused to shake the snow out of its fur before its form shrank in on itself and it returned to Human shape. Now in the form of a naked man, the beast knocked on the closed door. The door was immediately opened and the creature was offered warm woollen clothes as soon as he was allowed inside.
“How cosy.” Vorador muttered darkly to himself, standing outside knee deep in thick snow. So it would seem that despite their nature the Werewolves lived well. It would even be fair to say they were thriving. Somehow it seemed vastly unfair that Mankind would go to the ends of the earth to hunt down and destroy his people when these dogs could live in forgotten comfort.
Suddenly, however, the Vampire was brought out of his dark brooding by an earsplitting howl that broke the silence. Turning about sharply, Vorador saw a shape standing on top of the broken hillside to the southwest. Through the trees he could just make the figure out. It was another Werewolf but this one he had seen before and knew all too well. It was the warped and deformed shape of Remus, the so-called alpha male who had savagely killed William’s father outside of Weirstein. He was too distant to see him clearly but his distinctly huge, half-formed shape was easy to recognise even this far away. The creature towered up and howled again, this time louder and more insistent. The call echoed several times through the many narrow valleys and close-set hills of the island.
Almost immediately the door to the log hut burst open and several large men in woolly clothes came running out. As one they looked up at the distant figure of Remus on the hill. Then after a moment they began quickly shedding their clothes. Once they were naked they burst out of their Human shapes and became the beasts they really were. One by one they howled in response to their alpha male, echoing his call. Then they galloped on all fours down the rise away from the building and into the wilderness and out of sight.
Vorador watched them go with a grim frown marring his face. There could only be one explanation for all of that. Somehow his presence had been detected and Remus was marshalling his pack to search for him. No doubt many more of the beasts would have heard that howl and would now be searching the island for him. They would be searching for him with sight and smell and would tear him to pieces when they found him.
There was, however, one thing he could do to confuse them. With an evil smirk he slipped himself into the more than familiar form of the ordinary wolf, one of his earliest alternative shapes. In this form he would not smell like an intruder, but rather like a regular animal. As such, in this form he could continue with his search unmolested.
Padding through the high foliage, Vorador moved on but always made sure to keep himself well aware of his surroundings at all times. The Werewolves as he suspected were out in force, dozens of them scouring the wilderness in small hunting packs. If any of them saw him they never looked twice at him.
For the next few hours Vorador kept in the guise of the wolf, keeping deliberately out of the way of the creatures that searched for him. He went back and forth, crisscrossing the island trying to physically search all of it in search of Bane’s lair. The sun was beginning to rise distantly by the time he was forced to admit that this was hopeless. He had seen nothing to even hint of a concealed entrance anywhere and the strange enveloping barrier kept him from sensing any that might be hidden magically.
He was just considering a change of tactics when he came over a rise and saw in the wide valley below a collection of log buildings, about two dozen huts of varying sizes all arranged in a circle with a surrounding log wall protecting them. Smoke was gently rising from the crude shale chimneys. Off to one side of the village up against the wall was a larger building with overhangs to make pens, in which several lowing milk cows were tied up and feeding from a trough. Nearby, ungainly pigs were in a smaller enclosure filled with churned snow to make thick mud.
Vorador’s attention, however, was drawn to the three standing stones set into the centre of the village where all the buildings branched out from. They were a trio of strange obelisks that tapered to a dangerously sharp point. Staring at them, Vorador could feel a strange sort of subtle resonance coming from their direction. It was a peculiar sensation that seemed very similar to the cloaking sensory barrier that shrouded the island. Clearly it was somehow significant and worthy of investigation.
Keeping his body low to the ground so not to be seen, the Vampire began to slowly and cautiously approach the village. As he had expected, he immediately began seeing men in woollen clothes working around the buildings. Even before he smelled them he knew they were not Men at all but rather Werewolves in Human shape. Two men were standing near a large pile of chopped logs, axes leaning off to one side. Chips from the chopping were scattered everywhere, as if they had only just finished their work. One of them had a thick beard and the other had a long ponytail braided behind him. Both of them were looking up and out at the tree line to the south. Another man with a smaller trimmed beard was just coming out of the village’s open gate, his gaze fixed up on the horizon. He stopped a short distance away and paused, a frown creasing his face. Then he turned and looked at the two other men. Now that he was up close and could see them more clearly, Vorador could see that despite their varying ages all the men had snow white hair, even the youngest of them who could not be older than twenty-three. Another point of similarity was that they all had swirling wood-like markings over their faces and whatever parts of their bodies could be seen under their woollen garments.
“Remus sent out the call?” The one with the small beard asked. 
“Didn’t you hear him?” The big bearded one replied, not looking over.
“I couldn’t clearly. I was busy milking the cows.” The first replied to that in a sullen tone. The man with the long hair laughed coarsely and slapped his knee.
“More likely you were too busy ploughing Duckett’s daughter, that pretty girl who fetches the milk for churning!” He grinned and showed over enlarged canines, almost like a Vampire’s.
“Bet she was churning something alright!” The man with the large beard added, nudging his companion in the ribs. The other laughed even harder at the crude joke. The newcomer did not look all that impressed with their mirth.
“Are you going to make jokes or tell me what the call was about?” He asked flatly. The younger, long haired man shrugged in response.
“Can’t tell, the howl was just to tell everyone to transform and be on the lookout.” He said and without any warning at all began to strip, pulling off his woollen fleece. The two men looked at him and then began to peel off their own clothes.
“Trouble?” The man with the short beard asked as he removed his boots. “An intruder maybe?”
“Maybe and I’m not arguing with the alpha male about it.” The one with the large beard replied, now naked before the elements and the other men without the slightest hint of embarrassment. Turning he picked up his discarded clothes and placed them in a basket that Vorador hadn’t even noticed. The other men did the same.
“Just sprout fur and keep it on until you’re told otherwise.” He remarked and with that his form began to expand, muscles rippling under skin that sprouted white fur. Together he and his two companions became Werewolves right before Vorador’s eyes. Once in their alternate form they began back into the village, one of them pausing long enough to pick up the basket full of clothes and carry it back in with them.
Vorador paused and watched them go, down on his haunches in the concealing foliage. The whole surreal scene had left him with a mixture of emotions that he did not like at all.
-0-
“A community of the Werewolves, living like any other human settlement until they chose to assume the bestial form? What a perverse idea.”
-0-
It would be safe to assume that everyone in this village was one of the beasts, and given the number of buildings the settlement could house over a hundred inhabitants. The most logical course of action would be to employ stealth to get inside, rather than try to fight through a small army of Werewolves. However, Vorador doubted that even Werewolves would allow a fully grown wolf to simply prance into their home, especially if they had livestock to defend. He would need an unobtrusive form that would not attract attention and allowed for a quick getaway in the event of discovery. The choice of the form of the raven was obvious for the raven had all these desired qualities and perks.
Slinking back into the long grass to ensure he would not be seen, Vorador changed back into his regular form. That was necessary to do as he could not go directly from one alternative form to another. However, he made one terrible mistake. He forgot to check which way the wind was blowing when he changed so when he assumed his normal shape, a gust blew directly across him and across the village. Every Werewolf in the village was downwind of him. Even as it happened Vorador realised his blunder and froze in shock.
A moment later there were dozens of startled snarls and angry growls as the Werewolves’ excellent sense of smell picked him up. Despite the deadly consequence, it was still a simple mistake to make. The Vampire bit his lip hard in frustration with himself for not having considered that.
“What’s that smell!?” A growling voice asked from within the walls of the village, growing louder as its owner approached.
“A Vampire!” Another deep snarl replied, tinged with anger and contempt. “I have smelt that stench before!” The Werewolves were coming now, moving towards the main gate leading into their village.
There was nothing else for it now. It was too late to attempt to change form to evade being discovered. There was simply no time to change without them noticing. Grimly he reached back and took hold of the handles of Havoc and Malice. Drawing the twin axes, he deliberately stepped out from his concealment and strode to the entrance of the village. He got there before they did and stood in their path, the axes at either side in each hand.
There were fewer Werewolves in the pack that greeted him than he had imagined. His quick count revealed no more than twenty. Perhaps the others who called this village home were already out searching the island for him.
The white Werewolf in front of the pack paused at seeing him, then lowered its head and drew back its lips in a snarl revealing its sharp teeth.
“You!” It spat, chewing on the word in its canine mouth. “How did you find us?!” The other beasts were all looking at him now. A few snarled at him but the others just looked startled.
“I’m here for Bane.” Vorador replied as flatly as possible despite the tension he was feeling. “I know he’s close. Tell me how to find him and I’ll be on my way.” Even as he made the offer he knew it was fruitless and he had no real expectation of it being accepted. He was, however, quick to note that at least two of the Werewolves, perhaps younger ones, turned to look back at the three standing stones in the centre of their village in response to his words. A larger beast growled at them and they quickly turned back. The edge of Vorador’s mouth turned up slightly. That was the last bit of confirmation he needed to tell him that the stones were indeed significant.
“We will tell you nothing!” The Werewolf in the lead gnashed at him. “This is our home. You come here uninvited and the alpha male has ordered your death.”
“True.” Vorador conceded. “And it will remain your decision whether blood is spilt on your home. That will be your burden, not mine.” He made his tone as insulting as possible. He knew their charge was inevitable but he wanted it to come when he was prepared for it. Hissing and snarling, several of the white Werewolves came at him in a rush.
Vorador acted instantly, racing to meet them as if he intended to engage close up. Instead he dived and ducked into a roll, tumbling through the legs of one of the beasts. As he rolled past, he brought the axes around in a cruel sweep and severed its feet halfway up the calves. The screaming creature stumbled backwards with blood spurting from the ends of its dismembered stumps. Vorador silenced its pained cries instantly when Havoc came down and smashed its head in.
A second Werewolf came at him again, reaching up with its clawed hands in an attempt to cleave his face off. Vorador slapped its paws aside with a backhand and brought both axes up sharply and with considerable strength, causing its ribcage to come swinging open in a spray of bloody gore that cascaded over the snow in a wave. The body was lifted off the ground by the impact, emptying its contents of internal organs before landing with a crunch of the few remaining ribs cracking.
Vorador danced back as several of the beasts lunged at him at once, claws and snapping jaws raking the air where he had just been. They came at him over and over, some even leaping over their fellows in an attempt to claw him down. By now, however, Vorador had gained some experience in fighting the creatures and knew how they liked to fight. Their arms and mouths were their greatest weapons and as such they were built rather top heavy to take advantage of that, making their lower halves their weak point.
When they came at him, Vorador ducked low and brought the axes up in sweeping arcs that opened up their bodies to spill their blood over the snow. However, he dared not use the cyclone technique for which these axes were so well-known here. The ground was too slippery for that and there were too many wooden buildings around to get in the way.
Despite his advantage in skill and tactics, the Werewolves knew how to use their own advantage in numbers and were pressing him hard. He had been forced to retreat further and further into the depths of the village, which he supposed was their plan. They would keep him trapped here until more of their kind could be called to overwhelm him.
That being the case he was just going to have to kill these beasts and then translocate himself away before the others could turn up. His left ear twitched and sharply he turned in that direction, just in time to see one of the creatures come hurtling out of the shadows between two log huts. It had lurked there completely out of sight and then lunged when it had had the opportunity.  It moved too quickly for Vorador to bring up the axes to defend himself, so instead he grappled across its midsection and rolled with it across the ground. Easily he got his feet under it and with a mighty heave he tossed it back off of him. The beast, startled at being so easily thrown, spun through the air until it crashed into the door of a hut, breaking it on impact and vanishing inside with a loud crash.
Vorador was back on his feet instantly for two more creatures were circling him, preparing to attack from opposite ends. The Vampire had seen that tactic used before and preempted them by lunging at the beast on his right. He was fast enough to catch it in the throat with Malice’s edge, slicing into its wind pipe and letting it gargle for breath around the axe lodged there.
The Werewolf on his other side took the opportunity to attack him while his back was supposedly turned. Vorador, however, was quicker than the beast imagined, letting go of Malice and then grasping Havoc in both hands. With that added strength and speed, the Vampire swung the single axe around so hard that it dug deep into the flesh of the onrushing monster. The axe sliced so deep that the stomach was cleaved in two. The entire digestive system collapsed out in a bloody mess. Vorador was no longer so cruel as to let the creature suffer from such a fatal and painful injury and so to end its pain he caved in its head with two more sharp blows.
Quickly he retrieved Malice and turned to face the other creatures. He had reduced their numbers now. He counted fifteen amongst their living and most of them had wounds on them in various places. The eviscerated corpses of the fallen lay scattered around.
The sense of accomplishment faded when the air rang out with a howl. It came from far off but it was echoed by dozens more almost immediately, the sound of a full hunting pack. One of the Werewolves in front of him sneered.
“Remus is coming for you.” It said and began forward again, the others following and spreading out in an arch.
Vorador took a step or two backward. The fight had carried him into the centre of the village itself now, a trail of blood and gore leading from the battlefield through the churned snow to the gate where he had entered. Quickly he half turned his head and looked back over his shoulder. Looming over him were the three stone obelisks. Now that he was closer he could see they were engraved with markings, but not runes or another other type of primitive script. The markers seemed very much like twisting vines with leaves branching off at regular intervals. The sense of resonance from each of them was as strong as ever.
His attention was called back to the struggle when one of the beasts leapt at him with arms outstretched. The Vampire ducked low to avoid the oncoming claws and gaping maw. Arching his body to get under the creature as it sailed overhead, Vorador brought Malice up and slammed the blade edge into the Werewolf’s groin. The impact bit through the pelvis and dragged the axe into the guts before Vorador yanked it free. The fatally wounded creature crashed into the snow and lay still, turning everything around it scarlet.
He then spun, hefting the axes around in a powerful arc even before he had finished righting himself. The Werewolf that had been attempting to catch him from behind was met by the two screaming axe blades trailing blood and pieces of entrails. Havoc sliced off its left arm and dug deep into its chest right down to the heart while Malice sliced its head clean off. The Vampire kicked the body free from his weapon. The corpse tumbled a short distance before it landed at the foot of one of the stone obelisks. Blood from the spurting neck stump splattered all over the stone.
As it did, however, the resonance from the stone seemed to expand and constrict. The ripple of energies Vorador sensed responded to the impact like those on the surface of water, spreading out in all directions. Startled, he turned back to look. The blood he saw on the stones was being drawn inside, absorbed like water into a sponge.
-0-
“As the stones fed on the blood of the slain, I felt the mystic force over the island respond and ebb, as if a key had turned in a lock. The sensation was a momentary flare only but it suggested a course of action.”
-0-
Slowly he turned back to look at the Werewolves around him. He was silent a moment, his face passive and calm. Then a small smile made his mouth curl.
He changed his tactics. Instead of waiting for them to make the first move, he lunged at them. Havoc and Malice cleaved through the Werewolves that tried to stand in his way. Each time he dealt a fatal wound to one of the beasts, he would grab the faltering creature by its scruff and toss it through the air back towards the obelisks. Methodically he smashed the bodies of the wolves into the stones and with each offering of leaking blood, their resonance reacted and amplified. The barrier he could sense over the island was beginning to ebb in this place, weakening and fading. The more blood the stones absorbed the more the barrier faded. Vorador was even beginning to get hints of what lay beyond that barrier now, flashes of insight that leapt across and were gone just as quickly.
Smashing the head of the last beast in with Malice, Vorador dragged its still twitching body by the back of its neck and then smeared its crushed and bleeding, fragmented skull into each of the stones one by one. This apparently was enough to push them over the edge.
The markings on each of the stones began to emit a pale green luminescence, highlighting the vine-like pattern they made. Vorador took a prudent step back to observe, sensing the barrier rip finally. As it did, the image of the vine pattern began to peel off the stones which had played host to them as if they were simply sticky paper. Glowing brightly they twisted into the air, curving around each other and looping over and over. Finally their twisting came to a stop and they snapped tightly together. By now they had formed a perfect circle that hung suspended between the three standing stones. In the centre of this circle was a hazy, nebulous mist that only thinly obscured the sight of a dark tunnel opening. It was a gateway, concealed by powerful magic that had only just now been penetrated.
Vorador stared at the opening for a long moment. Then he slid Havoc and Malice back into place on his back and started forward.
-0-
“Its peculiar blood lust sated the stones parted the energies that concealed the druid’s lair. The way to Bane was open. But cautiousness ought still be observed. For now I would enter through the looking glass.”
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