Spirit Hound

MacGruffyn of the Helbryd, one of the noble hounds trained for centuries by the magi conclave to track down evil spirits, turned about in a clockwise circle three times to find the best spot and lay down on his embroidered bed. The light and heat from the nearby hearth danced across his black and brown fur, warming him.

Closer to the wolves that roamed the mountain forests around Tharbrand than the common breeds that were used as guard dogs by merchants, the Helbryd had been bred for their intelligence as much as their strength, agility, and stamina. But their true value lay in their virtue, honor, and loyalty. Armed with collars enchanted with protective magic, the Helbryd were the bane of any evil spirits that enticed humanity towards dark magic.

Across the room, his magi master Selgar sat recording the events of this day's mission.

“Good work today, Fyn.”, Selgar said. “Don't feel bad about the tabby escaping. It led us to our true prey.”

Fyn huffed in frustration and lowered his head back down. They had hunted down another dark mage by tracking the evil spirit that aided him in the form of a yellow tabby. Fyn was not used to letting his prey get away – even if that had been what his master had asked him to do. It just felt wrong.

“Keep an eye on our little guest, okay."

Fyn let out a displeased mix of grumble and whine before glancing over at the little ball of black and white fluff stumbling across the rug as it chased a bug. Barely weaned, the kitten was much cleaner than when they had come across it in their pursuit of the evil spirit in the yellow tabby – a distinction without a difference, to Fyn.

For it was common knowledge amongst the Helbryd that felines had a natural bent towards evil and were not to be trusted. The little one in front of him had not yet reached the age where its kind fully embraced that evil. Still, Fyn wondered what reason his master had decided to bring this future villain back with them. He trusted his master implicitly, but there was a line you just shouldn't cross.

Having tired of chasing the bug, the fluffball turned and ran, or staggered, towards Fyn on legs not used to running. It mewed at him several times before jumping up to grip the side of his bed with its claws. Pulling its head up over the edge, the fluff mewed at Fyn just inches from his muzzle. An instinctive snarl escaped Fyn before he even thought of it, sending the now frightened ball of fluff racing across the floor to hide behind the leg of Master Selgar's chair.

“Fyn!” Selgar said, “Be nice.” He picked up the kitten, carried it over towards Fyn's bed, and stood over him.

“We talked about this, Fyn. We do not snarl at guests, no matter our personal feelings.”

Fyn tensed as his master leaned down to place their “guest” on his bed.

“Now behave yourself.” Selgar said. “I'm placing our little friend under your protection. So upon your honor, you will not allow harm to come to it.”

Fyn sunk into his bed in defeat, resigned to the indignity of this interloper upon his domain but bound by honor to obey his master and guard it. MacGruffyn of the Helbryd would not dishonor himself – even if he felt a momentary temptation to chew up his master's favorite boots.

The interloper began a tentative exploration of Fyn's bed – climbing up and down the folds. And despite the sudden desire to make a meal, well, a light snack, of their guest, Fyn restrained himself. For it was common knowledge amongst the Helbryd that felines tasted horrible – as evil naturally would.

The feline explorer eventually discovered Fyn's tail and pounced upon the end of it. Flicking his tail away from this annoyance, Fyn found that only encouraged it even more to chase and pounce. He might have tolerated this new game if not for the inevitable bite that occurred. Instead of a growl, snarl, or yelp, Fyn lifted his tail away from his assailant and tucked it underneath his haunch.

In search of its suddenly absent prey, the kitten circled Fyn and attempted an ungainly leap onto his back. Fyn winced slightly as it clung to his hide with its tiny claws, bearing the indignity by pondering whether his master really needed the blue ceremonial boots he seldom wore and what their blue leather might taste like.

Finding its purchase on Fyn's back, the kitten made its way up towards his head, where it rubbed up against Fyn and began to purr. As Fyn's head was resting on his bed, the kitten was able to walk out onto the top of it and look down at one of Fyn's eyes, mewing at him.

Fyn shook his head, tossing the little pest off onto the bed. The bed being quite soft and comfortable, the kitten landed on its back without injury. Looking up at Fyn, it mewed at him again, rolled over, and tottered back towards him.

Letting out a last sigh of exasperation, Fyn lay his head back down and closed his eyes. Tomorrow would see the departure of this feline annoyance. But tonight, Fyn would act honorably ... and dream of the day he would have another chance to rid the world of a certain yellow tabby and its evil spirit.

The little ball of black and white fluff nestled up against Fyn's paws and purred as it drifted off to sleep. Despite its innocent appearance, MacGruffyn of the Helbryd was determined to not let down his guard. For one day, as all Helbryd knew, it would grow up and reveal itself to be what he knew it was ... true evil.

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Spirit Hound

A Masterful Lesson

Rattlestaff

A Masterful Lesson

Rattlestaff