Demon Wolf

Wolf entered Boreo after paying the hefty fee forced upon non-citizens. He glanced at the thumb-sized copper discus which he had bought with an eighth order nub from a manticore he had slain years ago.

That nub was worth five hundred gold pieces back home! They scammed so much money out of me just to pass the border? His eye twitched; not because of his immediate expense, but because of that exorbitant price tag’s implication. How much will they bleed me for the knowledge I seek? Will I be able to afford it?

Wolf had the sinking feeling the answers to his questions were ‘a lot’ and ‘no’.

He bit his lip and took several steps towards the town of Whitesheep, only to encounter more signposts. They were the excerpts from Boreo’s laws, citing the most important rules visitors must adhere to. Such as thou shalt not kill, thou shalt not steal, and thou shalt not perform sexual assault. As for the rest, signboards encouraged newcomers to read the lawbook while waiting for their residential documents inside the enforcers’ administration, as ignorance warranted no pardon, nor sentence reduction.

Whitesheep was ten kilometers away from the wall, but even from the gate, Wolf spotted grayish-white houses atop a distant hill. I hope I find whatever clues I need for my return.

He pursed his lips, expressing serious doubt, and started jogging. Along the way, he encountered dozens of giant flocks of sheep, each herded by a vigilant man accompanied by a pack of dogs. These shepherds wore clothes similar to lawn enforcers’ garbs. However, their pants were white rather than black, and a small practical cap replaced the ridiculous tall hat.

While running, Wolf surveyed the endless grassland. The plain’s solitary hill housed Whitesheep, which had no walls nor palisades to protect the pale gray houses, leaving its residents open for assault.

I guess that’s a good thing? It means they never get invaded, nor attacked by Monster Beasts. Wolf munched on snake croquette, stuffing himself to ensure he was sated once he reached the township.

Hundreds of vast, square pens aligned in neat formations housed tens of thousands of sheep at the base of the hill. Wolf trotted past them, climbing towards the town and catching a faint whiff of hay drowned by the sharp scent of cattle and dung.

Everything reeks of sheep. He did not particularly mind the odor. It was easier on the nose than the human stench of Silver City’s slums.

He picked a bit of meat stuck between his teeth and slowed down to a brisk walk as he entered the small town without munching on snacks; just in case they had some crazy prohibition against public eating. Given the neatness and signboards, such regulations would hardly surprise Wolf.

After several minutes of moving between nearly identical pale houses, Wolf made some observations and deductions. He estimated ten to twenty thousand people lived in Whitesheep. Based on the omnipresent odor, most of them had prolonged contact with livestock. And, since almost everyone wore white woolen clothes and insisted on uniform appearances, Wolf started seeing them as two-legged sheep.

Walking the broad streets, he neared the central square. There he encountered men clad in fancy conservative dresses and skirts made of finely spun wool. Their fruity perfumes starkly contrasted the ever-present odor of sheep, giving Wolf the unsettling impression of kept noblewomen back home.

Finally, he spotted a pair of women patrolling. They wore dark blue uniforms, similar to what the customs officers had.

“Good day,” Wolf greeted while approaching them, appearing as non-threatening as possible.

“How may I help you, young man?” the one on the left asked, while her partner ogled him, not bothering to conceal her lecherous smirk.

Wolf ignored the rude gaze and spoke calmly. “I’m looking for the law enforcement administration. Could you please point me in the right direction?”

Yes, I am an outsider. No, I’m not helpless. Please don’t make me bash your heads over banal idiocy. Fortunately, they did not. The law enforcers gave Wolf short directions, and he found their station without trouble. The building nearly made him chortle. It was the bigger version of Whitesheep’s identical houses, which seemed like they were formed through replication rather than construction.

After jotting down Wolf’s name, gender and place of origin, the clerk disappeared into some back room, taking three whole hours to fill the forms. Wolf used the time to peruse three thick tomes of local laws, finding that he could, in fact, partake of sustenance in public spaces, as long as he did not litter. He also had to pay an obscene luxury tax when purchasing clothes not made of wool.

While Wolf tried to focus, flirting law enforcers approached him several times and interrupted his reading. The obnoxious women assured him they could teach him all about fitting in. By the time the inert clerk finished his job, Wolf was somewhat miffed, the station was closing, and the sun was setting.

Wolf walked out into the street holding an unimpressive identification card labeling him as Wolf Hillman, a male refugee from the Uncivilized Lands. In the distance, sheep bleated and a baritone cursed the bloody beasts. Wolf inhaled, trying to let go of his frustration with the excruciatingly drawn-out process.

Don’t be angry. He exhaled. If that clerk was motivated or even fully awake while interviewing me, he would’ve found out I wasn’t a barbarian. Anyone interrogating a Truthspeaker back home would ask pointed questions and dozens of sub-questions.

After a moment, he smirked. Well, I kept a low profile back home, too.

Wolf glanced about and noticed a woman going around, carrying a long pole, whacking brightstones mounted atop tall lampposts. Once shaken, the natural streetlights emitted a soft glow. Nightfall doesn’t make this village any prettier. They’ve been at peace for generations. Why didn’t they make any statues or carvings on their houses?

The door creaked behind Wolf. He turned around and saw an officer leaving the building, wearing her civilian white wool.

“Excuse me. Where’s the House of Fairness?” he asked.

The woman eyed him from head to toe, her lips drawn in a confident smile. “It’s half a block down the Glorious Tyrant’s boulevard to the left. Can’t miss it. But if you need somewhere warm to stay, you can come over to my place. I’ll help you fit in.”

“Thank—” Wolf wanted to thank the enforcer for her proposal, then stuttered when she uttered the same double meaning line these women used.

“… you for your offer. If I can’t find a bed to spend the night, I’ll take you…” Then he trailed off and hurried away as he realized he accidentally spewed ambiguous words.

No; wait. Maybe I can try taking a piece of her soul to heal my own? The officer was youngish; her looks decent. She was no beauty, but Wolf had slept with plenty of uglier women before. The temptation gnawed at him. He almost called after her when a sudden realization struck him with the force of a charging bull.

What would Sky say? That question killed Wolf’s desire for experimentation.

He smirked awkwardly. She would probably bum for dried fruit to eat, or nag at me for being gone too long…

Wolf shook his head and stuffed some fried snake into his mouth. Focus. Find the Church of Fairness, collect hints on how to return home, then go back and snuggle the little bugger as she nags you to death, even though it’s not your fault.

With a heavy heart, Wolf followed the sassy guard’s direction. He passed young couples walking under the streetlamps, sometimes looking up at the romantic full moon. Watching women act boisterous and protective, while men with neatly trimmed, oiled beards and styled mustaches acted coy and batted their eyelashes, disturbed Wolf.

He cared little about women’s behavior and looks. Men disgusted him. They undermined his vision of giant, muscular manliness. When he was younger, he took extreme steps to become macho, sculpting a fake body for himself. Yet here he found that his original, androgynous appearance, which he hated with zeal, made him attractive. Just about every woman he passed looked him over; most whistled or clicked their tongues after him. The few bold ones even approached him and tried to spark a conversation.

Extricating himself from forward women, Wolf reached the House of Fairness. The building stood out against the local masonry. Its walls were gilded, and one side of its double doors was inlaid with a tasteful gem mosaic. The scene depicted people conducting fair trade within the temple. The double door’s closed flap also housed intricate artwork, but the mosaic was only ten percent complete, and Wolf could not tell its theme. He guessed it was another portrayal glorifying fairness or commerce.

Just like in Silver City, the church door stood ajar, always open for business. With a glance towards the door frame, Wolf noticed the Spell Formations for maintaining temperature and prevented stronger air currents from causing damage.

It’s a little smaller, a little tackier, but I guess this really is a House of Fairness.

 

sleepydad88

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