Return to Lynwood, Chapter 1

Chapter 1 

Has it really been over two years since the last time I posted a Neopets fanfic here?

I've had a lot going on, and my editor has also been extremely busy, so I'm happy to finally be able to start posting chapters of this fic. Hopefully there won't be any more protracted delays in the future. Getting all of my Neopets fanfic up on this blog has been an important goal of mine for a while.

Anyway. After I wrote Farewell to Lynwood, I found myself wanting to follow up on Lexora--she was too impactful and sympathetic of a character to just relegate to someone else's backstory. I wanted to find some way to reunite her with Suhel so they could continue the friendship they didn't really get the chance to start as children. 

I had also been tossing around ideas for further adventures for Isengrim and his pack; I thought it would be interesting to see how they'd interact with a new, much younger Werelupe, especially since (with the exception of younger Terra and Blynn in Worth Fighting For), I realized my Neopets cast didn't contain any children, and I wanted to explore that dynamic. 

I also thought it would be really interesting to see what would happen if Isengrim encountered a new, much more sociopathic Werelupe King. In a way, Vakhtang is a little symbolic of me as Isengrim's writer fully abandoning my initial concept for his character; it's as if I took all the dysfunctionalism of Isengrim's former personality and transferred it over to a new character who serves as a great foil for current Isengrim's generosity and nobility. In this story, I feel that Isengrim has fully moved on from his past and has become a full-fledged hero in his own right, making it a satisfying ending to that segment of his character development.

And, after writing The Spirit of Black Keep where Pharazon began to come into his own magically and move forward from the events of Worth Searching For, I really wanted to write him into an adventure where he would have an opportunity to do proper wizard stuff--as well as heal his relationship with Suhel.

Each of those elements on their own wasn't enough to build a narrative... but I found when I put them all together, they worked perfectly. An important thing I've learned in writing long-form fiction is that it's important to have a plotline that has enough going on in it to sustain the reader's interest through a protracted story. Multiple challenges to overcome, character arcs for characters besides the main protagonist, and complications in the journey are essential--otherwise, you'll just have a very thin plot that you're stretching to be tens of thousands of words longer than necessary. It taxes the patience of both the writer and the reader. 

That's why, if I come up with a plot idea that I just don't feel has enough to it for me to make a good meaty story out of, I'll hold on to it until I come up with other ideas to add to it. I think that's much better than rushing a barebones plot hook into production and inevitably finding you can't come up with more than two thousand words.

I also had a lot of fun returning to the Haunted Woods for this fic. In canon material, the Haunted Woods generally ends up looking more like the Halloween section of Wal-Mart exploded, but I had a lot of fun envisioning the locale as sort of a combination of Mirkwood, the Appalachians, and the Black Forest--ancient, thick woodland saturated with magic of a quiet and eerie sort.

Anyway, enough rambling from me--on to the fic!

The Haunted Woods has two seasons. They are autumn and slightly-warmer-autumn.

It was at the end of slightly-warmer-autumn, when the trees put on their grand display of yellows, reds, and oranges before curling into brittle brown, that the Werelupe King ventured back to his old home for the first time in years.

The massive dark Werelupe, bedecked in bone-and-fang regalia, crunched through dead leaves on the forest floor, one large forepaw on the hilt of the sword across his back. His ears were high and his crimson eyes darted about, looking for signs of danger as he smelled the scents carried in the cold, wet wind.

After a moment surveying the space in front of him, he let out a satisfied sigh. “All clear,” he called behind him.

Out from behind the thick trunks of ancient trees came his entourage. Eight were Werelupes like himself, fitted with armour and weapons, but then—

“Gwyneth, slow down!”

With a cheerful whuffling, an enormous Ganuthor barreled out into the open. Sitting astride her were a faerie Draik and a young human woman, holding on for dear life as the Petpet cavorted about the forest.

“Gwyneth!” the Draik shouted again, tapping the top of the Ganuthor’s grey head. “Halt, girl! We’re supposed to be careful in the Haunted Woods!” He groaned, running a hand down his snout. “Sorry, Isengrim. Now every ghost and ghoul in the Woods probably knows we’re here.”

The Werelupe King laughed. “Never fear, brother. We were not trying too hard to be quiet anyway.” His eyes glinted with a fierce light as he patted the pommel of his sword. “We do not exactly give the impression of vulnerability. I should like to see anything in these woods attempt to attack us.”

Isengrim was in high spirits. Romping around his old stomping grounds with a few of his packmates, his owner, and his adopted brother had put him in quite a good mood, and he was not about to let any Haunted Woods spook ruin it.

“Aye, don’t forget, we lived here for years and years,” said a Werelupe beside him, a female with a long mane of curly black hair. She had woven fangs into it, and they clattered as she sauntered about the clearing. “Far longer than we’ve been living in Meridell. If anyone knows how to deal with the Haunted Woods, it’s us.” She leaned a paw against the trunk of a pine. “Shall we take lunch here, then, milord?”

Isengrim nodded. “Aye, this looks like a suitable spot.” Moving to the Ganuthor, he reached out to her other rider, a pale-skinned human with blue-grey eyes hidden behind spectacles and long chestnut hair tied back in a messy braid. Although a sword was strapped to the girl’s belt, she wore no armour, just a travelling cloak over a tunic and trousers, and a pair of sturdy leather bracers. Around one of the bracers hung a bracelet of fangs, a mark of her membership in Isengrim’s pack. “Terra, shall we break out the food?” he asked her.

“Yes, let’s,” Terra said, allowing him to pick her up and set her on the ground. He patted her on the head and then they began rummaging through one of Gwyneth’s saddlebags. Of course Terra was a grown owner, but Isengrim could not help but dote on her. She had saved him from himself, showed him the utmost kindness and patience when he was at his worst, and inspired him to have the strength to change, and for that he owed her the world.

But she had expressly told him she did not want the world, so he would make do with being the best Neopet he could be for her.

“Thanks for meeting us near Neovia,” the Draik said, fluttering off of Gwyneth to stand next to Terra and Isengrim, who passed him paper-wrapped packages that the diminutive Neopet handed off to the other Werelupes. “I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.” 

He, too, wore fangs, in a necklace that draped over his chest. Beneath it, a glint of gold caught the pale daylight—a Lupe Moon Charm. Pharazon was one of Terra’s other Neopets and also a member of Isengrim’s pack. It was not an honour Isengrim extended lightly, but both owner and Neopet had more than earned it.

“None at all,” Isengrim said as he unwrapped his roast beef sandwich. The spicy, savoury aroma tingled at his nose and made his mouth water. “I have plenty of contacts available for transportation.” He snapped up a bite of bread and meat in his jaws.

“Mostly sky pirates, I’m guessing,” Terra said, nibbling at her veggie burger. 

Through a mouthful of sandwich, Isengrim gave her a roguish grin. “They prefer the term ‘aerial privateers’.”

“Suhel, guess what!” Pharazon said as he handed the black-haired female Werelupe a hunk of cheese. “I’ve started studying water spells! They’re coming along a lot easier than the earth element, although not as much as air or fire.”

Suhel offered him a strained smile and cleared her throat. “Good for you—where are your brother and sister? They were invited, too. That Grundo’s quite handy with a sword, I’ll give him that.” She spoke in a brisk, rolling brogue quite different from Terra’s and Pharazon’s Neopia Central accent, or even that of Isengrim whose manner of speech sounded more like antiquated Meridellian.

“Well, Blynn wanted to visit Neovia,” Pharazon said. “Believe it or not, she’s pretty friendly with Sophie’s family.”

Suhel chuckled. “You told me about the time she was mayor of Neovia for three days.” She winced suddenly and coughed a little, putting a paw to her chest. Everyone looked over at her in concern, but she tossed her head at them and went back to eating.

“I had fun with that paperwork while it lasted,” Pharazon said. “Anyway, Hyren went with her as damage control.”

“He’s always damage control,” Terra said with a smile.

“Aye, and he’s good at it, too,” Isengrim said. He and the Grundo had a peculiar history that could at one time have been described as a mortal-enemy-hood. But bygones were bygones, and now Isengrim considered Hyren a brother and one of the most valuable allies the Werelupe King had.

Terra glanced around at their peculiar little party. “Where’s Celice, anyhow?” she asked. “An expedition like this is right up her alley.”

“My diplomat-conjurer couldn’t make it,” Isengrim said. “She wrote to tell me that she’s finishing writing a paper at Brightvale University.” He never could understand how some Neopets could sit among musty tomes, fussing over data and sources for weeks on end, when there was a whole wide world out there to see with one’s own eyes and smell with one’s own nose. 

But Lady Anfel had done immeasurable good for the Werelupe Woods, helping them keep peace with the surrounding kingdoms of the Meridell region, so Isengrim felt the sorceress knew what she was doing. “She assures me that Pharazon will be able to assist with this task just as well as she could, if not better,” he said.

“She’s also been spending a lot of time in Market Town lately,” Pharazon said, tossing a crust of bread to Gwyneth who devoured it in one bite. “Helping out Lord Kass.”

“Oh, right, the Black Keep incident,” Isengrim said. It was still hard to believe that earlier that year, Pharazon and Celice, along with a reformed Lord Kass and a grumpy but well-intentioned Jhudora, had averted a potential magical catastrophe at the old fortress of the Darkest Knight. 

“How is he getting on?” the Werelupe King asked. Kass had a redemption story almost as interesting as Isengrim’s own—suffice it to say the Darigan Eyrie was no longer under the Three’s influence, thanks to the little faerie Draik who stood before Isengrim now, biting into an apple.

“Quite well,” Pharazon said. “After Darigan pardoned him, Kass, Darigan, and Celice immediately set to work convincing King Hagan to let Kass occupy Black Keep. He’s been cleaning it up and restoring the buildings and grounds all summer, and it looks a lot better now than when I first laid eyes on it.”

Terra drew an apple from her own lunch sack. “I mean, it still looks like this ominous, Darigan-influenced, darkly-elegant tower of a castle. But in a liveable way now, instead of a decrepit ruin.”

“Sounds quite stylish indeed,” Isengrim said. “I shall have to pay him a visit one of these days and meet him in the flesh. I have heard good things about him.”

“He reminds me a lot of you in some respects,” Pharazon said. “I think you’d get along.”

Isengrim smiled. Pharazon had come so far from the sniveling coward who had first been carried to the Burrows with his owner several years ago. In such a short time, Pharazon had gone through so much—betrayal, mortal danger, a race against time, and some of the wickedest magic Isengrim had ever heard of. The things Pharazon had gone up against just reinforced why magic was not a power to be trifled with. That was why it both impressed and slightly unnerved the Werelupe King that Pharazon had begun to take up magic himself.

“Hey, maybe we can go to Market Town after we’re done in the Haunted Woods!” Terra said.

She opened her mouth to add something else, but the wind shifted and Isengrim picked up a new scent that made his thoughts stop in their tracks. Kindly but swiftly, he placed a paw on his owner’s shoulder to ask her to hold on so he could concentrate. She got the hint and fell silent, watching as he lifted his snout and turned his head to catch more of the scent and the direction in which it was coming.

Around him, his thanes did the same, and Gwyneth, whose nose was nearly as sensitive, joined in with a soft whuffling. The smell was faint, but unmistakeable, and the notes it carried wrenched at Isengrim’s gut.

“What is it?” Terra whispered.

“Werelupe,” Suhel said.

“Can you discern their intentions?” Terra asked. Her hand moved to the sword at her side, and Pharazon shuffled closer to her.

Isengrim frowned. “Fear. He is afraid.” It was really amazing just how much information a scent carried. One sniff could tell a Werelupe the identity of a creature, its gender, and even a good deal about any emotions it was experiencing. Auxiliary scents, such as perfume or clothing or things the subject had touched recently, were excellent clues to draw out even more information.

So this was definitely a male Werelupe, but he was too far away for much else to carry except the overwhelming smell of fear and sadness, and this worried Isengrim. One of his brethren was in trouble.

He crammed empty papers back in his lunch sack and deposited it in one of Gwyneth’s saddlebags. “Let’s go,” he barked. “Time is short in the Haunted Woods!”

“Yes, milord!” Suhel said. She and the other Werelupes mobilised, similarly taking care of the remnants of their lunches and making sure their weapons were secured.

Terra and Pharazon scrambled onto Gwyneth’s back, and as soon as Isengrim gave the signal, they took off through the Woods, following the scent. He kept them going at a quick pace as they stalked through the undergrowth on all fours, but short of an outright run—startling a Werelupe was never a good idea, and Isengrim did not want this to seem like they were on a hunt.

“Milord,” Suhel said as she crouched by his side, “what else do you smell?”

“Nothing,” Isengrim said. A glance over at her told him that she had reached the same conclusion. If this Werelupe was in danger, what was endangering him? Besides the usual background scents of the Woods, nothing jumped out at Isengrim as being the source of this new Werelupe’s fear.

“Might it be a trap?” a packmate asked from behind them.

Isengrim had them slow their pace as the smell intensified, which meant they were drawing nearer. “I pity whoever tries to trap a Werelupe,” he muttered. Then the thought came to him that this new Werelupe might be caught in a trap, and the surge of worry made him bite his tongue to keep from dashing recklessly to the rescue. Instead, he turned to Gwyneth, who had been loping close behind him. “What does our new conjurer discern?” he asked her owner. “Have you any sense of malevolence about this place?”

Pharazon closed his eyes and held out his hands, which glowed with a cyan aura. “Nothing outside the usual for the Haunted Woods,” he said. Suddenly he wrinkled his snout and stuck out his tongue. “I mean… well, something was wrong here earlier. But now it’s not—“

Isengrim drew a breath and his hackles rose. “He could be hurt. Come, we’ve not a moment to lose!” Drawing his sword just in case, he took point again as they stood on their hind paws and crept forward.

Soon, the sound of quiet, unsteady breathing made Isengrim’s ears perk. With one paw he motioned to keep moving as his mind raced. The breathing did not sound pained, so that was a good sign. But it was still off, interrupted by small whimpering sounds that Isengrim did not quite—no, that was sobbing, he realised. 

It took a lot to make a Werelupe cry, and now Isengrim was as curious as he was determined to help. He looked back at his pack to see them silently wondering about the same thing. Terra and Pharazon, with their mere human and Draik hearing, were in the aural dark and they gave him questioning looks. He smiled reassuringly before pushing through a break in the bushes.

On the other side was a spot where a tremendous conifer had once stood, its trunk large enough around to fit Gwyneth with some squeezing, and its roots stretching past other trees like a mess of ropes. When it was still alive, it surely would have towered over the rest of the nearby canopy.

But sometime long ago, some natural process such as lightning or rot had felled this mighty giant, leaving just the bottom few metres of trunk attached to the root system. Covered in moss and lichen, the splintered wood stretched toward the sky in futility like the jagged crown of a forgotten forest titan.

And the crying came from inside.

Chapter 1