Picking up from Part 2, which you can read here
On level ground and heading towards the clan’s land, the wolves move through the forest. As they slip through the trees, they note that the moon has moved along in the sky. it sinks behind the mountains behind them, out of sight, as they come across a river. Vegeir considers it, and notes the clear taste of the frigid water - And then remembers that it is the same as the water at home, that the river leads back to the Clan’s hold.
The wolves travel along the river beneath the now, moonless night, well on their way to their quest’s completion, and then a howl sounds in the distance. It is a call to gather, a howl to bring a pack together - But not their pack. Nonetheless, the wolfish instincts take over before any of them can arrest themselves, and they howl back in greeting - Only for the tone of the gathered wolves in the territory to shift suddenly, singing with confusion and curiosity, before the whole of the pack begins to come towards the new voices of intruders. They begin to run, not eager to be caught in the other pack’s territory, but find themselves trapped by a river, wide and strong, and not quite frozen over.
The details about the river are from another Behold the World roll. With players feral rising slowly, it’s not surprising that most of these are panning out as senses / instinct results with high wolf values, and more rational, human intuition based Blood results are rare.
Read on for the conclusion of my Wolfspell AP!
As I mentioned earlier, Wolfspell’s mechanics require that howls have meanings attached to them, but also that any wolf with Feral 1 or higher has to make a roll which comes up blood in order to not join in with a howl. This makes a single, distant wolf howl potentially a difficulty, but also, even when a wolf instinctively responds, they do get to choose what they say. In this case it leads to curiosity, but the pack realizes they might be trespassing and wants to avoid that conflict with a bigger pack.
With the other pack closing in from all sides, Inwyr looks desperately for a way out. As he turns towards the water, he notices the ice along the shore seems eerily clearer, his vision and scents crisper, and then watches a figure rise out of the ice - a pale human form wrapped in the lengths of its own hair. It asks, curiously, why the wolves are so agitated - And how the trio missed the pack’s scent markers throughout the treeline.
Inwyr explains that he and his companions were not wolves - That they had once been humans, who lived at the end of the river. The being - Inwyr realizes it must be some kind of river spirit - says that it could offer some assistance. It could freeze itself to allow the not-wolves across, but only if Inwyr swears a pact to it, that just as the spirit will now accept the cold into its own spring-warmed waters, Inwyr must later accept the cold into his own body.
I decide that with Inwyr’s mystical background I want to offer at least one supernatural encounter in the game, and the water spirit gives a good opportunity. The general idea is that in Wolfspell, blood results are better for any sort of magical task. However, there’s a suggestion for hidden, wilder magics which are more appropriate. The rule is for every wolf in the pack who howls with you (at the outset, not in response) you can move a point of feral from your Wolf to Blood die, and roll to bend the world to your will. I give this a shot, and since Inwyr’s player only has Feral 1, he’s content to howl himself. He ends up with 4+ Blood, which allowed him to solve the crisis by changing his environment. However, because he can’t choose every option, I rule that the pact cost him a little bit of his wolfishness and magical clarity, taking one of his points of feral away. That might be an odd take on him not selecting “You may lose 1 Feral, minimum zero” but I feel like there should be some (immediate) cost to his pact, regardless of how it comes to pass later on.
Inwyr agrees, but without his human faculties to cast spells, only one route remains to him - A howl. With his eerie crow-harsh voice he howls his will to the spirit, accepting the pact - And then hurries the other two wolves across the ice, escaping from the much larger, encroaching pack, whose territory they’ve violated.
As they bound across the snow, free to travel straight to the threatening encampment rather than crossing near their own village, the pack comes across grand, carved stones. They nearly pass them up without thought, only Vegeir pauses to inspect them. The ancient cut stone seems familiar, and Vegeir remembers the cairns that marked the edge of the clanhold, their own territory. Without pause, the pack moves towards the encampment of those who would threaten their lands.
The wolves move silently through the trees, circling around the road leading to the clanhold. There, they discover the encampment of Svelding and the rival clan - Whom the new king imagined he could dissuade, but had come sensing weakness in the clan, prepared to wipe them out. The three wolves split up to take a look around, observing from the trees and focusing on different parts of the encampment.
Jona gets an unusual Blood result, and asks what is to be feared here - Obviously, the soldiers, who seem to be lined up at the road, ready and waiting to march. Whatever hopes the new King had for peace are seemingly lost. Inwyr focuses on his instincts and seeks to discover where their leader is, seeing a beta of some kind from the soldiers going back towards the middle of the camp. Vegeir sniffs around the side, finding an out of the way copse of trees where patrolling guards go off to relieve themselves, hidden from their brethren.
Having gotten a feel for the lay of the land, the pack commits themselves to action, and throw themselves into peril to save their clan from the invaders - By removing Svelding from the picture, without resorting to armed conflict, and avoiding bringing down the clan’s curse on their heads.
From here on out, things are almost entirely peril based, with few Behold the World moves mixed in, which should be obvious.
The three wolves wait in the woods until another sentry pushes through the predawn light and vanishes from his fellows sight around the copse of trees. Vegeir moves in first, leaping at the man and trying to take him down, but struggling to do more than grasp him before Jona pounces in above, landing on the man and tearing at his throat. Inwyr takes up the rear, bounding past the carnage and up onto the pile of logs to scout out the encampment, finally locating their alpha’s den - the tent where the general resides.
Despite their quiet removal of one sentry, the pack has to cross open ground to reach the tent. Before any of the sentries can take notice they bolt across - their presence raises much confusion, but not, at first, alarm. The lone guard posted outside their target doesn’t even have time to draw his sword before Jona is upon him, tearing into his arm and leaving him dazed and bloody in the snow outside, before the trio push into the Svelding’s tent.
Inside, a huge man wrapped in iron stands, a smaller human assisting him. The smaller one draws a sword and levels it at Vegeir, who calls on a brief moment of clarity, leaping forward to grab the arm and shake the weapon loose from his hands. Jona and Inwyr move to confront the huge man, despite the fact that this seems a terrible threat, and their pack is not entirely whole with Vegeir struggling with the youth.
The pair of them manage to drive him off, but at cost. He reaches for an immense axe, and puts the haft into Jona’s snapping jaws, before mightily hefting the wolf and throwing her and the axe down, breaking a nearby cot. He dashes out the door past Inwyr, but Inwyr’s teeth can do little to the metal graves, except be pained upon them.
With the youth cowering away, Vegeir is ready to move again and the pack chases out into the snow, running down their quarry. Jona is still bright and fast, recovering and outpacing the others to run down and tackle Svelding, as arrows fly and land before the other wolves, stopping them in their tracks. Jona collides with the general and sends him tumbling, seemingly the victor, until Svelding’s runic knife suddenly lances into her thigh and hobbles her.
The flash of runes catch Inwyr’s eye. He’s heard of this blade, a blade of tyrants, only fit for (yet dangerously effective at) slaying those who have taken a life. With the clarity of pack communication, Inwyr warns the others, and as the two bowmen ready arrows and Svelding begins to scrabble towards the limping Jona, all three burst into action.
Jona howls at one of the bowmen, then summons her strength to try and charge. Her ferocity throws the man’s aim and rattles his courage, and though she isn’t moving fast for a wolf, she still hobbles past him and into the camp, and then out into the woods.
Vegeir too tries to charge a bowman, but he is not so lucky. As he bounds past the man, half the world has gone dark, and the haft of an arrow sprouts from one eye socket.
Behind them both, Inwyr crashes into Svelding. A wild stab of the knife, by chance or magic, seems to scrape right across the wolf’s breastbone, harmless. A twisting, gnashing contest of man and wolf ensues, and unnaturally clever jaws prevail. Inwyr rolls off to reveal Svelding’s own dagger lodged in his throat, and while he stumbles for a moment, he too disappears out of the camp and into the woods, leaving the general of the army dead in the snow, chaos and confusion spreading through the camp.
Separated but mostly whole, the wolves vanish into the woods one by one. Each alone, they drag their haggard selves back, drawn towards the nearest of the cairn stones they passed not an hour before.
This is Wolfspell’s best move. Each of the spells has a different take on it, but in general, when the spell is lifted, you make a roll, and add modifiers unique to that spell. In our case, the move is rolled at morning’s light, and you must add +1 to the blood die for each enemy of the clan you’ve slain in the night. While Jona adds the most to her roll, even Inwyr adds at least one. Two players roll Blood 1 results, and another Blood 2 . The spell ends for all of them, returning them to human form, but two of them are forever sundered from human society by the experience, their experience this night marking them forever, while the last is still plagued by dreams of the wolfspell.
As true daylight rises over the mountains, three humans, the echoes of a pack between them, drag themselves out of the snow. Each wars only a woven necklace as they gather around the cold cairn. Jona, her necklace supporting a broken hilt, is there waiting for the other two, but unable to stand properly. Vegeir is half mangled, an eye and ear lost, troll’s ears dangling against his chest. Inwyr seems almost fine, the strips of leather on his necklace bloodsoaked, much like the rest of them.
In each other’s eyes, the three of them can see relief at their accomplishment, but no pride. Even that hides behind the deep sense of loss, the missing hole they instantly recognize and know as their own, and shared, burden. Suddenly there’s a sharp cry, and they look to Inwyr, one of his arms pale white, trembling with pain. He’s looking at it, unsure what might happen, if he might lose it.
The trio gathers around him, all comforting one another, supporting one another, as they begin to head back towards the village. Some of them know they can’t stay among the clan they saved, but all of them know they've been forever marked by the Wolfspell.
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