Toothy Pupper

[FennWenn]

((Thanks to Andy for the idea! Also, this is a solo.))


Frost Fae do not catch colds.

At least, that was what Fenn had told himself many, many times as he slogged his way through Bradbury in the summer heat. And yet, he couldn't deny the mucus he had to snort back up every two minutes to keep it from dripping down his face. Nor could he deny how lackluster his usual chill was - worrisomely, he skin was only slightly below the typical temperature for a human. For him, that was dangerously feverish. Worry made his breathing ragged and scratchy on his throat. Or was that just another symptom of the sickness?

Despite his illness, he refused to stop pressing onward. He couldn't. Fenn was in the middle of a long stretch of unoccupied land between two cities. Out here amid a great patch of parched prairie, he had no shelter, no safe place to rest his weary legs. The tall yellow grass tickled his chin and bugs prickled his legs and feet with impunity. He stared up at the cloudless skies, thirsty for a mere moment of shade. The grass was hard to work his way through; it was too tall to peer over. Jumping gave him a glimpse of the landscape around, but Fenn was in no mood to bounce about.

One never knew what kind of men or monsters would be willing to take advantage of a “child” like him lying vulnerable out in the open. Fenn had once experienced a rough encounter with bandits willing to do just that, when he was out snoring in the snows of Salvar.

One moment Fenn was a free Fae, the next, he was a slave. He was in no hurry to repeat the experience.

There was a prickling on the back of his neck, all his hairs standing up on end. It was as if he had a pair of unseen eyes upon him. Fenn shuddered and wiped the sweat from his brow, noting uncomfortably that it was barely even cold, let alone frozen. This dirt-cracking, skin-searing heat helped neither his fever nor mood.

Without a warning, something big lurched through the grass nearby, making it whisper and hiss. Fenn's ears twitched in the direction of the sound. He tightened his grip on his satchel’s strap. Just as his intuition has promised, he wasn't alone out here.

[FennWenn]

A moment of perfect quiet ensued. Fenn held his breath as simply stood in place, listening hard. He wondered if the sound had been of his imagination. Cautiously, he tried a step forward, flinching as the grass whispered and revealed his location to anyone nearby.
In response, the prairie to his left shivered. Fenn stood paralyzed, waiting to see what this intruder was. It parted the grass cautiously and peered out at him. His heart jolted in shock at what it was.

That was the biggest fucking wolf Fenn had ever seen.

Intense crimson eyes met Fenn's glassy green; both creatures stopped, snared for seconds by the foreign gaze. Each froze for a moment. They were both intrigued by the oddity of the other. Fenn stared up at the night-black direwolf, taking in the fact that it was at least a head taller than him, and that was just when it was down on all fours.

It's slightly skeletal face twisted into a triumphant snarl, appraising Fenn as if he was a hunk of meat. Actually, he supposed that really was what the direwolf was thinking.

As the beast bared its pinkish bloodstained teeth at him, Fenn backed up. The possible ways of dealing with this rapidly ticked through his mind. His ice magic was down - stupid fever - so that wasn't an option. It could probably outrun him with ease as well, so nix running as his first option, though it was a good backup. That left his Glamour.
Before it could make a move on him, Fenn clenched his hands into fists and squeezed his eyes shut. A chill wind swirled around him and solidified into the illusion of his choice, shrouding him from sight.

To the eye of an outsider, he had suddenly become a muscular harecat with a handsome tawny coat, his kneejerk form for intimidation.

Thought the wolf startled and skittered back a foot into the grass, it did not back down. Its ears flattened to its head. Angry spittle flecked its fully-displayed teeth as it stared back at the harecat Glamour, challenging it. That wouldn't do.
Fenn fearsomely swung his head forward and stamped his foot on the ground in warning, and his illusion mirrored his movements. In reply, wolf yipped and lunged forward, jaws snapping. It tore through his Glamour as easily as one might shred a piece of tissue. Fenn ducked and flattened himself to the dirt as the flabbergasted wolf sailed overhead. There was a heavy whump as its landed, and it got up with a guttural growl, shaking the dust off of its coat.

Shit. He didn't think another attempt at a Glamour would fool the wolf. As it growled in confusion and swung around to face him again, Fenn was already pushing himself back to his feet and taking off.

When in doubt, flee!

The grass flew past him in yellow streaks, and he could heard the wolf thundering after him. Fear allowed him to push himself much harder than he normally would be able to in this state, and his lungs burned in protest. It was a surprise that the beast wasn't catching up already.

Abruptly, the grass ended, replaced only by a cracked patch of dirt. Near the center was a grayish tree. Its bark was rough and peeling; it was long dead.
Good enough for him! Fenn dashed up to it and hoisted himself up onto the lowest branch with some difficulty. The direwolf exploded out of the prairie and galloped limpingly after him. A cold dread filled Fenn and he lifted himself up onto the next branch with a tired gasp, and then the next.

The wolf panted and snarled up at him. Even standing up on its hind legs, it wasn't able to reach Fenn. His tree shook with the weight of the direwolf pressing against it, snapping fruitlessly for Fenn, unable to climb up after him. He pressed himself to the trunk of the tree, his heart pounding as twigs and withered leaves rained from the branches above. After a lot of barking and scratching at the bark, the wolf gave up and collapsed to the ground, whimpering softly to itself.

That suited Fenn just fine. The weary kid stuck his tongue out at the beast and tried to ignore how hard his hands shook. He closed his eyes, his feverishness filling his mind with a soupy fog, drowning out the despondent whining of the wolf beneath him.

There, he lay leaning against the trunk, his arms wrapped around himself comfortingly. As his jitters subsided and his breathing evened out, Fenn dozed off. That, had been exhausting.

[FennWenn]

When Fenn next woke up, his back was stiff from his awkward position in the branches of the tree, and his mouth was sticky and dry. The sun was high, indicating afternoon. He couldn't tell if it was still the same afternoon or if he’d been out for a solid day. It wasn’t terribly unusual for him to sleep that long.
The boy sneezed and rubbed his runny nose groggily, giving a frowning glance over the edge of his branch. That damn direwolf was still lying near the base of the tree.

It hadn't moved an inch since Fenn had first nodded off.

Fenn took a water flask from his bag and uncorked it with a frustrated scowl, taking a sip of the tepid liquid. It smacked of metal and snot. He was tempted to spit it out, but his sore throat was painfully raspy, and the only other drink he had in his satchel was a flask of wine he was saving for a special occasion. Now was not the time to get tipsy. His fever surely made him delirious enough as it was.

The Fae sighed and peered at the ground below once more. The wolf lay flopped over in the grass, the tongue lolling out of her mouth as she panted in the relentless midday heat. Fenn thought “she” because he saw on her none of the… features… that a male would have. Curiously, there was a wide gash on her flank that he hadn't noticed before, caked with dried blood and white pus. Ew. It looked like she had a rough time of it before running into Fenn - what sort of creature could maul a direwolf like that was anyone's guess. Who knew how long she had laid there like that while he had slept, overheating and waiting as her wound festered more and more.

She lifted her head and looked back up at him listlessly, her ears pricking up. Obviously, Fenn figured, the beast was still ravenous and praying her meal would come down sooner or later.

Did she have a taste for people, or was she just desperate? He probably wouldn't taste much like a human would, he mused loopily to himself, peering at the faint grey outlines of his blood vessels under his skin. Fenn wondered if his weird blood would affect his taste. He hoped vehemently that it was a badly bitter taste. It would be annoying if the furry bleeding mess camping under his tree found him delicious, were it that she ever got her paws on him.

Now that he thought about it, weren't wolves supposed to come in packs? He reckoned that even direwolves had families. To see this one slumming it out on her own like this was uncanny and a little depressing, in that it reminded him of his own “family”-
No, no, Fenn scolded himself, slapping a palm to his forehead. He would not sympathize with the wolf, and he would not think about his long-gone family of thieves. This beast sitting below was very ready to tear him limb from limb and use his bones as toothpicks.

Yet, he peered over the branch back down at her, biting his lip uncertainly. The “beast” merely laid motionless in the dust. Fenn reached over and rattled one of the tree branches loudly, but there was little reaction from her other than a whimper. Good doggy? Half-dead doggy… If his fever hadn't put a damper on his ice magic, he would consider dropping a really big chunk of ice down on her head just to put the thing out of her misery.

If she wasn’t well enough to make chase, maybe this was a good time for a getaway.

He went very slowly as he took the tree by its rough branches and clambered down, in part because he was tired, in part because he wasn’t fully sure that the direwolf wouldn't snap back to wakefulness and gobble him up. It was still a very real possibility.
His feet touched the loose dirt, and he gleefully stretched and scrunched his toes in it. What a relief it was to be on the ground again! Fenn took a moment to catch his breath and check the wolf. Her eyes were half-open and tracking his movement, but she made no move to get up and pursue him.

Yes! Freedom! Fenn pumped his tiny fists in the air and weakly scurried off into the grass, excited to finally be freed from the tyranny of the vicious direwolf-
Who interrupted his victory run with some very loud, very pained baying. It caused him to flinch and clap his hands over his ears, stopping him short in his flight. He couldn't help but glance over his shoulder at the wolf. She was more awake now. Her breathing was labored, and her bright eyes bored into him, wide and pleading.

It made him hesitate. Not because she was making puppy eyes - as someone who occasionally exploited cuteness himself, he was mostly immune to it. But her situation was pretty pitiful. In her current state of helplessness, she reminded him uncomfortably of himself. Fenn turned away, adjusting the strap of his bag so he wouldn't have to look at her. A funny idea nagged at him. It was stupid. It wouldn't benefit him. Hell, it might get him killed. But at the same time, his heart was not ice. Besides, what fun was life without a little risk?

He didn't know if it was the fever talking or his conscience, but he decided to go with it. Sick as he was getting, he might well be done for before he ever reached civilization again anyway.

An unbalanced grin of his face, Fenn started off away from the tree. He had some plants to gather.

[FennWenn]

The wolf was quite still by the time he stumbled back, the front pockets of his bag filled with herbs and seeds.

For a little bit, he was afraid that he had done all that trekking and picking for nothing. His mouth fell open in concern as he crept over and kneeled next to her. Fenn gently laid his head against her dusty chest, listening; she was breathing, but shallowly.

Good. Still alive. Fenn set his satchel down and rummaged through it. He pulled out some assorted strips of colorful fabric; something he had snitched from a seamstress a while back. They were what he used as “bandages” in a pinch. Next, he pulled the plants he had picked out of the satchel pockets and set them on the fabric. It was a wide assortment of herbs he remembered from his time as a wild child in Concordia. He used to test all sorts of plants on himself in small, cautious doses, discovering what helped and what harmed. That sort of curiosity had helped him figure out how to keep himself alive out in the wilds, and it would help him again here.

Little black poppy seeds for pain, bright orange calendula petals to deal with the infection, and echinacea root in case the calendula wasn't enough. He would have to hide the poppy seeds in something for her to eat, and the other two would have to be mashed into a paste and applied to the wounds directly. But first, the wounds needed to be cleaned.

He once more took the flask of water out of his bag and bit his lip in thought. Though he was reluctant to use the last of it on this, at least it was going to a worthy cause; he still had the wine later if he needed it. Fenn gently poured it onto the direwolf’s injury, bracing himself for her reaction. Surely enough, the wolf twitched and yowled loudly. He winced at the sound, his ears pressing to his head to block out the noise as he used the water to wash the blood and pus out of her fur. Her muscles tightened and quivered under his hands.

Fenn gave the wolf a nervous grin as she glowered back at him. Hopefully, she would understand that he was helping moreso than hurting.

Time passed by in a whirl as he worked. The poppy seeds were slipped into a hunk of dried jerky he had in his bag, and the petals and roots were mashed into a pasty mush using a few flat rocks and the last of his water. He applied the “poultice” to the wounds carefully and wrapped the longer strips of fabric around the wolf’s flank just to seal them up.

Satisfied that his self-designated patient was good to go, Fenn scooted a step back to admire his work and sniffled tiredly. Haphazard as his bandaging was, he knew it wasn't much, but he hoped it would do the job.

Exhaustion overcame him. When he had first begun aiding the direwolf, the afternoon sun had been blazing high in the sky. It was now kissing the horizon. He collapsed next to the wolf and crawled onto her back, watching streaks of sunset waver across the sky. She cracked open an eye as well and gazed at him warmly, sniffing the poppy-seed-laced jerky he left out for her. It was promptly licked up in one bite. Her tail thumped the dusty ground as they waited for night to fall.

I guess I took care of you then, he mused, running a hand through her thick fur. Weakness seeped into his bones. Now how am I going to take care of myself?

The last thing Fenn remembered of that night was lying on her back, his arms wrapped comfortably around her neck and his face buried in her musky scruff.

[FennWenn]

Though Fenn slept, the wolf did not. She had her fill of sleeping when she was waited at the base of the tree. Instead, she contemplated the tiny being nestled on top of her, her feelings mixed. Her hunger was strong, but the small one with the big eyes had given her small scraps of strange meat and had made her pain tolerable again.

Now, she was thirsty. The poppy seeds had done their work, but the salt on the jerky had made her throat drier than ever. Water was a must. There was a place nearby where she could find it.

After standing up, the wolf found that the little Fae was still on top of her back. It perplexed her. For a moment, she spun around to try and get a good look at him. Eventually, she gave up and went on her way, allowing him to remain. She slowly trotted along, very conscious of the small being clinging to her. For the first mile, the direwolf seemed particularly concerned, stepping lightly and shaking herself gently as if to check and make sure he was still there.

Fenn only sweated with fever and grasped the scruff of her neck ever-more tightly as the trek went on.

It wasn't long until they came to a marshy area in the prairie, sustained by a large pond with murky water. At the edge of the moonlit pool, she shook herself hard and wiggled out of Fenn's tight sleeping embrace. He fell into the squishy weeds without so much as a peep, still out like a light.
The direwolf took the opportunity to wet her tongue with the pond water. Once she had her drink, she stretched and slipped back into the grass with a wanting look back at the Fae. A night of hunting was in order.

[FennWenn]

The next thing Fenn knew was that he laid on a soggy, swampy piece of ground. Water had soaked through the front of his shirt and breeches. He peeled his face out of the squashy tan marsh weeds, looking up at the sludgy pond sitting a few inches away from his face.

His arm was, to his dismay, partially in the water. The first reaction he had was to jerk it out of the pond and brush at his skin in attempt to dislodge the chips of ice that had inevitably formed.
Problem was, there was no ice, and his hands merely slapped at the empty air. There were bare pinpricks of frost on his skin, which thankfully indicated that his fever was going down. Unfortunately, that meant his dripping mucus was going to start freezing to his face. You just couldn't win.

Moving so suddenly made Fenn's skull throb; damn congestion. He sucked in a deep breath and gripped the spongey earth under his hands, trying to orient himself. Where was he?

A sharp bark from behind caught his attention. Fenn sniffled and turned his head in the direction of the call.

The wolf from yesterday stood not two feet away; how freaking resilient was she, being up and about like this so soon after he had treated that festering wound? The crusty makeshift bandages were still wrapped around her flank. Held gingerly in her maw was a pheasant with the head bit off, still dripping with fresh blood. She set it at his feet and barked at him again. Fenn’s headache made thinking a chore, but there was one thing he knew at that moment; the dumb dog had decided they were pack mates or something, that much was obvious. Silent giggles wracked Fenn. What a funny twist of fate!
She needed a name, he decided. Daugi was the first idea that popped into his brain, and the phonetic hilarity made sure that it was also the last.

The direwolf leaned forward to licked his cold cheek and and nudged the headless pheasant closer to him. Fenn curiously poked it with one hand. She seemed excited when he did, sitting a little taller and thumping her tail against the ground with more enthusiasm. Gray blush rose to his cheeks as he considered the dead bird in front of him. It seemed that Daugi had decided to hunt for him. What was he, a baby chick? Fenn snorted and shook his head at the wolf, gently pushing it back to her despite the hunger gnawing at him. He still had some crackers and dried meat left over in his satchel; he could make do with that. Better than raw bird any day.

Daugi narrowed her eyes in displeasure and nudged the pheasant to him again insistently. When Fenn tried to push it back, she bared her teeth at him.

He was reminded once more that she was a very large and hungry being with a crushing bite. Meekly, the Fae picked the dead bird up, and the wolf leaned forward with watchful expectation. There was no way out of this, was there? His nose nose crinkled in disgust, Fenn brought the pheasant to his lips and bit into it. Lukewarm blood ran down his chin, and he shuddered at the mild tang of iron in the taste. It made his mouth warm and itchy.

Satisfied with his acceptance of her offering, Daugi trotted over to the pond and began lapping up big gulps of water.
When she wasn't looking, Fenn stuffed the pheasant into the tall grass nearby, spitting out feathers and wiping his mouth on his sleeve. The weirdly raw taste of the thing wouldn't leave him for a long time he knew.

He startled as Daugi tromped back over and flopped over next to him, firmly setting her head in his lap. She wasn't leaving him either.

[FennWenn]

You dumb dog. I am not your pup.

Fenn traipsed out of the rough marsh and back into the prairie, feeling a bit better for the rest he had gotten and the meager meal he had munched but a little bit ago. While at the pond, he had refilled his water flask and gotten a drink himself. The water was gritty and tasted of mud, but hey, water was water. He sniffed and wiped a frozen stream of snot off of his face with disgust.

And all the livelong way was Daugi the direwolf, shadowing Fenn's every movement like he was some sort of chick under the watch of mama hen.

He found himself glancing over his shoulders every so often. To have a stalker of sorts was an uncomfortable and unusual experience, even if she was friendly. Biting at the dirt under a ragged fingernail, Fenn pondered as to what, exactly, he was supposed to do with a direwolf. He didn’t think he’d ever have enough meat on hand to feed her, though he supposed the pheasant showed that she could hunt for herself. An airy sigh escaped his lips as he turned about to face the wolf.

Daugi stopped her creeping and blinked up at him with those big, red eyes. She sniffed the air uneasily. Most people would consider her skeletal, angular face a frightening thing to behold, but Fenn was adjusting to the sight. Hell, maybe it was a little comforting now. Just a lonely beast guarding his side.
Damnit, be frozen you melting heart. The Fae huffed and turned away from the direwolf, who toed her way through the whispering grass to nudge his back with an anxious whine. Stop cooing over your new puppy. I’m too damn far away from civilization and too low on supplies to mess around like this, and on top of that, I’m kinda sick still. If I didn’t have to walk-

That was it. He didn't have to walk.

There was a muted smirk on Fenn's face as he scratched Daugi on the chin and took a gander at her massive form. It was daunting, but…
The direwolf accepted the affectionate scratchies and waited, perplexed and rather patient, as Fenn clambered onto her back. Mounting her was no easy feat; it took a bit of climbing and a few times falling off the other side before Fenn got the hang of it. By the time he was comfortably atop her, he was covered in bits of grass and dusted with pale dirt. There was this nice little hollow between Daugi’s shoulder blades and neck that happened to be a perfect place for him to perch. His touch spread a thick frost across her coat, but she didn't seem to mind.

Afterward, he just sort of sat there, wondering what to do next.

Taming the direwolf had been so easy as to have been accidental. Training her, however, left quite a bit to be desired. How Fenn was going to convince his new fluffy friend to move in the direction he desired, he had no idea.
Daugi had her own ideas of where to go. Once Fenn was settled on her back, she straightened up and began padding forward, her tongue still lolling dopily out of her mouth and her nose sniffing the air with an unusual sort of urgency. He scowled down at her and buried his face in her fur. This was not how it was supposed to go; the rider should be the one calling the shots!

Fenn tugged gingerly on her scruff and the wolf awkwardly tilted her head back to look up at him. Seeming a little sheepish about the whole thing, Fenn gestured towards the left, quietly willing for her to turn. There was a city that way, if he recalled correctly. But, Daugi didn’t quite seem to get it at first. She sniffed his hand and continued trotting off in the direction she had been going before, even faster than before.
Internally, Fenn groaned. This whole riding business wasn’t so simple as it seemed like it should be; hop on the dog and ride off.

Maybe he needed to think his plans through a little more thoroughly next time.

He gently squeezed her sides with his ankles, trying to catch the wolf’s attention. She gave him a glance back and took him aback by began enthusiastically loping forward, going faster than Fenn was prepared to handle. This. Now this was riding. His hands clutched fistfuls of Daugi’s black fur and his legs wrapped tightly around her barrel chest, all just to keep ahold of her.

A tug on her scruff caused her to bark and shift in the indicated direction - she seemed to finally be understanding what Fenn was trying to do. Now he was getting the hang of this! The wind hollered in his ears, which pressed flat to the sides of his skull in an effort to block out the harsh noise. It stung his oversized eyes, making them tear up and squint against the gale. It got into his awestruck open mouth, tasting of dust and sun-baked soil. Were he able to produce a sound, Fenn might have whooped or yelled in elation. Thankfully, Daugi’s occasional echoing WUFF expressed his wonder for him.

Fenn's exhilaration began to wear off as Daugi’s barks shifted into angry growls, and her ears flattened to the side of her head. She picked up the pace. Something was wrong. Something was after them. The grass behind them fluttered and parted, the unwelcome guests responding to Daugi’s hostility with low growls of their own.

The Fae hunkered down on Daugi’s back, grinding his teeth together. That put a damper on things.

[FennWenn]

This whole chase smacked of deja vu. The last time Fenn had been pursued so adamantly, he had accidentally befriended his pursuer. Somehow, he doubted it would work out like that this time.

The grass became shorter as they approached the edge of the prairie. Three tawny wolffish creatures seemed to rise up from it. They were easily recognizable to Fenn; Draves. His heart skipped a beat. They were near Daugi’s size - which was to say “damn huge” - beady-eyed and rather loud. Their growls crescendoed into a chorus of snarls and baying.

One thing their crazy-big paws did not lend to so much was speed. Even carrying Fenn, Daugi was just fast enough to stay ahead of the pack. They were on a ragged-breathed, full-out gallop, bouncing Fenn up and down on her back. His hands dug into her fur and held onto her scruff tightly, just barely keeping on. He glanced down at Daugi’s flank. That wound had been the right size for a Drave’s claw slash. Perhaps these guys had been responsible for her injury and loneliness. Multiple packs of predators in an area made for harsh competition, he figured with a wince.

Fenn could feel his direwolf’s fear and desperation. It lurked just under her skin, shown only in her ever-more-anxious barking and the slightest tension
Her wound wasn't fully healed yet. Putting this much effort into running was hurting her.

Fenn gritted his teeth together and glared back at the draves. He had better do something to help.

With his right hand still gripping Daugi, Fenn took his left and lifted it up. Frost flickered and danced eagerly across his fingertips. Since his magic was back on, he might as well do something with it. He crushed his fingers together. Between them and his palm, a solid chunk of crystalline ice formed and thickened.

Fenn hurled the fist-sized shard over his shoulder with what little might he had, back towards their pursuers. It cracked the drave leading the charge right between the eyes. The drave startled and fell behind, shaking its head frantically. It’s family slowed down a little with it, confused. Daugi wuffed mockingly back at them. Score!

At the edges of the prairie, where the grass became greener and barely foot-high, Daugi began wheezing and faltering herself. Her galloping became crooked limping. They passed into thick meadowy grass, certain that the draves were bearing down on them. The direwolf couldn't keep that pace for much longer.

Oddly enough though, the barks seemed more distant now. Why weren't the drave catching up.

Fenn peered back as they grinded to a halt, Daugi taking huge gasps of air and flopping into the meadows with a shudder.
Were draves normally territorial? These ones were, at least; they weren't going beyond the tall grass. They victoriously bayed at the direwolf, seeming satisfied at having driven her out of the prairie. Having caught her breath, Daugi wuffed back neutrally. Her tail waved back and forth in pure relief. Fenn grinned and patted her on the head, scratching her behind the ears. Good Daugi.

They got up and trotted off, spent, but ready to face the day. Together.

Requested “spoil”; Daugi the Direwolf Pupper as a companion/familiar/mount for Fenn. If she can’t be granted right now - I know that level one people can only have three abilities, and familiars count kind of as abilities - then would it be cool if I used her only as a mount until my first level-up?


Familiar: Daugi the Direwolf Pupper
During his travels, a sick Fenn encountered an injured and packless direwolf. Desperate for a meal, she chased him up a tree and collapsed. Once he got over his initial terror, Fenn took pity on her and nursed her back to health. In turn, she evidently decided that he was a better packmate than a snack, taking him in and allowing the tiny Fae to ride on her back.


As it stands, Daugi is a hulking beast of raw muscle and floofy black fur, who is a few heads taller than Fenn when she is down on all fours. Her eyes are a bloodshot red. Fenn uses her as a mount, which allows him to travel far more swiftly than he did on foot.
She tends to stay within a fifty-foot radius of him at all times, the exception being when Fenn goes into an urban area. Then, she wanders off for a bit in order to hunt. His brass whistle can be used as a call for her if he blows loud enough.


Battle Abilities - Daugi has become rather protective of the little Fae in her charge. Having no magical powers of her own, Daugi fights with her raw physical strength. Her claws aren’t made for scratching but her snaggletoothed maw gives aggressors reason to think twice before crossing Fenn. The direwolf’s bite can snap bones and inflict heavy wounds if Fenn allows her to go all-out.
Note; she cannot be used in Citadel battles.

[Storm Veritas]

This was a really fun, easy-reading short story which I enjoyed a great deal. It’s obvious that although your character is new, your writing ability is very well developed, and I will definitely be reading anything I see little Fennik involved in moving forward.

Plot: 20

A good score in story requires three things. First, the story needs to progress in time and location. Second, it needs to develop to hold the reader’s interest. Third, it should be original, creative, and authentic.

Story: (6/10)

The story itself here was extremely simplistic. The finding of trouble early, the showdown with Daugi, the rescue of the pathetic wolf and then the union of the two new friends was clearly a story written with a singular purpose in mind – to get yourself a familiar moving forward.

Your storytelling ability Is extremely strong, and you made a very basic plot feel interesting. With that said, as we compare the complexity of this thread to other threads, you didn’t stretch yourself very far to tell an elaborate or particularly engaging tale. In the hands of a lesser writer, this plot alone might have made for some real problems.


Setting: (9/10)

Your ability to set the table for your characters environment is outstanding. I felt the fever through your character, and really could picture and enjoy the relatively barren landscape. Being able to make the plains seem interesting is not easy, but you did it in stride.

All five senses are nearly universally accounted for, without the feeling that an author is simply checking off boxes to keep their score up. The only reason I couldn’t score you higher is that the environment itself was not particularly engaging.


Pacing: (5/10)

I think pacing is generally a strength for you, in that your threads move quickly and smoothly, leaving the reader wanting more. Unfortunately, in a sea of strengths, if I had to pick a spot that could have been stronger, it would be pacing within the constructs of this thread.

There were several places where your desire to push ahead left me a little bit confused, and I had to go back because I had missed a critical detail. You often paint detailed, beautiful images around a simple, minor action, but then glance over a major action.

Because you also use skipping intentionally, it leaves some holes in the character’s motivation, which based on our rubric hits you twice.


Character: 18

The largest message here is that you’ve already convinced me that I –adore- little Fenn. He’s cute, he’s kind hearted, smart, brave, and incredibly likeable. The little tic in this thread that confused me a bit was that I don’t always understand his motivation. His bravery for the sake of Daugi was really impressive, which created a challenge.

Communication: (5/10)

This was a very, very difficult category for me to score. You did a really fine job in a thread almost devoid of communication.

There was absolutely no dialogue in this thread, leaving communication to be solely non-verbal. Worse, the non-verbal communication was not between two characters of the same species, so only the most basic, intuitive communication tactics could be used.

In spite of these severe limitations, you did a nice job showing the interactions between characters as a form of communicating. The fact that both characters were extremely ill allowed for the empathy of both characters to shine through at different points, although it hamstrung communication when the two characters took turns being unconscious.

The interaction of Fenn scratching Daugi’s chin, and hopping on his back was really sweet. I might suggest trying to inject a smile of facial expressions, or open palms to show off that Fenn meant peace towards the animal, who instinctively was likely to be very aggressive.

Action: (6/10)

Aside from the pacing issue I already addressed, action is an arena where you show an obvious mastery. Perhaps some of your magic use as Fenn could be clarified a bit with more detail, however there is never a doubt as to precisely what is going on in the thread.

The details around using real life herbs (opium, echinacea, etc.) to heal the wolf was a brilliant stroke. I thought this thread was tremendous, although you capped it by having your genius little elf fall asleep on a sick, previously wildly hostile dog. I felt like a rude person in the movie theater here, screaming at little Fenn to get back up in the tree to be safe!

The battles here were short chases, both abruptly ended with escapes, however they both created very good tension and were enjoyable conflicts. I don’t think as a reader I had any doubt that Daugi and Fenn would easily outpace the Draves, however the scene was finely described and lots of fun.

Persona: (7/10)

Between Fenn’s sickness, his mercy, and his courage, I was absolutely drawn in to him.

He was also extremely trusting, falling asleep on the dire wolf would (you’d expect) make him a fine snack food. I would have expected him to get to safety after pulling together the medicines; this scene felt like a huge imbalance of intelligence and naiveté.

I look forward to learning more about this charming little fellow in future threads.

Prose: 23

Clearly your strongest area. You’re a great writer, and I love reading your work.

Mechanics: (9/10)

I found precisely one error. In post six you wrote “nose nose crinkled”, likely unspotted because the word “nose” is at the end of one line and the beginning of the next.

At the risk of being too simplistic, your mechanics are largely terrific. I’m sorry I can’t help you much here.


Clarity: (7/10)

For the most part, your clarity is great. Reading the stage being set is an absolute joy. Digesting the actions of your characters is a ton of fun and I enjoy every minute.

The only place I would recommend changing is the use of internal monologue. Your use of monologue is in line with narrative, which feels out of place because it looks at first glance like an unexpected error. From writing here, I’ve stolen the idea of separating monologue more clearly. I use a line break and italics, but simple parentheses also does the job.

As an example, take your line from post 7:

“The water was gritty and tasted of mud, but hey, water was water.”

You shift here from the narrative voice to Fenn’s in mid sentence here, which changes the tonality of your narrative voice. Consider reformatting this monologue to either:

“The water was gritty and tasted of mud.

Hey, water is water.”

or “The water was gritty and tasted of mud, but Fenn considered ‘hey, water is water.’”

Or “the water was gritty and tasted of mud.” (Hey, water is water)

I know I’m beating the point to death, but there isn’t much here to try to fix.

Technique: (7/10)

Your work here is smooth, has a consistent voice, a tempo and a great vibe. I love reading this type of work and as a reader that is absolutely critical. You do a great job engaging the reader. A longer thread would likely afford you more opportunity to develop symbolism, foreshadowing, or metaphor, as would a human or elf partner offer you the ability to employ more sophisticated techniques related to dialogue.

Wildcard: 6/10

This thread was below average for complexity, but WAY above average in terms of ease in reading and smooth flow. I can’t wait to read more from you!

Total Score: 67

[Rayleigh]

Congratulations, Fenn!

You receive 950 EXP, 150 GP, and your mount!