The Dellern Bar

I stepped into a peculiar bar on a stormy night with rain thundering against the rooftop. The interior was a dark, polished wood, mirroring the building itself. A dozen patrons, scattered throughout, gave the place an air of subdued mystery. The heavy scent of wet dogs and hot chocolate was pervasive.

"Only werewolves could get drunk on hot chocolate," I mused, eyes scanning the room.

In a back corner, a solitary figure caught my attention. I approached, and the figure – a robust werewolf with piercing eyes – gestured for him to sit. "You must be Alex," the werewolf said, “I am Ethan; Jeff told me about your condition.”

“Waiter,” Ethan barked at the waiter, waving her over with clawed hands. “Two pints of your finest darkest chocolates.”

I went to speak, but Ethan cut me off with a wave of his hands. “Wait for the waiter, no need for them to come into the middle of our conversation.”

It was only a minute or two before the waiter returned with the drinks. 

“A toast to knowledge,” Said Ethan, raising his glass

“To understanding,” I added, raising mine to his, and this, we drank.

“Jeff said that you are an expert in werewolf shapeshifting and specialize in its disorders,” I said.

“I do specialize in transformation disorders. I have helped many werewolves, whether delayed transformation, prolonged transformation, or deformation during transformation. But I will not be able to help you.” Ethan said.

“What do you mean you won’t be able to help me? I transformed into a wolf. Does that not make me a werewolf? I need help with this.” I said.

“Oh, I imagine you would need help, but you are no werewolf,” Ethan said.

“How do you know?” I said.

“Two reasons. One of the information that Jeff told me was that your transformation into a wolf was instantaneous. Is that true?” Ethan said.

“It was, one moment, I was a human, the next a wolf,” I said.

“The fastest transformation that has been documented for a werewolf is a few hours, and typically, it is a week or more of a process,” said Ethan, leaning in. “You see werewolf transformations are biological, and that takes time. Your transformations are more descriptive of what some call spirit walkers; that is, they come from the spiritual realm, a realm not understood by mortal creatures.” Ethan gestured to the drink. “The second reason is that you consumed a dark enough chocolate to kill most werewolves, which has not even phased you.”

“How much do you know about these spirit walkers?” I ask, trying to hide my excitement at finally a lead that might not be a dead end.

“There is not much known about them. They are so rare that many believe them to be a legend. The spirit walkers can transform into any sort of creatures at will.” Ethan said.

“Is there anything else? My transformations have not been into will but only a few different creatures.” I said.

“I am afraid that is about as much that I know on the subject,” Ethan said.

I could feel my heart drop into murky waters at the bottom of my soul as another hope was dashed, gets up. “Thank you for what you have provided,” I said.

As I walk away five werewolves get up, drawing swords and blocking my path. Ethan gets up from the booth.

“You didn’t think I’d just let a being as rare as you and as otherworldly just walk away, did you?” Ethan growled. “You’re more valuable than a unicorn.”

Finding myself trapped with five werewolves in front of me, one behind and a wall to the side of me was not looking good. I grabbed two sword handles from my belt with metallic blades materializing in the dim light as I removed them from their sheaths. 

“There is no need to get yourself injured. Just lie down your weapons and surrender. We will find the answers you seek out together.” Ethan says.

“I'd rather live in ignorance as a free man than a knowledgeable slave,” I said.

A tense stand-off ensued. Seconds ticked. 

A werewolf lunges at me. The werewolf’s longer sword and reach make it a dangerous dance. I felt my foot hit the wall, and I knew my fate would be sealed if I didn’t turn it around now. I duck underneath the werewolf's sword, using my right sword to push his sword further up and away from me while my left blade manages to scratch the werewolf. The werewolf howls in pain, confusing himself and the others. I get behind the werewolf with my fear of dying or worse, fueling the magic blades; I strike the back of the werewolf. The werewolf stumbles away and collapses in pain.

I don’t hesitate to take advantage of the surprise takedown of the werewolf and slashing madly at two other werewolves. I try to get past them. However, they are quick to recover from the surprise, and while more cautious with me, they more than easily push me back into the space where I was trapped.

“Rattlesnake-poisoned blades,” Ethan remarked, a hint of respect in his voice, “Terribly painful though not the most lethal of poisons.”

The situation looked dire for me until one of the werewolves suddenly fell to the floor, and leaping over the body onto a table in the middle of the action was a werewolf with an orange coat and a swashbuckling grace. It took me a second to realize that it was not a werewolf but the feline equivalent of a werelion.

Ethan snarled, “Leon!”.

“Aye, that’s right, it’s me! Leon, the feline fury of the night!” he declared, his voice booming confidently.

Ethan launched himself at Leon in a whirlwind of claws and steel. Hoping that the fierce fight before me would distract the werewolves, I dash for the opening Leon had made with downing the werewolf to my right. However, the three other werewolves still standing were quick to stop me.

The nearest made a desperate lunge to block my path. However, I caught him off guard \ changing direction suddenly and lunging towards him. He could not turn his sword around to stop my slash at him. The damage was only minor, like the other. However, the poison was enough to make the werewolf howl in pain and flee out of the bar, clenching the slash on his side.

That left two more werewolves to deal with. I and these werewolves began a tense standoff as they tried to position themselves where they could strike me at once while I tried to keep at least a table between myself and one of them. Each of us is trying to find an opening to use. Suddenly, a glass bottle thrown by Leon strikes one of the werewolves with such force that it shatters into a million pieces, and the werewolf goes limp, falling to the floor.

Seeing that he is alone with me, the remaining werewolf runs out of the bar. Seeing an exit on the side of the building, I also take my leave.

I don’t stop running until I am out of town and into the surrounding forest. It takes a while to catch my breath.

I hear a rustling in the underbrush.

“Great, what now? Who is following me?” I think while I pull a sword out.

Suddenly, I hear a sound behind me.

There standing is Leon.

“My services are not free,” he says, a sly grin on his feline face.