One recurring symptom of being a nomad, especially one on the scale of a void walker, is that friends don't always stay good friends. It's not a matter of chance that someone will leave your company as it grows. It's a matter of time; so, when Jack finally decided to leave, I wasn't surprised by his decision in the slightest.

Jack, the former boreal dragon, had been my friend for several decades by that point. We'd been together ever since our first meeting on Horae Island where I rescued him from some poachers, and he had repaid his debt to me several times over in the years that followed. He hung around me beyond that point simply because he had an infatuation with my life back when we first met - always adventuring, always getting into trouble - ; and, despite his vocal opposition to the havoc I wrought, he enjoyed the chaos. His bottomless energy leant itself well to living in the wilderness, independent from civilization; but, alas, things change.

Even though I had spent much of my life on the run and in the wilderness of forgotten, backwater outposts, I was still fundamentally a creature of habit. I was born a noble, and I had the desire for creature comforts that all noblewomen possess firmly ingrained in me. For that reason, as well as the introduction of more people underneath the umbrella of my care, I eventually got tired of constantly living in the wilderness and started incorporating more aspects of civilization and wealth into my life.

It started with my move to Salem. That town was full of nuisances, true, but it had its resources. There were pre-existing buildings: a town that allowed some taste of civilization and security. There were also relatively easy access points to the towns of Parvpora, provided, of course, you knew where to look. And while the ghosts were unwanted guests, they were a small price to pay in comparison to regular people. So long as we gave each other space, there were rarely problems between us; and racism was virtually unheard of because all things are equal in death.

However, Salem was also where my relationship with the dragon started to deteriorate. During the course of our move to the city, Jack transitioned from a guard to a butler in a way that was almost imperceptible at first. I started asking more of him, having him stay in to watch Ana and Lizzie alongside Adel while I went out to Revaliir. At first, I would only ask a few minutes, then a few hours, then a day, then a week. Eventually, Jack got turned into a babysitter, which, in hindsight, was not something I should have ever done to him.

The only reason Jack stuck around during that time taking care of my children was because he felt he still owed me. Whether intentionally or not, I took advantage of that sense of duty for my own selfish desires; so, when Jack finally decided he had had enough, I wasn't surprised.

He came to me that night when I was returning home from an excursion; and, dressed in ragged clothing, resigned on the spot. He said that he needed to get out of that house we had just moved into in New Salem and that he simply wasn't cut out for my lifestyle anymore. I understood perfectly, so I let him go; but, that said, his departure certainly did not assuage my already sour mood that evening.

See, the day Jack decided to leave was already a downright awful one. I had just gone to Revaliir to brush up on current events, but, due to some unforeseen environmental factors, I was also forced to return home almost immediately after setting foot in the western continent. There was something rather potent and peculiar going on in the world at the time: a collection of magically sensitive animals that were affecting the arcane in unpredictable ways. And since my body on Revaliir was almost entirely magical in composition, said phenomenon gave me the rather unfortunate side-effect of being allergic to myself.

So when Jack decided to come and see me to resign, I was already a sniveling mess of misery and snot; and certainly in no mood for something like the loss of a valuable support pillar. Yet despite my hay fever's influence, I knew I couldn't justify keeping him from leaving. The dragon had more than repaid his debt, and I wasn't the type to keep slaves. As such, I allowed him to freely pack up his things from the house and leave of his own accord.

Of course it was during that exodus that I went about trying all manner of remedies for the allergies that had plagued me so severely. Breathing had become an irritating tug-o-war between my overabundance of mucous and my need for oxygen long before I ran out of home remedies, causing me to be a very grumpy fox throughout the whole ordeal. I was almost glad Robin wasn't around at that time, lest I lash out at her without just cause. The fact that I had to fetch my medicine by myself when I was not feeling well was also far more noticeable given the absence of my once dutiful butler, especially since I just felt like lying down at that point rather than sorting through cabinets of old, dried herbs that still weren't organized from the move to New Salem. To add insult to injury, I even discovered after several hours of agonizing searching and experimenting that I needed to make a last resort tonic for allergies that required an ingredient I was out of: Faerie Salts.

Faerie Salts, despite what their name may suggest, are really just salts found in hot springs near specific breeds of volcano. Relatively speaking, they are not rare, but they are also not used in a whole lot other than certain food recipes and last resort allergy medications. My one supplier of the stuff in the Revaliir area was still alive, thankfully, but, as I would quickly discover, he was also presently at the center of the world's magical woes that had caused my allergies in the first place.

Remember how I mentioned the strange animals earlier? Well they were symptoms of the larger rabbit that was causing all this olfactory nonsense. The creature was rampaging across the planet, stirring up trouble as it went and making magic go awry. I didn't know this because I had barely gotten a whiff of information from the locals before retreating under duress, and, in hindsight, I probably wouldn't have cared. Sidhiel was where my supplier of Faerie Salts lived, and so Sidhiel was where I was headed regardless of any varmint that got in my way.

With that in mind, I wasted no time in marching toward my supplier's abode upon arriving in the high elf paradise, despite the destruction that was all around me in that place. I didn't really notice the collapsed buildings that the rabbit had already caused, at least insofar as a sign to run. I was too focused on my sinuses, so I didn't really pay attention until I eventually came upon the rabbit itself without the slightest loss of determination. I found it surrounded by several figures then, all of whom were actually adventurers come to slay the beast in an affair that was a regular party in the streets of the once hidden city: a running of the rabbits, so to speak.

Of course, here's where my story gets wonky - as if it wasn't already. It's worth knowing that I very rarely get allergies anymore, and that, when I do, they are terrible. They can mess with my perceptions of reality greatly to the point where I don't question how weird stuff can get. For example, the mages of Sidhiel were all powerful enough to see this fluffy beast as nothing more than a giant rabbit. I was equally if not more so powerful, but, while they saw a monster, I saw a man in a bunny suit…

Yep, whereas everyone else in that place thought they were fighting for their lives against the evil bunny from hell, my hay fever interpretation of the whole event was of people striking at thin air while some dumbass in cheap material and pink dye sat back mocking them. I don't even remember what he was saying either, because, before I knew it, I had already walked up to him to try and get to the residential districts behind him. I didn't care what his deal was, and, in fact, the only part of our confrontation that I distinctly remember was him stopping me to comment something along the lines of: "Puny mage! You can't hope to get past me!"

I assume he was referring to the fact that I had more magic in me than most anyone present. That assumption was verified when his flimsy, overly costumed hand pointed at me following his remark; or, more specifically, pointed at my nose. "Crawl back into your hole and- UGH!" He was so full of pride in that stance, yet swiftly regretted standing in my way once the allergies he had caused had come back to bite him in the ass. Before he could finish his sentence - before he could even blink for that matter - I sneezed a giant wad of snot all over his hand and onto his face. The strings of mucous were still tied to my nose after the fact, although that quickly changed as the rabbit…man… thing… whatever recoiled in utter repulsion.

I was able to pass thanks to that completely unintentional attack, fetching my Faerie Salts from the house a few doors behind him before coming back. The cheap costumed bastard was ready for said return, or at least he thought he was ready. He stood in my path yet again after intentionally drenching himself in a mage's water spell to rid his fur of my "snot strike" – as one of the mage's called it – and then tried to talk out his ass again.

"How dare you disrespect-" Thwack! You can probably guess what happened then, but I'll tell you anyway. I was carrying Toirneach around this time and smacked the rabbit man upside the head with the weapon's stock when he tried to get in my way again. I did it so suddenly and unexpectedly that he was sent sprawling onto his ass in spectacular fashion. Afterward, I passed right by his blockade, all while giving him the bird and teleporting back home. Amusingly enough, even SAI decided to pile on just before we left by playing a foreign song containing the lyrics, "X gon' give it to ya," a move that generated more than a few questionable looks from all those present.

So ended my brief albeit humorous participation in the magical rabbit incident: a story of magical allergies, lost butlers, and utter disrespect. I would take the rest of the day off at my home in New Salem, anxiously awaiting the point that the allergy tonic would work its magic and spare me from congested misery.

He'd ducked out of the fighting to head back to the airship and regroup with the others there. There were plenty of others more capable to take the rabbit on, and with magic being thrown out of balance, injuries were more fatal than ever. His crossbow hadn't contributed much either. For Walter, fighting something larger than a hill was beyond him. His talents were in tracking and wilderness survival, occasionally hunting normal-sized mundane game. The most magic he had in him was taking on the shape of a beast, an ordinary one with the mind of a man. It would only be a matter of time until his bolts ran out, so he kept them for when they would be needed. The chaos surrounding the battle was contained at the moment, so the lycanthorpe took this rare opportunity to explore the untouched wilds that this enchanted isle had to offer. He'd lived knowing about just the two continents and the sea. It was only after he met Shiloh that he started learning about the other islands off the shores of the mainland.

He could feel eyes on him as he walked the streets away from the magic beast. It wasn't a feeling wholly unfamiliar to him, something he'd come to expect by now. The people here were beautiful, graceful, almost otherworldly. Their buildings, their clothing, and the wildlife that called this island home were so different compared to those in Canelux. It was hard to believe that these 'young men' and 'girls' were likely twice his age. Maybe that's how the rest of the world felt when it came to elves too. The water, the air, the land–it all held a strong hint of something he couldn't put to words. Was it magic? Instead of green, the foliage of leaves and blades of grass were a vivid blue. The plants themselves seemed to radiate with a light that came from within. As he walked further out of the city and into the forests, he saw this glow had even entered the brooks and creeks.

The people of this land held a deep respect towards the earth and nature itself, but in a more mystic way. They focused more on the supernatural energies that laid within living things than focusing on the life that cycled from creature to creature. It was more detached, reverential. From the tribe his mother had come from the relationship was more like kinship. All living beings were part of one another, and their actions were ripples on a lake's surface. They needed each other, and could only live if all chose to live together. As much as he was interested in learning about the birds and beasts here, he felt a difference in appreciation that would be hard to bridge. Would the elves, blessed with longevity and beauty, be willing to care for 'lesser beings' as much as themselves?

Trekking further upward, he came to where the forest was thinning out. Steam was thick in the air, coming off vents and cracks in the earth. The smell of minerals was pungent to his nose, and he saw several pools of bubbling hot liquid here and there. Unsure of the nature of these springs, he didn't take the chance on stumbling into one that scalded deeper than flesh. The volcano was impressive and a sight to behold, at a safe distance. He had spent hours basking in the natural beauty of Sidhiel, and it was soon time for him to return. The rabbit likely wouldn't go down easily, even with a deity hacking at it. Several more were arriving in their own time to aid the battered forces, but having magic severely impacted was taking its toll. 

Re-entering the battlefield from the sidelines, he saw the closest thing to a war zone that he'd even experienced. The rabbit was still alive, if you could consider that so. The energy it emanated was decreasing, but still immense. His eyes moved from individual to individual, bodies straining and pushing themselves to their utmost limits. Then…he caught sight of the most baffling thing. There was a person high in the air, beating the magical beast over the head with a…stick? He couldn't make it out from where he was, but that was what Walter saw.The floating figure then stopped their assault, then their head jerked forward angling downwards. Some sort of force then pushed the rabbit back, causing it to recoil. Once the person recovered, they resumed beating the tar out of the thing, and walked off.

The only response Walter had after that was to raise his eyebrows and scratch his head. There were some things in the world that couldn't be explained. He bet that this strange event was one of them.

[OOC: To anyone reading, the grinch in this post is a familiar of Natsumi for this event. He causes bad luck in his normal mood but trades that for increased strength in a good mood. He's also human sized like the actual grinch from the Dr. Seuss story we all know and love, though has the ability to shrink when needed. :)]

My absence from that battlefield, of course, did not mark the end of my effect on it. Unlike most who had lived in Revaliir during the rabbit's incursion, I had not been in the realm long enough to feel the full weight of that creature's effects. Yes, the magical aspects were keen and unrelenting; and they are what I remember most from the whole, sordid affair. But one thing I did not receive – at least not immediately – was the addition of a magical companion.

So many others – deities included – had acquired their own familiars from this strange event. From ferrets to peacocks, a whole new breed was born to practically every species on the planet; and sometimes an entirely new species was spawned altogether. Such was the case for my familiar: a creature born upon a strange wind.

He did not look like the others, nor did he appear at the same time. In fact, the two of us missed each other on the battlefield, and, while that would later prove unfortunate, I doubt he would have stayed with me had he been given the chance. No, green as mold and hairier than a yeti, this familiar had plans of the mischievous sort and an intention to use them.

My daughter Ana was the first to find him there in Sidhiel. She described how he slunk amongst the alleyways during the adventurers' tribulations, cautiously avoiding attention as he went. Curiously, the only reason she was able to track him in that place was because his path was followed by bad luck. Carts would randomly break down, people would slip despite good footing and animals would get spooked. All the while, there was a constant snickering from the background: an eerie, grinchy tone.

"What's wrong with these people? Have they no shame," he would sneer? "As if they think they can smile while those who defend them have no cheer." Yes, dear reader: this familiar, this grinch took offense at anyone having a moment to rest and so he cursed them with bad luck. T'was not out of malice that he did this, of course. Nay, for his heart was simply too small: his empathy lacking.

This grinch, this menace would demonstrate that shriveled black core quite thoroughly after his birth. He played pranks on everyone and everything that crossed his path, even going so far as to target some of the foreigners that had come to slay his creator.  The last of these was an older man who smelled of dog: a man that the grinch decided to bathe.

"Only I'm allowed to smell that bad," he remarked with great disapproval, and so he directed his machinations toward the lycan – or, more precisely, the barrel next to him. It was an old keg, suffering from age already; and all it needed was a little push. The grinch's misfortune was more than enough for that, for the object was set to burst the moment he waved his furry tendrils at it: a veritable proximity trap just waiting to go off. He also cursed a rope in the same breath, and hissed at some of the nearby familiars before hiding. It was a chain reaction waiting to happen, and one that eventually ensnared his victim.

 First, the barrel burst, drenching the subject from head to toe. Next, the resultantly spilled liquor caused the victim to slip despite their good balance. And finally, the animals, still spooked from before, ran through the cursed rope to tangle everyone up in a mass of fiber.

T'was only at the end of this mischief that the grinch was finally caught, but not by the lycan he had harassed. Nay, the strange fellow ducked into an alleyway while snickering at that fool, leaving naught but his shadow exposed. Ana was the one who caught him shortly thereafter, having observed his behavior from earlier and tracking him down as a result. She mistook him for me since he was born of my cynicism and had part of my aura; and therefore she considered him a monster that had copied part of my essence. He very likely would have died for that affront under normal circumstances, but things were hardly normal with that rabbit still about.

You see, much like myself, Ana was mostly magical. Yet unlike me, she did not develop an allergy. Instead, my daughter acquired a rather peculiar condition in which she had to sing every word she spoke. It led to a rather conspicuous mixture of deadpan and melody, which she greeted the grinch with after collecting him into her serpent-like appendages.

"You're a mean one, Mr. Grinch," she sang, scrambling for the word grouch but accidentally inventing a new one. Ironically, this greeting pleased the familiar, for he began singing in tune.

"You really are a heel!" For such a foul and twisted creature, this green sasquatch actually developed a crush on my daughter in that moment. He stopped causing bad luck as soon as he was caught, and instead turned into a jovial creature. And the funniest part of this whole affair? The transformation apparently caused him pain during its course. "Somebody help me," he would say at one point, "I'm feeling!"

Just when he thought he'd seen enough strangeness for a day, the unexplainable events kept happening. Walter was going on his way back to the airship when a barrel of liquor that had been perched above suddenly broke into pieces. The contents gushed out like a riverbank following dam's burst, right as he was passing by. A shower of the strong smelling stuff doused him from head to toe, leaving him sopping wet. Coughing, he wiped his eyes to get the alcohol out of them when he somehow slipped, and fell. This sudden occurrence had caught him off guard, and he was sure that there hadn't been any puddles or slippery material nearby to cause such an accident. But before he could hit the ground, a cacophony of panicked animals collided and rushed by him. The terrified creatures ran this way and that–catching themselves in a length coil of rope that was knocked over in the pandemonium. And right as he had his face wiped clean of the strong drink, Walter found himself caught in the middle.

He and a few other stray animals were tangled together in an awkward mess. "What in the blazes? I can't move!" Not only was his body stuck, but his limbs were wrapped up too. No matter how he tried to pull free, everything else in the coil was moving in such a way that they were keeping each other trapped. After many unsuccessful attempts, he reluctantly chose to do something he had been working hard to avoid this entire time. If wriggling himself free wasn't working, maybe if he shapeshifted he might find himself in better luck. Transforming into the form of a wolf, the taut ropes around his arms and legs slackened a bit. Carefully picking his legs out from the loops, now all that was left was to get his body freed. But as he had taken his legs out from the scramble, the extra length was tugged every which way by the rest of the rope's struggling captives. He shifted back with a sigh, having only made minor progress. What a way to get himself tangled in a fine mess.

With the assistance of a few kindly passersby, the convoluted knot of cord was unraveled. Relieved to move about freely again, Walter was in a less than pleasant mood from that troublesome experience. It was then that he picked up a particularly peculiar scent, one that didn't match with the other animals that were ensnared by the rope. He hadn't noticed it at first due to the overwhelming pungent sting of the alcohol, but now that his nose was clear and the liquid was drying the lingering traces were picked up by his nose. The same stench was also hanging around the broken pieces of the barrel, so his years of tracking experience told him this was the trail of that ne'er do well that had done the deed. Frowning, he began following the faint traces through the streets, keen on finding who this scoundrel was. 

It was less out of revenge and more for the sake of putting his mind at ease. The wolf did not appreciate being dunked in strong-smelling liquid, and Walter especially didn't like being soaked against his will in either form. If he found the one responsible, he'd give them a stern talking to. That would be enough to satisfy both parts of him.

Ana's interaction with that grinchy creature would continue for a time, but was ultimately limited in span. Just like her mother, the lamia variant disliked anything that had to deal with mental coercion, and the singing brought on by this magical rabbit qualified as such. While the Grinch was interesting and warm to the touch at first, he was not enough to compel my daughter to remain planet-side in the face of unwanted side-effects. She eventually lost focus, wandering off after dropping him on the ground and reverting back to her human facade. And, although the Grinch followed for some time after that, she largely ignored him for the remainder of the day.

Meanwhile, the man whom the green familiar had so successfully pranked was on the war path.  The Grinch, it seemed, had not been as sneaky as he would have hoped, and had left a trail for one Walter Bosch to follow. Being a lycan, the man probably would have found the urchin too, given enough time, but fate had made other plans.

Ana and I were not the only ones that had visited Sidhiel that day. Eden, Robin's retainer, had also gone there earlier in the morning with the sole intent to feed. Battles of this sort, especially magical ones, provided an easy energy source for her, so, like a vulture, she decided to capitalize for the sake of her fiancé.

Yet upon arriving to do just that, the Amazon of a woman suddenly found herself followed by something. That something was yet another familiar: this one tailored to Eden herself.

Although long gone by then, Eden's wolf curse had left a lasting impression on her. She adored puppies and had wanted a wolf pup for a long time: an obsession no doubt rooted in both her adopted family's tendencies and her childhood dreams. However, because of her life's many twists and turns, she had never gotten the opportunity to raise one as her own. That was probably why she became so attached to a rather peculiar sight on the battlefield: a strange creature that behaved exactly like a puppy. His name was Chestur.

Chestur, as a familiar, was quite a bit different from the Grinch, but more in keeping with how the other familiars behaved. The oddest thing about him, in fact, was his appearance. See, Chestur was a mimic. Not just any mimic, either; but a portable bank of sorts. He followed Eden around wherever she went, rubbing up against her leg and panting like a dog. We wouldn't discover till later his ability to double as a bag of holding, but that didn't matter to Eden when she first met him. In fact, she was just glad for the company and let him tag along.

Of course, I'm sure you, as a reader, are wondering what any of this has to do with Sir Walter? Well, Mr. Bosch also got to meet Chestur that day, but in a way I'm sure he would have preferred to avoid. Like any truly innocent puppy, Chestur loved showing his affection to strangers. Yet unlike said puppies, a mimic coming after you on four legs can be a downright terrifying sight to behold. Chestur, in keeping with this train of thought, caught wind of Walter's scent while he was searching for the Grinch, and decided to lay in wait ahead of him as a matter of play. As such, the puppy mimic took the form of a merchant's chest until the lycan passed by; and then swiftly pounced on him without warning.

Chestur tried to lick his face like any overly excited dog in that "assault," and even developed a tail for the specific purpose of wagging it while panting in excitement. Eden was close by while this was going on, but wasn't able to rush over in time before Chestur had already made his move. For now, Walter was left to deal with the rambunctious creature on his own while his former target drew further and further away.

Any thoughts and intents of making the rascal who drenched him in alcohol apologize were interrupted by something leaping onto him! Down on the ground, Walter struggled with the thing that had knocked him over only to let go immediately with a scream. For a man over fifty who had dealt with wild beasts and less than friendly people, lived out in the harsh wilderness, and hunted animals for meat and pelts–seeing what looked like a small wooden chest with legs and a mouthful of teeth was a nightmare! He remember flipping through some old books on monsters when he helped out Nerine, and had seen something just like it. It was called a mimic, as it was capable of imitating an ordinary strongbox or chest until disturbed. They caught their prey, which were unsuspecting people, by pretending like so. Then when a curious or greedy individual was close enough, it would swing open the 'lid' and snap them up into its jaws.

Even though this strange creature wasn't even close to his size, he was very much afraid of losing a limb. And not knowing any better, when the thing tried to lick his face in affection, the tracker sincerely believed it wanted to bite his head off. It was a two-sided struggle of man and mimic–both misunderstanding the other completely. The mimic-dog wanted to play, while the lycanthorpe wanted to keep all his fingers and bodily parts. If he wasn't so panicked, he would have noticed the playful behavior, but as soon as the mimic flashed its teeth the instinct to flee was running high. By the time help arrived, Walter had the worst scare of his life. "OH GODS–HELP!!! Somebody get this thing off me, please! No, no! Stop! Agh!! Stay away from my face!" 

Managing to roll it off, he scrambled up and tried to run. This only added to the mimic's misunderstanding as it gave chase, prompting the man to become even more terrified. In hindsight this was the wolf part of him taking over while he wasn't thinking clearly. Walter knew it was foolish to run when faced with a dangerous beast, and the proper response would be to stand your ground. But by now emotion was overriding all sense, and with the poorer parts of both his natures kicking in he was doing anything to survive. The mouthy chest on legs must've thought they were playing a game of tag. And with Walter still reeking with alcohol, it wasn't hard for Chestur to find him. The tracker also tripped over a few things in his haste, allowing the mimic to gain on him. In no time at all, they were back at the beginning with a man screaming trying to keep an overly-affectionate familiar off his face.