[ P ] The Villain

The man’s words came again, asking me if I really believed what I had said.
"Is that what you really believe, White Timber?"
A newly ripped ear twitched when he said my name.
"that beliefs define who we are?"
Stoic expression didn’t change, but I wondered what it was that he believed did in fact define a wolf, if it not be beliefs? A tricky subject. One I didn’t continue to comment on when he began his story.

He showed me one of his more prominent scars, so I shifted corpulent skull so that the good eye could see it in full. It was glorious, even if it didn’t have glory attached to it. I listened well, nodding along at certain times to ensure I was present in his conviction. It was only fair at this point. He had listened to my little tidbits, so much so that he thought he had me all figured out. Perhaps his age accounted for that, a lot of older wolves believed they knew so much off of so little.

Wisdom they claimed, or some such.

His story was grand. I liked it well enough. A redemption sort of epic, wherein he cut it short as he trailed with "and after that…" my good brow furrowed. After what? Is this the part where I ask him all the questions he would think to ask me? But we were different. I didn’t ask the right questions. My mind did not function in that way. For a moment I allowed silence to blanket us.
"What drives a wolf without any beliefs, I wonder?"
I countered with a question to his question, unsure of how to properly explain my thoughts. I believed I would rise, I believed I would get somewhere faster in the Imperial Army than the Jacobite army. I believed I would do great things. But on the other spectrum, what about a wolf that had no beliefs at all, and thought themselves as lowly as the sod? I believed that by slaying my brother and his wife I would gain recognition and station. I was right. The cost didn’t matter much to me, a rather cheap payment. It never bothered me that my nephew was orphaned and my own sibling’s blood was stained upon my paws, it meant progression. It meant power. He tested me, and figured out quickly that I was more serious about my future than he had anticipated.
"Would you say you are driven by ambition? Or was going back a redemption you sought?"
Baritones drawled inquiry as I let my golden eye befall him again. I regarded him patiently. Maybe he would feed me lies, bullshit. Maybe he would tell me truths. I didn’t care either way, we would have our secrets by the end of this all the same.

Savard’s intentions, when he came across White Timber, was to rest but for a moment or two, maybe make some conversation with a stranger, maybe make a new connection that would help him down the line. And now, their dialogue had transformed into a poor excuse for a philosophical debate on the greater purpose of wolves and all that. How Savard loathed those high and mighty wolves, spewing lies on how wolves were never really in control of themselves, a putrid idea to any wolf who was capable of making his own decisions, forming his own opinions, living his own life. Everything else was desperation, wolves who panicked in moments of indecision, who went and ran to a wolf claiming to have an answer to their questions. Life wasn’t complicated, and perhaps if more wolves realized that, they wouldn’t spend so much time answering such pointless questions. And still, here they were, two wolves pantomiming those very disgraceful kinds of wolves.

The wolf said nothing at first with regards to his story. He had seemed interested in what had happened, with Savard telling the parts he only needed to here. There was more to that story, but anything more would amount to a confession of something he was never convicted for. It would be a shame if White Timber would have to betray his temporary companion in such a fashion. It was best to give no wolf any leverage, especially one who jailed others for a living. Going back to their previous conversation, the wolf asked what drove a wolf without any beliefs. Beliefs were a funny thing, to be fair. Beliefs defined a wolf’s moral code, what they choose to say or do, who they might be as a wolf. But beliefs are just beliefs, unless acted upon. Should a wolf have no beliefs, though… it was a question left to wolves who ambled about in expensive perfumes and dens, and fainted at the sight of blood. ”Everybody believes in something, in one way or another,” a dismissive Savard simply responded, “but if you want to pay some wolves to sit in a circle and discuss it further, I suggest you go to the College.”

But what did get Savard’s attention, unsurprisingly, was a question that related to his experience. Was he driven by ambition when he returned to the fight, or was it redemption? Savard had had his regrets about what he did that night, the choice he made, but never stopped to ask why. Perhaps it was just a pointless exercise, useless in all respects. But regardless, what was done, was done. There was no reason to question is, interrogate and ascertain the why. All that mattered was that it had happened. White Timber had done his share of things in his life, and he regretted not one of them. What was his reason, then, for feeling that way? Perhaps, unlike Savard, White Timber hadn’t reached the end of the road he tread. Maybe he was the one who was the more ambitious of the two. But that was besides the question.

”Both,” Savard simply responded. But, as Savard sat there, perhaps he realized that the question wasn’t right for him. After all, what did it matter why he had done any of it? As a matter of fact… a more fitting wolf to ask would be none other than the soldier himself. Scarred and battered, but not remorseful, the dashing White Timber enlisted as a soldier. “So your turn then,” the male then said, “what made you want to be a soldier? You had quite the life it sounds like, ruining romances, killing beasts, getting into fights. Sounds like you lived a Guilder’s life before all this… but it’s a life you don’t wish to be redeemed for, so you say.” It didn’t seem like he even need ask the question. The answer, to Savard, seemed so obvious.

A response from the man boasted a simple, yet summarizing "Both," to which I simply nodded. I could understand that answer, with all of its unearthed depth, probably more than he’d like to admit. It didn’t provoke me to dig further, such information was treasured by him I was sure. He would only share it if he ever wanted to, and much like myself, I was certain there were just some things he would keep hidden, even with prodding. I couldn’t, and wouldn’t, fault him for that. All the same, I still enjoyed his story, his tidbit of information. The little peek through the curtain at who this nameless man was.

And then he stayed it was my turn. Ears pricked and a brow slightly arched as I braced for his query. "what made you want to be a soldier? You had quite the life it sounds like, ruining romances, killing beasts, getting into fights. Sounds like you lived a Guilder’s life before all this… but it’s a life you don’t wish to be redeemed for, so you say." His words coaxed my mind to mull over the questions, to play out quick scenarios, and to really sit back and think deeply. Critical thinking wasn’t my strong suit. He probably figured it out by now that I wasn’t revered for my intelligence. No, I was all brawn and strength, fueled by a burning desire to be the best warlord there ever walked. But when it came to tact, intellect, strategy? That was my brother.

But let us look and see where he is now.

I contemplated the words, and my thoughts, before I answered.
"I am what you might call a dreamer, dear stranger. A guilder’s life never intrigued me. I spent most of my time trying to prove myself. Training. Battling. War is on my horizon and I salivate for it. The Imperial Army, at the time and still presently, offers me the platform in which I will use to launch."
Baritones rumbled but were void of emotion aside from the occasional inflection. He must think me a boy searching for fame, dying to be in the limelight. Contrary, I would kill to be remembered. I would murder to be known. I would claim, capture, lay waste. I would kneel where I had to in order to be knelt to eventually. My ambition did not stop, this flame too bright, too hot to be quelled. Every little detail served to fuel it, burning hotter still. Even this encounter, where he asked me thinks to make me think or perhaps for his own agenda.

But it mattered naught. He didn’t scare me. Not with any information he thinks he might have or any question he may present. I did not serve the army simply because I believed in the King, or justice. I served for my own accord, my own betterment. The deadly serious glint in my eye could atone for my inner thoughts, an otherwise stoic expression on a ruined visage as I regarded him now, almost leaning on the edge of my seat to hear what he’s got to say to me now. What would he surmise about me? What information could he gather to take back wherever it is he came from?

If he did all of this for his own benefit, I hoped he would remember this face and my name.

He would be hearing of me from here on.

Savard was taken aback by the bluntness of White Timber’s answer. He could appreciate the honesty, and yet, the confidence of such a wolf to admit his selfish ambitions so openly. When speaking of dreams and desires, most wolves had other fantasies. Most dreamed of the material things they wished to have, or the moments they wished to have had. But this wolf’s goals were to accrue power. To even claim to be ambitious, to the wrong wolf, made one a target. But then again, perhaps that is why he told this to Savard, rather than his commander, or a wolf who was part of the same system that he was. But as the older wolf heard the soldier’s desires made clear, he could not help but wonder how perfectly he fit in the army. The way so many seemed to follow suit, albeit in a more subtle manner, no wonder White Timber was part of the war machine.

Savard had his contempt for the wolf’s goals in life, knowing that such ambition, as well as those of his compatriots, would be the death of many. Of course, such is life. And yet… Savard began to wonder if there was even a wolf, perhaps besides Captain Ramses, who actually believed in King Adamh’s cause, and wasn’t just there for the sake of the money or the power that came with the charge? That’s not to say there weren’t just as many opportunists supporting Jacob’s throng… but at least they died for the cause they believe in. But the soldiers? They were perhaps more the realists, for being motivated by the material things in life to do what they did. Funny, how despite saying he did not find the Guilder’s life alluring… White Timber seemed to live it all the same.

But what did Savard really think about the wolf and his dreams? Did he really think White Timber stood a chance to be who he wanted to be? Being a wolf in power wasn’t something one did alone. It required a certain level of control, of belief, of trust. How did the first kings, after all, get to govern over so many? Savard heard once that it wasn’t about how good a fighter one was, how intelligent one was, how charismatic one was, or even how good a leader one was. It apparently had to do with a wolf’s ability to provide things for wolves that they did not possess, yet coveted all the same. That, and convincing others to play along, was more or less how things came to be. Well, at least that’s what Savard heard once, and from what he himself had experienced, it made sense.

“Word of advice,” Savard said, his tail flicking in anticipation, “if that’s your goal in life, and I don’t blame you… you really think it’ll work out if you’re a soldier? See, I don’t know if you know this or not, but a lot of your colleagues, they’re coming out of the Thieves Guild, and joining the army. Pay, protection, structure… they can get away with all sorts of things. You know who I’m talking about, of course. But you, you’re walking the opposite way, it seems.” There was no shortage of names that came to Savard’s mind that White Timber might think of. Of course, to be frank, Savard only knew the one, but surely an ambitious soldier such as White Timber knew much more than that. But as the soldier said… being what he was, was only a means to an end. “I can’t help but wonder, White Timber,” the wolf continued, “you have no problems with expressing your ambitions, and you surely know the nature of your colleagues. Would you kill one of your own, if it meant you got one step closer to your ‘dream’?”

As usual during this meeting, Savard had switched the conversation from him to me. His attention on my focus and goals was weird, a strange thing to consider. But with my ego, I didn’t care. There wasn’t any information I had shared thus far that was confidential, none of it being of major importance. He could spread it around, along with rumors, if he wanted to. It wouldn’t stop me. I burned too brightly for that, too hot. He couldn’t douse me. So I allowed this game, and listened well as he spoke.

Marred snout rotated downward slightly, my one good eye observing the sod beneath paws as he continued. I sucked in a breath as I considered a response to it all.
"Being a soldier is but the first step. I care not for anyone else, or their backstories. Good men and women can come from the dirt. I’ve seen it before. Bad men and women can come from the crown. I’ve seen that before too. I play this game because it suites me and my needs for the time being, not because I am just. Not because I believe whole heartedly in the King’s, or Jacob’s, rule."
As I had stated before, a platform for my preparation for launch. I had climbed one latter rung - Lieutenant. I had many more in front of me, but I was young. I had time, strength, and the ambition to back it all up. One day I wanted my name to be so important, and so I would will it. I would make it. But then he continued on, and asked if I would kill one of my own to further my position.

I never was one for lying. It was beneath me. And what could he do? Kill me? Well, if he could, then he deserved such a trophy. He deserved the kill prize. If not, then I held very little fear. Without hesitation, and without a stagger or glint in my eye, I looked him directly in his own eyes.
"I will. I have."
With my breathing steady, I continued. Baritones rumbling on like a thunderous drawl.
"They had gotten in my way."
Plain and simple, I put it like a stone between us. What would he think of me now?
"And you? Have you killed for what you want in life?"
The query came swiftly, flowing fluidly from my torn lips before I could think on it much. But I didn’t retract it nor regret it, i wagered it fair for me to ask. Perhaps he wouldn’t give me the same respect for honesty, perhaps he would lie to me, maybe he would lay it all out between us as I had practically done. Either way it mattered not, the end result would be the same.

I will still rise.

"And what is the advice, dear stranger? To cease and desist? To watch my back? To find belief in something else?"
I didn’t hear the advice in his words. I only heard facts he had learned. What lesson was the elder trying to teach? I would definitely listen if it was worth the effort. If not, I would continue on my own path.

And so, I waited for his answers. No amount of anger or loss of patience could be heard in my voice, stoicism still holding steadfast. Just two strangers talking in the dark.

An honest answer. Even with how much this wolf thought of himself, how he saw his ambitions coming true before his very eyes as if they were a done deal, Savard was surprised with how honest he was. To admit that he was a soldier merely for the sake of self-enrichment, that he had slain his fellow soldiers to achieve more and more of what he felt he was owed in life, to even admit that he did not really believe in all the arguments being made of who ought to be in charge… it was dangerous. It was bold. It was… oddly trusting of him to say such. A wolf with as much desire to gain and clearly no concept of humility was a chaotic combination, for in Savard’s estimation, it was always those who were more reserved in life that were the true threats. But then again, what strings might the puppeteer hold that the audience cannot see? Did he speak foolishly, or confidently?

But what about Savard? This wolf had seemingly confessed to any number of things that would warrant him to be executed. Of course, that was only under the assumption that it were true. Imperials had been known to lie through their teeth just to get a confession, something, anything, out of somebody. And yet… never had Savard heard such a wolf in such a position say such things. Never had Savard seen a wolf feel so proud of what he had done to get to where he was. It unnerved Savard, no… it disgusted him. A wolf who killed one of his own, no doubt putting it on the Jacobites or Voxi. How many would have to die because of this wolf? Would Rionnach be better off with this wolf dead? And yet, were Savard to have such inclinations, would that amount to him picking sides in this war of theirs? Today would not be such a day.

But, to his question, Savard felt it right to give his account, but knew better than to outright confess. “There was this wolf a few years ago,” Savard said, “he did whatever it took to get what he wanted. Faes, renown, no job was too grimy, no action too morally objectionable. He wasn’t shy about any of it, he couldn’t afford to be. Now those who felt to be the wolf’s moral superior, they say him as a monster, less than a wolf for all the things he did. And those that played by the same rules he did, they vowed to take from him anything he held dear. He lived a shallow, lonely life, a life filled with material things, but never anything made to last. But he made the smart choice every time and on every job. He didn’t get caught, never had a sour deal, a short pay, hardly ever a fuck-up even. But sooner or later, it all came crashing down on him, and he lost everything. Family, associates, prestige, and time.” The wolf, of course, was him. Savard hadn’t been the same since Malachi’s death and his subsequent incarceration. It did, however, give him a second chance, a path to make things better, knowing that he could never make them right. But to preach salvation wasn’t his charge for White Timber, nor would he tell anybody to change their ways. He answered his question, and that was enough for him.

The soldier, seemingly taking offense at Savard’s earlier word of advice, asked him for what advice he might offer again. Perhaps what he had been trying to say wasn’t too clear, not that White Timber was as intelligent as he was bloodthirsty. But still, he seemed at least somewhat interested to hear what Savard had to say, believing that the words the older male might share could benefit his dream in some way. But it was clear that to have given up a part of himself to this wolf had only fueled an emotion he often suppressed.

“No,” Savard said in response to the wolf’s rhetorical questions, “if you want my advice to get what you want, it’s that things won’t turn out the way you think they will. You are not the only fish in the pond, nor are you the biggest, so acting like you’re the only or the biggest will only get you so far. As soon as you become a problem so someone who wants what you want, the smarter will be the victor, and the loser will lose everything they hold dear.” And often, the wolf that is patient, intelligent, well-spoken, well-connected, they are the ones that win. But those that attract attention to themselves in such a way as White Timber… it never ends well. At least in Savard’s estimation.

But the words continued, as Savard had finally decided it was time to be truthful, however blunt it might be. "I mean no offense when I say this, White Timber,” Savard said, his regretful eyes piercing the soldier, “but you are careless. And your carelessness will cost you down the line. The way you are, you will never be able to love or hold anybody or anything dear, because that will become a target to your enemies. You will never know peace, love, trust, friendship, if any of those things mean a thing to you. And if you continue to think that the way you do things as they are will ever amount to your dream… you won’t live to see your next birthday. I promise you that.” After all… what better judge of character is there for a wolf to have than one who can see a younger version of himself in the wolf before him?

In all honesty, I wasn’t sure how to perceive this man. He was my elder, and so his words should hold weight. Did they? Certainly some, even if in ounces. But I did not interrupt him as he spoke. His advice lay heavily on the air between us, his concern spreading like a sickness over me. His experiences akin to my current warpath, his endings not so happy. But what did he want to warn me for? Out of the kindness of his heart?

Confusion settled in me now. I looked to him, my one eye searching his face. He didn’t break eye contact with me, his solemn expression oozing with seriousness as his eyes seemed to almost plead with me. A mere boy to him, he sought to guide and teach, but how does one guide a burning star, even if it were falling and not rising? My brow furrowed slightly but it wasn’t anger which painted my expression.
"And what would you change, to alter your course?"
It was then I found myself scooting just slightly closer to him.
"And what would you say if I told you that my ambition wasn’t to be chained or quelled? How would I get what I want without burning my path in my wake, if that isn’t what I wanted? I see you’re speaking from experience. And while I’m not sure why you care what happens to me, I won’t say I don’t appreciate the food for thought."
I wanted to be great. To rise to the top and be known. I wanted the fame and the fear. To me it didn’t matter that I was born on the bottom, I could fight and claw my way to where I felt I belonged. Even if it meant killing a few fools and burning a few bridges.
"Where was it that you wanted to end up?"
The failure to achieve was thick on his aura.

But that didn’t mean I too would fail.

Maybe I wouldn’t just rise, but soar and fly.

Maybe I wouldn’t just become a whispered threat on the wind, but a promise to all.

Where did his fire burn out? When did his ambition leave him? Is it the title of a king which deters him or the desire of the misplace tyrant trying to rise in the shadows? Maybe it was a love long lost now, another failure of his, of which his heart too heavy with.

No matter. For when I was as mighty as my dreams promised, I would reconvene with him and ask - which path now?

Savard had not read the wolf’s mind, but no doubt, the question that was most paramount in his mind about this whole interaction would have stumped him. Why, of all things, would he waste his time and his breath to educate this wolf on getting exactly what he so desired? Was it benevolence? Altruism? Pity? Would it not be best for all of Rionnach for wolves such as this… opportunist, to have his lifeless corpse tossed among the waves of Glass Beach? No doubt, with all such wickedly sour grapes running amok in the king’s colors, so to speak, the flock could surely use some culling. And yet… to kill simply because he despised a wolf, one might call it strength, a lack of remorse or hesitation. But all these years of doing such a thing to so many, depriving loved ones of memories, consolation, time… it was cowardice. It was cowardly to exhaust wolves in such a way. But it was bravery to speak on one’s own paws, rather than bowing in submission, or attacking them from behind.

No, it was not altruism or pity to have spoken to this wolf… it was wrath. It was an unfathomable rage at the way things were, the lack of honor or care to this world. It was a perfect hatred, not directed just at this wolf… but at the idea he represented, the mirror that he reflected back at Savard. Yes, he looked at White Timber, and saw himself, a wolf who had done terrible things, things he could not apologize for, repent for, forget or be forgiven for. And wolves such as these… when they stole or they pillaged or they murdered… they did it without care, without class, without thought for anyone but themselves. They cared not for being honorable, virtuous… for even in the world of criminal undertakings, each wolf has a code. And wolves such as those that Savard had seen lately… they disrespected the memory of wolves in the guild who lived their lives far more honorably than either of them had. Savard owed their memory that much.

And yet… there was but one surprise to this wolf. For unlike so many who had their honor or intellect challenged, who might rant or defend themselves to the tooth for being told that he was but a reckless fool who would die before he saw any satisfaction… what surprised Savard the most was that he listened. At least, that was what it appeared to be. Perhaps he had zoned Savard out, yet another unsurprising manner he might have dealt with the older male. And yet… what this wolf did, implied that Savard’s word held at least some weight, that like a greedy pup trying to suck as much juice out of a dried berry, he tried to grasp at whatever valued information he might have for him, so that it could be used to his benefit. This was not what he wanted, for deep down, Savard knew that with this wolf showing interest in him, and the connections that he had… they were bound to cross paths again, after this. But thankfully, Savard knew far more about him at that point than vice versa.

White Timber was drawn to Savard in a way, it seemed, moving closer to him, inquiring on some of the finer points of his words. It… repulsed Savard, at his core, that this was happening, as he came to realize the truth. He was an expert on the life he once lived, despite his efforts not to be. No matter how much he wished to leave it behind, he found himself back where he started, trapped, smothered, chained to it all the same. Was there no way out in life from it? Would he ever know peace? Or was he doomed to find himself taking the odd job just to get by, and make strange and dangerous acquaintances such as these? Ones that now pressed him for knowledge, wisdom, as if it were his to give! He asked Savard about what he would change to alter his own life’s course (a question he would not, nor could not, answer), what he desired most in life, and lastly… if he truly knew the extend of the soldier’s ambition. He pined for an answer, expecting to get what he wanted from Savard. But the moment he was so selfish to do that… the conversation seemed to pull apart at its seams.

“Your ambition…” Savard said, “it doesn’t make you special, White Timber. You aren’t the first, and you won’t be the last. You might try to be the best… but the best always attracts the most attention. I don’t know what you plan to get out of this this life of yours, and what you hope to be. I’m not here to help you get what you want. The only ourtesy I can give you… is to tell you that whatever sacrifices that you may find yourself making, they aren’t really yours to make. And if you live long enough to get somewhere different from where you are now… you will come to realize that everything that you did… it was all for nothing.” Every job, every client, every death, every scar… nobody will ever remember these things, try as one might. The world has changed, and what happens in the shadows is now more than ever so easily forgotten. It was not Savard’s place to tell the wolf to change his ways, nor was it ever his intent. But sometimes, reality checks were mandatory, especially to those that seemed to speak of things that they truly did not know about. And that was enough for Savard.

Getting up from the soldier, not answering his questions anymore—despite how rude it was—it was getting late in the hour, and Savard had places to be. “I wish you fortune in battle, White Timber,” Savard said, as he got up, saying not one word more, as he went to depart.

Just like any other time, I did listen well to the stranger. His words held a weight I wasn’t sure I valued, but he offered them in a form of ghostly sincerity. Perhaps ricocheting off his morals, perhaps simply pleading with a younger soul to not make his same mistakes. He claimed I was not special, my ambition a broad and generalized thing. He went on to say the sacrifices wouldn’t be mine to make. And while he spoke, my ears were forward and my eye was upon him. My chest heaved steadily with thought, silver lips pulled taut in a rather stoic expression.

In his life, he was probably right and all of his advice meant something.

In my life, he was dead wrong.

My ambition was everything special and more, it shone with a unique burn that none could touch. While finicky in its youth, it was still there, and of a different shade than every other wolf’s. This much I could promise. I did not speak this though. The sacrifices were mine, albeit possibly shared by others, but they were definitely still mine to behold. And when I cashed them in, the ripple effect after did little to deter me. After this conversation with the stranger I quickly deduced his failures were his own and he was attempting to sway me in case I was going down the same path.

But I was not him.

He was not me.

It was then he wished me luck in the coming battles, standing to leave, surely having said his piece enough times that he was finished here. Perhaps he felt better, thinking he laid a foundation in a young wolf to hopefully not make the mistakes he did, or fail as he had. And it was appreciated! But I was foolhardy and wouldn’t be crushed so easily.

So what could I offer in return verbally that would sustain him? Maybe my silence would be enough. I didn’t have much to say to him, our paths were so different, so much so he couldn’t seem to understand what triumph might look like. Maybe if he had just kept pushing in his own life, warring and battling, he would not be on the reclusive end of failure. His ambition was too easily doused, that much is clear. But mine is so much hotter, so much bigger. Failures may happen, but the idea is to rise above.

And I would all but *fly*.

{"I will find you after my victory,"}
Baritones mumbled, though I was unsure if he was too far away yet to hear it entirely. Then I stood, shook the debris from my pelt, and began to saunter back to the barracks. I had much to mull over, but the new smile pressing itself to the edges of my ruined lips couldn’t be contained. I had much to prove, and I would do just that.

I’d prove him wrong.


{exit WT}