The Trials of Edict

10th of Etnikh 3E

I have found that losing my temper makes the fire instantly form. Over the last two days, I have caught myself just before I burned down my bookcases full of ancient books and scrolls. I let it loose once, but I was able to reabsorb the fire into my hands before it caught ahold of anything besides air. It travels remarkably fast when I'm angry, I have noted.

At noon today, 10th of Etnikh 3E, a shipment I had been hoping for arrived. It wasn't an ordinary shipment of chemicals or equipment or clothing. It was a body.

It wasn't just any old human body either – it was the corpse of a werewolf. I wasn't there when it was brought into my home or else I would have examined it on the spot. I was still reading, writing, cataloging the newest of my collection of oddities – a deactivated automaton spider with hooks and blades and wires connected to its back. The owner was reluctant to give me this piece, as it was his favourite of his creations, but handed it over when I... convinced him.

That's besides my point. The wolf was moved into my lab and my assistants were working on setting out my tools and my previous notes on the subject. I was always fascinated with the werewolf family and the gifts they bestowed to its members, forced or not. They turn from human to a beast with the shift of the gleaming moon. They call out to it, worship it like it was sentient and loved them like they loved it. Only some had control over the shift. I've met two like this so far.

Some are stuck in one form or another, a curse or a blessing depending on your perspective. I've seen some stuck as their beast selves and others who are stuck as humans. That sounds like a blessing to some who hate their gift, but, in reality, it's not. They go through the cravings, the bloodlust, the night sweats and coldness. When they are stuck as humans, they want nothing more than to finally be able to get the chance to revert, to satisfy their lust. They feed on other humans either way.

I am well versed about werewolves and their kin; I sit precariously on the edge between two packs, neutral to both sides and open for trade with them. This is a place of peace for the packs and I willingly let them wander my property and trade needed supplies with them only if they don't attack each other while here. I've set up a line of silver stones to divide the territories, to prevent them from mingling. The Eldest and Perth pack's leaders often come over, not at the same time of course, to converse and plan things with me. They are the two that can freely shift between forms. They're always in control of their form, of their mind. The two souls, the wild and the free, merged into one with their mind intact. Faolchu, the alpha of Perth pack, and Gwendith, the alpha of the Eldest pack, have both offered to change me many times over the long years I've lived between them.

While I would love to, as it would offer more insight into the mind of a werewolf, I cannot. It would throw the balance of the whole situation off and I cannot have that. I wouldn't be able to trade with both sides after and there isn't a set chance I will always be in control of my mind.

I have a member from each pack as assistants. They come and go with the hunt, but they spend most of their time here, with me. They are peaceful with each other, and it brings some hope that one day the two packs can become allies. Over the last year, there have been less and less fights. Faolchu surprisingly brought up the possibility of him and Gwendith meeting here, together, for the first time in the coming months. It surprised me that they have never met face to face before.

Back to my original subject. Normally, when a wolf is killed, it will revert back to its natural form – back to that of a human. This one did not. His maw was still opened in a last, futile, call to the moon, a result of the silver arrowheads. I had never actually been able to get one that wasn't human before now. He had been dead for three days before he arrived at my doorstep, by the tag stapled on the tip of his ear. His body was cold to the touch – not from him being deceased. He was frozen. I couldn't tell exactly how long ago he died, but I knew it was easily more than three days. I told this to one of the assistants present. He scribbled down my words and ran out of my lab. He was going to write and send a very... colourful letter to my collector – I paid for a fresh corpse, not one who could have been dead for weeks.

Despite that, I was grateful for the chance to examine it. Before I did anything, I checked everywhere and peeled back layers of sticky, matted fur, searching for a sign to make sure it didn't belong to either pack. It had no particular markings and it didn't resemble either. The wolf assistants came to double check my assumption and made separate notes to back it so I wouldn't be the object of hate to either side.

I didn't expect them to stay and watch my process. Wolves are more guarded when it comes to others of their race than humans are – we tear into each other regardless. Wolves attack and maul each other but to see someone surgically pick another of your kin apart? I didn't question them after, though. They were both interested and took detailed notes and asked me to explain my processes as I went through. I obliged, as I always did. As I said in the previous entry, knowledge is needed.

I kept the three arrow heads that were embedded in the werewolf's flesh. They were pure silver, handcrafted by master huntsmen. At the sight of them, the wolf assistants flinched away and back up several paces. I would never hurt them intentionally, but I wish I knew exactly that silver would do to the wolves.