Inside the tent, the living space was surprisingly large. The structure looked so small and cramped from the outside, but the interior was tall enough to stand in, and wide enough for two people to stand with arms outstretched. Still, with four people and a wolf, it quickly got cramped.
The old snow leopard sat cross-legged in the middle of his tent, a mortar and pestle in his hands. He didn’t look up as the newcomers entered his home, but he cocked his head to the side.
“Hello,” he said, his voice thin and reedy. “Welcome, travelers. What brings you to me?”
Loren took a second to glance around. The tent had a bedroll laid out on the ground, with piles of books surrounding it. Murky jars full of liquid or some other ingredients were laid out in little groups, and bushels of fresh herbs were laid on top of them. “I’m curious about you.” Loren answered, getting straight to the point.
The snow leopard sniffed the air and raised his head. His eyes were milky white. He sniffed again and smiled, showing yellowed, rotting teeth. “Is that so? Please, please sit and make yourselves comfortable.” He said, gesturing to the dirt around him. Hesitantly, Loren sat in front of him.
Seated directly in front of the old leopard, the princess was able to see him more clearly. His gray and white fur was slashed apart on his face and arms, showing raised scar tissue on the skin beneath. As he raised his arm to continue his work with the mortar and pestle, a bit of his sleeve moved to exposed more of his forearm. What Loren first thought were simply scars, were actually dark, swirling markings, carved through the fur and into his skin.
Behind her, Kaiten growled audibly. “Those markings. Old man, explain them to us.”
The snow leopard chuckled. He sniffed the air again, and turned his blind eyes towards Kaiten, his milky eyes looking right into the young lion. “You are the Beastman’s rightful king, are you not? Are you frightened by these?”
Cassendir likewise frowned. “Those are mage markings. But…”
“There are no mage Beastmen.” Kaiten growled again. “Beastmen are never born with the markings or the connection to whatever magic humans have.”
The snow leopard nodded. As he did, the darkened scars pulsed with a sickly green glow — a mockery of true mage markings. Kaiten’s hand flew to his belt, but he had no sword. He grunted in disdain and flexed his hands instead, bearing his claws.
“What have you done?” he demanded.
“I’ve transcended, my young king. Transcended the limitations the gods have put on us.” The snow leopard showed his teeth in a grim smile. “I’ve long had enough of the humans saying we were below them, that we were too stupid to be blessed in the ways they were. Even if we are stronger, faster, wiser than them, they held their magic above us.” He held up one arm, letting the sleeve fall to his elbow. All around his forearm were the swirling dark marks, turned ghastly on his scarred skin. “I’ve learned how to take the magic into myself, my king. Watch.”
He held out his hand towards the bundles of herbs. His hand shook, either from age or from the immense pain it once endured to bear the markings carved into his flesh. The scars pulsed their sickly green, and the bundles of parsley and sage began to rise into the air. They floated across the room, slowly, and landed in Kaiten’s hesitantly outstretched arms.
“Think of it, Kaiten, son of Gaturr.“ The snow leopard grinned. “The first Beastman Spellmaster. Would your armies not be made stronger with my presence?”
Kaiten frowned, and tossed the bundles of the herbs back where they came. “What you have done is unnatural. An abomination.”
“How did you do it?” Cassendir asked. Kaiten glared at him, but Cassendir was a scholar at heart. He was curious.
The snow leopard’s laugh was more of a wheeze. He reached into the folds of his cloak and withdrew a short dagger in a leather sheath. He slid the blade out carefully, with reverence. The blade of the dagger was completely black, with a slick, reflective surface. It glinted in the weak streams of light that came in through the hides and furs of the tent wall. Cassendir gasped as he saw it, and the old Beastman turned his sightless eyes to him. “A dagger with a blade of pure ebonstone.”
“Ebonstone.” Cassendir breathed in awe. He approached, sitting beside Loren. “Yes, ebonstone has innate magical properties. But the stones can only be acquired from—“
“The Plaguelands. Yes.” The snow leopard nodded. He sheathed the dagger and quickly returned it to its hidden pocket inside his cloak. “I ventured to the ruined castles within the Plaguelands several times, risking my life with every step. I first hoped to find treasure there, but putting one foot inside those castles… I could feel the area thrumming with magic, still teeming with something, a presence, after all its years. I found tomes there, with blank pages. I thought them empty, till I saw the pages under the light of the full moon.”
“Moon rune tomes.” Cassendir said, excitement in his voice. “They’re pages are blank to non-mages, but the script becomes visible to everyone when read under the light of the full moon. That is ancient magic! Spellbooks!”
The snow leopard nodded again. “Precisely. In one of them were pictures of mages, drawn in great detail. It traced the patterns of their markings, all of the places the markings most commonly appear. The most common was on the arm. And so, I copied those patterns with great ritual, and the ebonstone dagger. The same ebonestone dagger, and a single battered journal that
