Werewolves Are Poor Pool Players

I don't understand how a pack of humanoid wolves are not able to laugh at themselves. Guys, you are completely covered by hair and are prone to embarrassing bouts of hacking up fur balls.

Last Saturday night, I really thought things were going well with my new friends, the Armbrust Forest Werewolves. We did have a common enemy, after all. Even prior to the second pint of root ale being poured in a shabby shack pretending to be a tavern, which, in turn, was within a petite clearing of a forest trying its best to mime a town, I was pronouncing my own distain for the ever social elite vampires with confidence only lent by spiked merriment.

"At least you chums travel in packs," I said to Frost. Frost appeared to be the leader of the pack. He was significantly older, or, at least, his watchful eyes peering out from a skull of gray fur suggested wisdom earned only through experience of age. A leather necklace of teeth hung around his neck, and, while his pack sported short loincloths of muted colors, Frost's hung all the way to his ankles and was bright red in tone. He was long in the tooth, and it was yellow.

“You may have a point there,” Frost said as he leaned into his shot with his pool stick’s tip hovering behind the chipped cue ball, “but what were you doing mingling with the likes of the Reische Family, anyway? Dying to lend them some blood?” He sank the eight ball into the right corner pocket and gave me, of course, a wolfish grin. .

“Good game. If you are done warming up, maybe we could get to some real playing. You got anything to wager, kid?” Frost had a habit of pretending to be too preoccupied with whatever he was doing to make eye contact with whomever he was attempting to hustle. In this case, he was looking down at his pool stick as he rechalked the tip. Good. Detail noted.

“Oh, I got away with a chunk of their change. I don’t know, though, Frost,” I said. “After the skill you just displayed? Why on O’Dia would I bet against you?”

He chuckles. “No, no, no. Not me. Where would be the sport in that? How about Treu over there?” Looking over his right shoulder, he yells across the bar to a beast having his drink poured by one trembling bartender. “Hey! Treu! Want to devour a human?” Looking back at me with a wink, he adds, “in a game of pool.”

“Sure, Frost, I’ll take the blue kid’s money,” Treu answered as he swaggered over to the pool table as he passed splintered oak tables surrounded by hooting pack animals. He gulped down the poison in a single swallow, threw the empty glass over his back, which shattered against the head of one of his brothers to the growing amusement of the other werewolves, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Let’s see what the lad can do.”

I have violently blue hair. I should’ve told you that before. Yes, the unnatural color is natural in my case. I don’t know why, but I will get to all that later. Probably.