Advrik was taken aback when he saw his photo in the local paper, more so than he had anticipated despite posing for it. He had only one picture of himself in the public eye at any given time, his profile picture on Facebook. There were no family photos, no pictures with friends, just that one photo of him posing with a magitek sword and the monster he and... his inner monster had slain.
Magitek weaponry, the result of decades of research and fine-tuning during the eighteenth century, had a profound impact on society. It was the craft of fusing a material object with a heavy dose of a particular alignment spell that the users had to learn before ever even attempting a binding. The object, Advrik's sword in this instance, would then join the magic vein that flowed through the wolf's body. This granted him the ability to summon his sword at will and could be repeated up to three times with three different objects.
The development of such a spell had struck a nerve with politicians and security firms as it posed a severe risk factor at big gatherings where weapons were prohibited. This led to large-scale Silence spell veils being erected, effectively blocking the summoning of Magitek and magic as a whole. The veils were so effective that vacation resorts, prisons, schools, and soon even many major retail businesses purchased them during the 80s and '90s, forcing magic out of most major metropolitan areas and back into rural communities.
"Nue Chimera defeated; Local Monster Hunter Claims Rampaging Monster!" in big, bold letters across the top of the Brickhedge Times, the local newspaper, and just below it, "Largest cucumber ever grown!"
The wolf rolled up his paper and tucked it back into the little cubby from which he found it beside other local papers from surrounding New Hampshire towns.
Today, he found himself outside of Brickhedge city limits for the first time in months, a sense of adventure stirring within him. Following the hunt of the Chimera, he found himself with some additional funds rewarded to him by the state, which covered another month's utility bills and some groceries while leaving a little over for "Fun Funds", as he liked to call it.
Heading back down the same road that brought him into Brickhedge initially, the wolf swung by the K-Mart and renewed his fishing license.
While he was there, he stocked up on a plethora of new fishing gear as well: Soft lures, a few frogs, some hooks and sinkers, along with a new tackle box to store it all in. But his biggest purchase was a new rod and reel combo! A cheap Zebco spinning combo.
Growing up, the few times he got to actually fish were during adoption events back at the orphanage when the whole house would be taken to gatherings in the park to be shown off to potential adopters. He got to fish in a small stream that cut through the park. It had been freshly stocked with trout, so there was plenty to catch. He'd used a small closed-face reel designed for children, one that was themed after Leonardo from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.
His new setup was a great deal more advanced, and with only a tiny amount of research done on how actually to use such a device, he wasn't entirely sure what he'd be getting himself into.
The sun was beating down heavily as the second big heat wave of the year settled itself over the East Coast. Rain hadn't been in the forecast since that rough and tumbling thunderstorm the previous week, and not an ounce of moisture was expected anytime soon.
Temperatures were expected to rise into the upper nineties this week, with the real feel being in the triple digits. Air had stagnated, almost entirely replaced with a thick and sticky humid vapor that penetrated even the thickest coats of fur. And worst still, it was forecast to stick around for a good long while, much to the behest of beasts all up and down the Atlantic coast.
The wolf pushed his way through the thick growth of unidentified bushes, tangles of prickly vines, and what was probably poison ivy at one point. "Gonna pay for that later," he lamented.
Overhead, a cicada droned on endlessly in search of a mate that would reciprocate its call for companionship, a feeling the wolf that loped through the brush below echoed in its own unconscious way. A sense of companionship far deeper, more intimate than the one he shared with his little mole friend.
It was a feeling he was not ready to acknowledge earnestly, creating an inner turmoil that he'd only grazed the surface of here recently.
Today, the lone wolf found himself well away from the town of Brickhedge. He was equipped with his fishing gear, all tucked away and arranged neatly in two trays within the brown rucksack that hung from his back.
A cool, water-chilled breeze swept through the thicket, rustling his fur and cooling the sweat that had formed. Advrik stopped to relish in the sudden, unexpected cooling, as if somebeast had turned on a giant outdoor air conditioner.
As his hike took him deeper into the forest and closer to the river, the bursts of cooled air became more and more frequent. The sound of rustling summer foliage quickly became drowned out by the rushing of a fast-moving, icy cold river.
The wolf looked to his sides but found no sign of beast, animal, or monster. The closest thing to a beast-made object was the bridge he had crossed in his car, far down the river. Why he chose such a place, so far off from the beaten path, he wasn't sure, but he didn't regret it either, not after seeing the bountiful nature around him.
He stepped up to the river bank and dropped his bag to the rocky ground below. In the distance, a trout breached the surface in its pursuit of prey. This act went unnoticed by the wolf as the beast removed piece after piece from his rucksack: A KastKing orange tackle box, a steel cylinder full of ice, and a small tub of red worms.
Standing beside the rushing water with a rag over his shoulder and a yellow and blue boonie hat atop his shaggy head, he extended his right arm and, after a quick silent conjuring, summoned his fishing rod!
He'd used one of his allotments to turn his newly bought rod and reel combo into a Magitek piece that now, like his sword, he can summon at any time he pleases, Silence veil notwithstanding.
Advrik crimped a small split shot about seven inches up from the hook, which had seen a decent-sized red wormed impaled upon the barbed baitholder hook. It wriggled helplessly as it dangled crazily back and forth and all over the river water below.
"Aight," he said to no one in particular, "I think I first open the bale..." The reel clicked, and the hook (with worm) dropped into the cold water below. The wolf began to reel as the bale elbow caught the eight-pound monofilament he'd spooled onto it the night before. He slipped his index finger beneath the string and pulled it against the rod. The line did not drop. "That's a start!"
A great blue heron soared overhead, landing several yards away downstream. It watched the wolf-beast with measured curiosity, calculating the danger level the beast presented, if any. Once it felt comfortable, it stretched its long legs and strutted its stuff across a slower-moving part of the channel in search of slow-moving fish.
First cast, the bale had closed, and the worm boomeranged back towards the wolf as it and the fishing line wrapped around the tip of the rod with the help of added weight from the split shot.
Advrik growled to himself as he unwound the line.
Second cast, the worm flew in the opposite direction as he removed his finger far too soon from its holding position, allowing the spool to release its cargo in the middle of the wind-up.
"Well, shit,"
After some minor corrections and a quick tutorial video on YouTube, he stepped back out of the shade and up to the river. The sizeable feral bird downstream struggled with a large bluegill as it positioned it in its beak. "That's one for zero so far, " Advrik had said, watching the bird swallow the fish whole.
The third time was the charm as Advrik sent the worm soaring across the river, nearly landing on the opposite bank. His left arm had been used as a lever of sorts on the end of the rod, giving it some extra oomph in the swing.
He began to reel immediately, missing a very crucial step when casting spinning reels that would bite him in the ass later.
The next cast was thrown with a little less strength, from overhead this time rather than the side. The worm gently glided through the air before splashing down right near some river foam created in the river eddy, a swirling movement of water that counters the main current, resulting in a small whirlpool.
Below the surface, hiding out beneath the foam, was a lone rainbow trout, A remarkable specimen with a bright strip of pink running down both its sides. It watched the lethargic, drowning worm with great interest as it got swept up in the whirlpool. The trout instinctively knew to wait in places like this as prey often got pushed and pulled right towards it, making for easy meals. The long, wriggly kind was unusual, it thought. It could've sworn there was some piece of fishdom advice regarding them, but it was too hungry to think right now, so it gobbled the worm down.
And oh, how it quickly wished it hadn't.
Advrik jerked the rod back, having failed to notice the slack line that had wrapped itself around the interior of the reel. He eagerly reeled the fish towards the bank; the line that had become slacked was busy wrapping itself tighter and tighter.
The trout breached the surface just once in its short fight, the hook jutting out of its upper lip pulled with a force likely never experienced by any fish ever, thought the trout, as it found itself in the grips of a shaggy, giant canid. Perhaps the creature was saving it, the fish quickly considered as the painful hook in its mouth had been removed. It even found itself being lowered towards the water once more.
It'd be back home in no time!
The wolf kneeled, trout in hand, and picked up a nice round rock from the river's edge. A swift arm movement and a single bone-breaking sound later, the fish was done. He unscrewed the top of his steel container and slipped the trout between the ice to keep it fresh.
Winding up, unleashing bale once more, he geared up for another cast. When he did this time, the fresh new worm failed to soar. The heron croaked a mocking sound downstream, almost sounding like a laugh.
Must've not had the bale opened, he thought as he wound it up and, this time making sure the bale was opened, slipped a finger over the string and wound up his toss.
It once again failed to fly.
Inspecting the reel, he quickly identified the cause and then cursed himself and then the reel.
Nearly thirty minutes and a new location later, he was back in action once more, but not after having to dismantle the entire reel in order to get the slacked line unwound from the interior, which had, upon winding, stopped the gears from turning entirely in either direction.
Things hardly felt right after that, however, as the wolf's throws began to miss their mark by large margins. He started closing the bale manually now of course, but whatever had happened prior had cast a funk over his enthusiasm.
"Crap!"
"Darn it!"
"Fuuuuu...."
Cast after cast, though landing in the slower downstream waters, still flew wildly and off course. The reel made a crinkling noise as he reeled it in, which it hadn't before, even with the drag tightened all the way up. Another hit to the old enthusiasm meter there.
Somehow, miraculously, he thought, he'd managed to hook yet another rainbow trout. This one was a bit smaller but still provided a healthy fight. It was dispatched just as quickly and placed into the container with its brethren.
The sun was beginning to travel westward, signaling that it was about time to head back to Brickhedge. The trip thus far had been a bit aggravating, and not even those two trout in his cooler made up for how frustrating the reel had been.
"Fishing was supposed to be relaxing, " he said aloud, again to nobeast but himself, "The damn reel shouldn't be this technical..."
About at his wit's end, he made one last cast. This time, with more strength than he had intended, sending the near-dead worm soaring clear across the river and landing on the opposite side. If the wolf smoked, this was where he'd take a good long drag.
The hook getting snagged was the real clencher.
He pulled and pulled and pulled, but whatever the hook had caught itself on wasn't willing to relent. The beast walked up and down the river's edge, swinging the rod widely to the left and right to no avail.
Now officially ready to pack it up, he tried one last method: Holding the rod low and then walking in a straight line. The method worked as the line, under an overwhelming amount of pressure, snapped with a loud pop. Reeling the slack back in, he noticed that the loose line had once again begun to wind itself around the interior of the spool.
He cocked an eyebrow, staring longingly at the entangled contraption in his hands for several seconds.
"Fu--"
* * *
[ Back in Brickhedge. . . ]
Sitting beside the front door, neatly packed back up in their original packaging with a receipt taped to the bag, was the rod and reel. He'd be returning it to K-Mart the first chance he got tomorrow.
The wolf emerged from the bathroom shirtless, wearing only a pair of shorts. He tossed the towel he'd been drying his hair with into the hamper outside the laundry room, then headed for the open kitchen through the living room.
From the fridge, he removed an aluminum foil packet. It had been lightly sealed, but not enough that he'd have to tear the foil to get back to the contents. Pulling back the flaps revealed the contents within. The two trout he had caught earlier.
The fish had been gutted, their insides removed with a quick slice to the stomach. He'd scraped the kidneys out with a spoon and then salt and peppered the fish before placing them into the foil. He'd allowed them to sit while he showered, not wanting to risk letting them cook on the stove without supervision.
He then cut up some mushrooms, a few small red potatoes, and some onion. He then placed a few asparagus stalks for extra color then drizzled some olive oil over the fish before resealing the packet, this time heavily crimping the edges.
Placed in a skillet, covered with a lid, the fish cooked for nearly thirty minutes that way. All the while, Advrik worked on removing the spell binding the fishing rod and reel to his mana flow. The employee working the service desk would absolutely check a return for such a thing.
It'd be another thirty days before he could perform another binding, he thought. Not that the next purchase would see a binding. Oh no, not again.
Advrik wasn't done fishing, not by a long shot.
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