The 5th Hero is a Beast [Queer LitRPG Isekai]

Their arrival in the castle's city was what Hallvar considered undramatic – quiet even – but what for the rest of Alvgarten was extremely tense and harrowing.

The beastshaper traveled in kjerrborn form with Queenie up until the city limits where the forest's edge began to diminish in favor of cobbled stone and manicured greenery.

Despite all desires otherwise, Hallvar had to be human in order to traverse a city. Stupid decency laws.

The last time Hallvar entered a strange city – when they greeted the Queen in the Qhai Republic – they were overly concerned with appearances. This was not the case now.

They had almost forgotten to consider such human things. A kjerrborn had only its fur and claws, after all. And while a qitta or a fish hawk may be concerned with preening, neither did so for the sake of presentation.

The process of being such a large and imposing beast shifted Hallvar's mindset just enough to provide them with self-assurance (and lack of shits to give) that one might find in an older, wiser individual.

One of the human concerns Hallvar forgot about was how wet and cold their feet were, how the mud and snow soaked the calves of their trousers.

They forgot how the soft falling snow settled on Queenie's back and on their own shaggy red mane of hair grown from beastshaping.

They forgot that they were strange. A barely clothed man, hair and beard wild, clawed fingers, muddy legs, bare feet, escorting a 4-foot tall kjerrborn.

What windows were open to air out the houses shut as soon as the berggeist was spotted. It was a series of soft hinge creaks and the thump of the shutters, heard by the beastmaster's newly keen hearing but not understood.

Hallvar kept Queenie on their right. She didn't have the sense to guide the beastmaster like Pipkin could, but she was smart enough not to walk directly into obstacles.

She was curious about this two-legged version of her kjerrborn dad, butting up against the human like a massive livestock dog gearing to swipe its master off their feet.

Hallvar corrected the silly beast by grabbing her by the snout, redirecting the insistent nuzzles to avoid being scraped by Queenie's tiny tusks.

Pipkin was buried in the thick fur of Queenie's neck, trying to keep warm in this freezing climate. The beastmaster wanted to hold her close but felt that they lacked the right kind of hair for the job. Long hair didn't mean thick and insulating.

Maybe they could get one of those slings that could hold infants or cats close, pack it full of woolen goods, and let Pipkin ride along. She might like that. She might also hate it. Hrm.

The sounds of people reached Hallvar's ears as they wandered through the city.

The buildings were tall here, each square and multi-storied with dramatically swooped roofs to divert the snowfall. The architectural structure was visible, with dark beams outlining every eave and corner.

Hallvar even spotted some gargoyles half-buried under the snow, which was a delightful find. Those funky little creatures were always fascinating. What beasts did Brigavalé value enough to depict in stonework?

The beastmaster found the source of the noise – an open-air market made of individual stalls, each a tiny wooden structure like a miniature house, spread across a large street on a grid.

The snowfall made it hard to see how far the market extended, but there were glowing dots of lantern light fading in the distance as they hung above each stall entrance.

Hallvar and Queenie approached the market slowly, meandering as a curious kjerrborn would, pausing to eye the sparse crowd shopping along the aisles.

Their stance would have been described as awkward before, since they blocked the center of the road and just squinted through the snowfall at the stalls. Not that Hallvar noticed.

But, to the Valiens, this was incredibly ominous behavior.

Brigavalé was famous for a few things.

Notoriously dangerous beasts, such as the langstreckett, a densely furred beast twice the size of a human that hunted by reaching its long arms down from the trees and impaling prey on a spear-like talon.

Difficult winters, so much so that foreigners avoided the country entirely during the cold season. Locals worked around the issue, accustomed to the climate and even adopting "airing out" traditions where the house was opened up to the brisk air once a day.

A remarkable prevalence of harbingers, a mage subclass focused on curses and cursebreaking. While the subclass wasn't unique to Brigavalé, almost every harbinger ended up passing through the country eventually. All the best academic and practical learning on harbinger magic was housed in Valien libraries.

Curses were typically inherent to each caster, but they followed certain rules.

They always affected the body of the target. Curses with a low magic cost targeted senses or sensations, such as giving the target vertigo or blurring their vision. They were temporary but disorienting.

But curses with high magic cost could have extreme consequences. They were often single-use and extensive in their repercussions. Often, these curses were earned only by high-attribute, experienced harbingers through completing system quests.

A harbinger could only hope for the luck needed to gain a useful curse, even if it could only be used once.

If the Valiens didn't already perceive Hallvar as a berggeist, they would have immediately presumed they were extremely cursed.

Body alterations were "common" if that word was applicable, though mocking disability through grotesque emphasis was not possible. The system didn't permit that kind of intentionality.

But curses often mimicked existing beasts or provided fundamental limitations on one's existence.

The results were never fun for the person targeted, so a queer individual who wished to have fangs would not enjoy the results of the curse-fulfillment.

They might find that they did have sharper teeth but constantly bit their tongue or cheeks with every slight motion, or that the teeth protruded from their mouth well past their chin.

That the longer teeth hurt while eating and prevented language skills they once took for granted. Keeping them from sleeping well, making clothing more difficult to wear.

Curses were detrimental in a way that Hallvar's talons were – unavoidable and disruptive to daily life without directly preventing living itself.

So, if not berggeist, then cursed.

People didn't end up on the receiving end of a once-in-a-lifetime curse on a whim. To be cursed in such a manner implied you were malevolent.

The fear of the locals shopping at the winter market was palpable. They lingered on the periphery, ducking into the stalls and generally making themselves sparse.

No one wanted to be near this creature.

Hallvar noticed but even though their awareness 15 was enough to see, it failed to understand. They were too used to beasts in the wild giving them a wide berth, staying a respectful distance from the kjerrborn and outright fleeing from the qitta.

It wasn't that they lacked knowledge; it was that Hallvar needed to recontextualize themselves as a human in a human civilization.

Instead, they merely looked at the interesting fashion, casting their eye on embroidered details of skirts and fur lining of long leather coats.

Unused to the presence of so many humans, Queenie shifted her weight nervously; Pipkin poked her head out of the beast's fur to assess the situation, a chirp escaping her from excitement at the prospect of going indoors to a warm place.

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Hallvar looped their arm around the kjerrborn's neck, pulling her close to comfort her with a snuggle. She pushed her weight against the human, whose bare feet slid in the snow as they physically protested the gesture.

Queenie didn't accept no as an answer, as most teenagers failed to do, so she wrapped her teeth around the beastmaster's arm in a play bite.

Playfighting and roughhousing were familiar to Hallvar as a beast, but not yet as a human. They were intrigued to find that the pressure of her feigned bite was uncomfortable, but her teeth failed to puncture, despite their relative sharpness.

They scratched a talon across the thinner skin on the back of their hand.

Nothing.

It seemed that kjerrborn hairiness wasn't the only physical trait Hallvar gained, which was great news for simply human comforts like wiping their own ass or scratching an itch.

Queenie mouthed the human once more, this time rougher, and Hallvar had to grab her by the muzzle to push her away. She tried to restart the play, only to be deterred once more.

She eventually understood, though it took multiple corrections.

The street was filled with soft whispers muffled by the snow as locals gossiped, though a few new voices were louder as a family stepped in-between stalls into the walkway.

"Kerrbor!" came a tiny squeal of delight, followed by a series of gasps and cries to stop.

A small child wrapped in a dark fur coat was sprint-stomping her way toward Queenie, running away from the surprised family as the parents struggled to pass off a baby, parcels, and an older child.

Several people stepped forward to intervene, but they stopped as Hallvar squatted, taloned hand pressing against the belly of the toddler to prevent them from rushing the juvenile kjerrborn.

Queenie sniffed the air curiously, her head darting low so she could investigate the tiny human.

"Kerrbor! Kerrbor streichel? Strei- streichel?"

The word didn't need to be translated, not when the toddler held out her hand and opened and closed it repeatedly.

The adults didn't know what to do. The toddler was not in harm's way, simply in an uncomfortable situation where it was unclear if this was a mythological being or a very cursed person who led around a very large beast.

There was a cultural demand concerning politeness regarding the berggeist as well as a tendency to allow children to be independent as long as they were not in danger.

This was a confusing protocol standoff for the locals.

The parents said some words in the background, but Hallvar couldn't understand the language. They glanced at the parents, but it was hard to keep focus on the toddler's movements and the parents simultaneously with only one eye.

Hallvar sent an internal query to Queenie. It was presented much more simplistically to the beast's mind, but the sentiment was asking if she wanted the child to pet her, or if she wanted to sniff the child closer.

The beastmaster had to shift their weight to keep the kjerrborn from bowling them both over with her curiosity. Hallvar kept their hand on her muzzle, ready to redirect any bitey energy away from tiny child fingers.

They tried to demonstrate to the toddler that she needed to make a fist so that Queenie could sniff but ended up having to close the toddler's fingers manually, careful not to nick her skin with the talons.

Hallvar was allowing a tentative sniff from Queenie – the toddler giggled and pressed her fist closer in eagerness, bopping the kjerrborn on the nose – when another child rushed forward.

She was stomping as she approached Hallvar, a picture of justice and indignation as her braids swayed with each footfall. She was older, maybe five or six, and she outright yelled at the beastmaster.

"Du machst allen Angst!"

Now, Hallvar didn't know what this meant. They hadn't been in the human part of Brigavalé long enough for [ sage skill: standard speech ] to kick in.

But they did understand that a child was yelling at them and that was a bit amusing.

Hallvar intended to offer that the young girl pet Queenie as well, but Pipkin had other ideas. She wasn't thrilled that her beastmaster was being shouted at.

The akergryph launched herself out of the kjerrborn's fur, startling the toddler and little girl alike. She landed on Hallvar's shoulder to scold the offending human in her squirrelly way, tail flicking and cold be damned.

The little girl screamed and grabbed her sister, dragging the upset toddler back to her parents.

The look of exasperation Hallvar gave Pipkin did nothing to deter her but grabbing her and holding her in a little akergryph burrito did help. She protested but then just laid trapped in Hallvar's fingers, mildly confused.

The hero was able to look around now that they weren't locked in on the danger of kjerrborn teeth meeting toddler fingers. They were a little surprised to see a crowd forming. At a safe distance, but still…

Now that a social interaction rekindled Hallvar's understanding of socialization, they could see that the locals were apprehensive about their presence. A few even shrank under the beastmaster's gaze, pulling away and tucking into the comfort of the stalls as the stranger watched.

Pipkin peeped as Hallvar turned to look around, then she started quaa-ing and flicking her tail. A threat, she warned. Someone was approaching.

Despite the knowledge, Hallvar was startled when an old black man appeared out of their new blind spot. He wore what seemed to be traditional clothes under a long jacket made of dark waxed cloth.

The man said something, but seeing Hallvar's lack of understanding, he repeated it, making a follow me gesture with his hand.

Ah, okay. The hero glanced around, trying to decipher what they were being led to, but only caught worried glances from the locals.

Yeah, it was probably a good idea to go.

They followed with curiosity, letting the akergryph free so she could hide in Queenie's fur once more.

The man led them around the edge of the winter market, pausing only to buy something from a stall. The merchant brought out a small cask; it wasn't your other world beer keg size, but it was large.

With great patience, the old man looked at the beastmaster then gestured to the cask. Oh. Well, yeah. Hallvar could do that.

They hoisted the wooden cask into their arms, almost immediately getting a notification about their strength attribute.

The ten percent strength increase from their defense form was already helping. It seemed that Hallvar was overdue for grinding out attributes, but the beast forms – or maybe just the attunement period – didn't count as work.

That didn't mean the cask was easy to carry. Hallvar found themselves struggling a bit as the old man… took them along while running errands?

They picked up another parcel at a vendor, who eyed the beastmaster and beast warily, before stopping at a stall that seemed to carry metal decorations and some leather goods.

Hallvar was looking at some lovely, embroidered straps of some kind when the old man got their attention. He held out a thick, thick belt that was shaped oddly.

It took a minute for Hallvar to put down the cask and take the belt, looking it over. The old man gestured toward Queenie, and it all clicked.

This was a collar! It was probably made for an oxen or this world's equivalent of a cow, which was verified when the old man held out two embroidered straps with bells attached to the end, indicating Hallvar needed to pick one.

Oh! This was for Queenie, to show that she was a companion and not a wild beast. How lovely.

Hallvar picked a brass bell whose strap had little blue and yellow flowers embroidered on it. With help from the old man, they secured the bell to the collar and put it around Queenie's neck.

She immediately itched at it, but Hallvar tried to convey as best they could that it needed to stay on. The beastmaster had to give her some good scratches between the eyes before she calmed down enough to stop trying to claw the belt off.

They began hunting for their pocket as they saw the old man take out currency to pay, managing to yank it out from being squashed between their too-tight pants and skin.

Hallvar fumbled around with the coins, feeling like they were using chopsticks as their talons pinched at the metal bits. They had to dump out the pocket into their hands to make it work, stashing their key and guild card between their knuckles to pick out some of the coins.

The old man reached over. Hallvar noticed that his fingers were meticulously clean, nails neatly trimmed, some odd callouses from mystery tool use.

But he didn't take the Amnasín coins.

Instead, he took the guild card, looking it over passively. The man wasn't a fount of emotional expression to begin with, but Hallvar did see his eyebrows raise.

He refused the coins, returning the guild card and pointing to the cask. Right, back to work.

They followed the old man away from the market, drawing closer to that big castle in the distance. Soon, they were nearly on top of it, waiting at a high stone wall to pass through a portcullis.

Did the old man work for the king?

A second, dumber question hit Hallvar.

Was the old man the king?

Hallvar had spent a long time in castle grounds that one time, and then after that they went to the library with Stella intermittently. This was to say that Hallvar didn't really know how castles were supposed to work.

This one was like a continuation of the city, but within stone walls. There were more stores and more houses, another market even, but the old man stopped short at bringing Hallvar into the inner courtyard.

He unlocked a workshop with a wooden sign overhead, covered with snow and ice so it was a bit hard to see. The shape was familiar though.

Hallvar convinced Queenie to take a nap outside, where she buried herself in a deep pile of snow to conserve warmth. Pipkin joined the beastmaster shortly, affronted once she'd been face-planted into the snow by the kjerrborn.

The signage was made apparent once Hallvar stepped inside, though they were stopped on a doormat by the old clockmaker. The walls were lined with cuckoo clocks and other hand-carved wooden clocks of all shapes and sizes.

The akergryph settled on a ceiling beam, immediately greeted by a tiny blue bird that began a series of birdy communications.

Hallvar hoped they were getting along; the hero's attention was pulled away by the clockmaker, who offered them a towel and a bucket of warm water, pointing to their dirty feet.

After all that was said and done, Hallvar hoisted the cask to a stand in a dim backroom that was lined with work benches and equipment. The old man used a hammer to tap the cask and poured out two mugs of something.

Oh, cider.

That was one of the things Hallvar was looking forward to again now that they were functionally human. Warm food, nice drink, a bath.

Not that they stunk or anything. Maybe a little from Queenie's proximity, as she was very much an unbathed beast, but not from any natural body product. The beastshaping could not dirty body crevices that were non-existent, so although Hallvar was now hairy and bulky and a new kind of awkward, at least they weren't caked in dirt.

The clockmaker led Hallvar to a few seats by a stove, radiating heat into the store. He opened one of the parcels to reveal cheese and pulled a knife from his pocket to share it with the beastmaster.

It was nice. Quiet.

The snow continued to fall outside, coating the grey fur of the kjerrborn in white, masking her presence as simply a large pile of dirty snow someone threw to the side.

And for a while, Hallvar didn't know that the local lord had sent the guild adventurers searching for the berggeist and the kjerrborn loose in Alvgarten.