409: Reynard: Nasty, Brutish, and Short

This week on Myths and Legends, we're telling the stories of Renard the Fox.

You'll see how LARPing might just save your life, and how, if your dinner begs to be eaten, that might be a little suspicious.

The creature this week is a seven-headed cyclops with destructive hobbies.

This is Myths and Legends, episode 409: Nasty, Brutish, and Short.

This is a podcast where we tell stories from mythology and folklore.

Some are incredibly popular tales you might think you know, but with surprising origins.

Others are stories that might be new to you, but are definitely worth a listen.

We're back in the stories of Renard and friends.

Well, that's not strictly accurate.

Renard doesn't really have friends.

He's an anthropomorphic talking fox who lives in the beast kingdom with other anthropomorphic talking animals, like Renard's greatest enemy, Isinggrim the wolf, a wolf priest who is a wolf in priest's clothing, it's exactly what it sounds like.

The Renard stories are oftentimes brutal parodies of other medieval texts.

And while they were originally written in Old French, the tales come from the Netherlands, France, and Germany.

We're not in any of those places today, or maybe we're vaguely in all those places because we are in the kingdom of the lion, and he is

not doing well.

Rufanus, the king who was a lion but not, well, yes, a lion king, but not the lion king due to international trademark law, was sick.

It was summer.

There was no respite.

His bed was in a deep, shaded valley, but no one could figure out the cause of his illness.

These were the Middle Ages, and the cause of any illnesses were kind of a shot in the dark, but a lion's illness?

Well, someone had to have something, so the lion's heralds called forth the leaders of the beasts: Berfridus of the goats, Grimo, the chief of the boars, Riardus from the deer, Bruno of the bears, Joseph the leader of the sheep, Isingrim of the wolves, Gutero leader of the hares,

and the last and 100% least, according to the other assembled nobles, Renard, governor and the glory of his race, the lion's herald read.

Renard the fox smiled.

They all got to choose their own titles.

He didn't know why the others didn't add a little rasmataz too.

Renard bowed.

Here in the flesh.

Not for long, Isingrim, the monk, who was also a very dangerous wolf, growled.

You'll be attending the king in spirits soon, Isinggrim salivated.

Because I'm going to eat your flesh, killing you and turning you into a spirit.

Because you'll be dead.

No, we all got it the first time, Mernard said.

Isinggrim should have more faith in his own writing.

Isinggrim growled that he wasn't looking for notes.

He was looking for the fox's skin and his flesh and his bones, and his We really don't need to keep doing this, Mernard the fox said, closing his eyes and opening his arms.

Well, let's get this over with.

The wolf's hair stood on end.

Oh, this was too perfect.

He licked his non-existent wolf lips and loped over to Reynard,

just in time to get absolutely laid out by Bruno the Bear.

The king has decreed safe passage for all under penalty of death, the bear grumbled.

Enjoy, Renard laughed at the nobles who were lumbering toward the king.

He turned and headed back to his burrow.

What?

You're not going?

The bear asked.

Are you serious right now?

This is a serious question.

I have my own to look after.

The king will have you all and he won't even miss me, Renard said.

A poor man like him was either unknown or despised at court, and those with wealth think they deserve to have him as a slave.

That it's reward enough for the poor man to serve and remain despised.

Let the wealthy obey the summons.

What more reward for him was there in the king's service than simply staying alive?

The rest of the animals shifted uncomfortably at this class-conscious subtext that was quickly morphing into text.

Renard smiled and his sharp teeth flashed.

But he lived to serve the king.

Still, a servant doesn't jump to work without being commanded.

When the king called him personally, he would come.

He didn't think the king would care all that much, though.

Renard was on no one's side, and no one was on his side.

With that, Renard went back home.

The king was in bad shape.

He had a fever.

Now we know a bit more about medicine now, but it must have been harrowing to live in a time where you could get a fever and either it's something that will run its course in a few days or you're dead.

And they had no idea which it was.

Isinggrim didn't know but that didn't stop him from diagnosing.

He pushed the other animals aside and bowed before his king taking his lion wrist into his own paw and feeling yes, yes, the lion had a pulse.

That was a good thing.

You need that.

This fever wasn't much to worry about though.

The lion looked up cocking an eyebrow.

What, really?

Oh yeah, no, you're fine.

You're going to be great.

You just need some meat.

You see, Isinggrim hadn't liked the way the goat snickered when the bear laid him out on the way to the meeting.

And since the rightful focus of his anger, either Renard or Bruno, were out of reach at the moment, Renard by his cunning and Bruno by his strength, he had two choices.

Get the goat and sheep killed, or face up to his own shortcomings, powerlessness, and emotional immaturity.

He, of course, chose the former.

You need goat meat, Isinggrim smiled back, just long enough to see the goat beginning to shake and his legs seize up.

And before you go on about, oh, that'll break the king's peace.

One, I'm a priest, you're absolved, don't worry about it.

And two, which is more useful?

The life of one sheep or goat or the life of a king, a lion?

That question basically answers itself.

Isinggrim then went on to espouse the virtues of a system of government solely based off exploitation and might being right.

He had been thinking about this and probably been on some pretty sketchy YouTube channels.

Basically, his political philosophy boiled down to the king being the one to enforce the laws and thus he should not be bound by them.

If he was bound by them, he was no better than the common peasant he ruled.

Isingrim's words, not mine.

And as God stands above his own creation and rules it, the ability to make and enforce the laws puts you above them.

And the ruler's strength gave him the right to do whatever he wants.

You see, if you haven't guessed, the stories of Renard are many things.

And among those things, with a critique of human social and political systems being among those things.

The king is literally a lion who not only rules, but needs to strategically consume his subjects.

Predators have power, and even the priest, Isingrim, is a wolf advocating for, at best, some sort of enlightened despot, and at worst, naked authoritarianism.

Isinggrim's problem, well, one of Isinggrim's problems when it came to the king, at least, was that he was

boring.

If you've ever been cornered by someone talking about politics or like cryptocurrency or something at a party, you know how the king felt.

The annoyance was doubled by his illness.

And the goat and the sheep saw their opening.

Isinggrim looked over and saw the pair next to him, on their faces, hooves outstretched.

He shook his head.

What were they doing?

They looked up.

It was really bold of him to be so close to the king.

It was almost like,

no, no, he wouldn't dare.

The lion got warm fuzzies by seeing these two animals bowing down to him.

He loved it when things bowed down to him.

He also loved hearing how great he was.

My king, you are so great.

Isengrim did not mean it.

The goat pleaded as the sheep bleeded.

He wasn't trying to seem as great as you, like he could take your place.

Isinggrim straightened.

What?

No, they're twisting his words.

The goat looked up.

The wolf said the king's power came from his strength.

And here the wolf was standing over the king, who was stricken with fever.

The king would be the first one to fall if they listened to the wolf.

They wouldn't put up with this egregious threat to their king or this flouting of his justice and decrees.

They mean to enforce the king's justice.

The wolf laughed, looking over at them.

Oh, and how would they do that?

Wait, weren't there two of you?

There was two of them.

Joseph the sheep had moved to Isingrim's other side and, as the goat screamed out, justice, they began kicking him back and forth between them.

Now, when making a play for the throne, you either have to be charismatic and offer the people something, or you have to be so powerful they can't ignore you.

Isinggrim the wolf was neither of those things.

The leader of the boars and Bruno, the leader of the bears, laughed.

Even though Isengrim was speaking in support of their own interests,

of, you know, consuming whatever they wanted, they just really, deeply hated the guy.

But Isengrim occupied the gray area where he was strong enough that it would be more annoying to confront and get rid of him than it was to just ignore him.

and make fun of him behind his back.

Still, they didn't hate watching him bounce back and forth between the violent hooves of the sheep and the goat.

The boar nudged the bear and gestured with his snout.

The king was loving this.

The lion sat up, right and by, I mean, like, take your pick, the obsequiousness of the goat and the sheep, someone fanatically and violently fulfilling his command, or just that it was Isingrim getting kicked around.

Remember, no one likes that guy.

Bruno could see which way the wind was blowing, though, and decided to help his own position a bit, when he went and grabbed Isinggrim by the scruff and said it was time to go.

The wolf acquiesced, because when a bear has his paws to your throat, what else are you going to do?

and took a seat at the back of the meeting, behind the skunks.

The king thanked the goat and the sheep for so fervently enforcing his will, and the sheep said he was grateful for the king's approval of their actions.

We only exist to serve you, the sheep smiled.

The goat said, Um

what's this we talk?

Remember when I said the story was a maybe overly cynical, maybe deeply realistic take on human political and social systems?

Depending on your own level of cynicism?

Well, yeah.

There was one seat next to the king, and alliances existed only so far as they helped you.

Perfidious the goat wasn't so much anti-animal eating as he was anti-perfidious eating.

With Isinggrim shamed and no longer throwing his own future into question,

it was time to throw the sheep's future into question to increase his own position.

The world can be a hard place.

Immeasurably so if, at every business meeting, there was the implicit possibility of you being murdered and consumed by everyone surrounding you.

The sheep hadn't made it so far in being alive by addressing questions like this directly, though.

He said yes, you know what?

The goat was right, and the king was still sick, and Isinggrim was right, because he had all that priest medical training.

So the king needed meat.

You know who's super smart and always seemed to know the answer to stuff?

Renard!

Hey, Renard, who should be eaten here?

Joseph the sheep, of course, knew that Renard was essentially playing hookie.

mainly objecting based on his very specific complaints on power and class, and also because these meetings were boring and there was always like a 20% chance that someone would try to eat him.

That percentage was a lot higher as the king discovered what the rest of the crowd already knew.

Renard wasn't there.

We'll see how Renard deals with tattletales, but that will be right after this.

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Hey, Renard.

Gutero, the leader of the hares, came to visit Renard, who was gorging himself on, quote, a heap of meat at his house.

The rabbit grimaced.

Any context or explanation for that?

No?

Cool.

The hare said the king was looking for him, and he was mad.

Renard looked up from his meat heap.

Oh, that was fantastic.

Gutero the hare blinked.

It was?

Renard nodded.

Oh, yeah.

Anyone who wasn't worth hating wasn't worth loving.

And frankly, the hatred and anger of the mighty was of more use to the cunning than their favor was to the fool.

Besides, neither lasts long.

Okay, so are you coming, or?

The hare was getting tired of whatever this was.

No, tell him you couldn't find me, Reynard said.

He would be there, though.

Whatever.

It's your funeral.

Probably literally, the hare said and left.

Back at the meeting, the king laid back down when he heard Reynard was nowhere to be found.

Already overexerting himself, he could barely manage to sit upright.

The animals looked at each other.

No one wanted this.

The lion might not be the best ruler, but he was better than chaos.

If he died without an heir, the predators would fight each other to see who got to rule.

Most of them would die, and the prey animals would no longer have the protection of the lion's peace.

Almost all of them would die.

Is it possible that something better could emerge in time?

Maybe?

The keywords there, though, were in time and maybe.

There would be years of chaos and violence until that happened.

Or didn't.

So that's why everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief when Renard the Fox finally arrived.

Imagine the most elaborate medieval healer LARPing that you can think of.

Then double it.

Renard stumbled in under so many herbs, powders, potions, and tinctures that he could barely walk.

My lord and king, I apologize for my delay.

I have traveled the world to be here with you, and I only now just returned.

Renard bowed.

No, no, he didn't.

We all just saw him outside like a few hours ago, and he didn't look all dirty and well-traveled, Isingrim called out from the front of the crowd.

He had been slowly working his way forward to the lowest spot of the animals in charge.

No one was going to back him up on this.

They all watched him get beaten and shamed, and if Renard had a plan, and Renard always had a plan, it was better than waiting around for the lion to die.

Renard stumbled in and held up his shoes.

Six shoes, all worn through.

He said he had a dream about this several months ago, that the king was going to die.

The crowd gasped, looking his own mortality directly in the eye.

The king trembled a bit.

But, Renard turned to face the crowd, I knew I couldn't just let that

So, prodded by this premonition, he went on a journey, a journey to save the king.

It took him through three lands.

Hungary.

He raised up one pair of shoes and began speaking Hungarian,

as far as anyone in attendance knew.

The next pair of soulless shoes were described in something that sounded almost, but not completely unlike Greek.

And then Latin, which Isingrim actually knew enough of to know that Renard didn't.

But once again, no one listened to him.

Now, though, Renard took a bowl from his pack and filled it with herbs and various aromatic liquids.

He said that it was funny.

His teacher in all of this was actually Isingrim's, a wolf in Rome.

Isinggrim was taught this very method.

Curious then that he should have forgotten it, or no,

no.

He would never withhold it from the king.

Ah, Renard said there.

He pushed the bowl of herbs to the king.

Well, that was almost everything he needed to save the king from his fever.

The king, holding the bowl in his paws, said, what?

Almost?

What was the last thing?

Renard shook his head.

No, sir, it was impossible to obtain.

The lion grew serious.

He was a king.

Nothing was impossible for him to obtain.

What was it?

The one who has it wouldn't want to give it, not even to save his king.

Quote, while the miser values his possessions, you'll not make him do the decent thing under any circumstances, he sighed.

These herbs are nothing without the final piece of the remedy.

They must be taken, and then the patient must sweat under the skin of a wolf that's three and a half years old.

With this, Isengrim backed up, but found the crowd he had just moved through a wall.

Uncle, Reynard turned to look at the wolf, are you leaving on a pilgrimage?

You don't need to.

The king called the bear and boar to him, whispering in their ears.

Bruno nodded.

The king commands you to bring a three-and-a-half-year-old wolf from your clan here, that it may be skinned, that he could live, Bruno said.

Isinggrim smiled.

You know what?

Absolutely.

He would leave and go find them right at this moment, by leaving.

Renard put his hand on Isinggrim's shoulder.

Oh, the miser, the mean man, he would rather lose what he has than sell it for a price.

He'll endure losses just to hold on to what cash he has.

Oh misers hate misers for sure.

Isinggrim tried to get away, but Renard was holding on to him.

Oh, oh Isingrim, oh no, why are you like this?

I tried.

Renard turned to face the king.

I tried to give him time to do the right thing, but he'd rather save his own skin than give it up.

I

would rather save the king.

Renard sighed.

I'm sorry, brother, he said as he put his paw on Isinggrim's shoulder and took a deep breath.

Isinggrim, the wolf, is three and a half.

The crowd gasped.

Isinggrim reeled.

No, what?

He was like forty.

Look at all these gray hairs.

Renard didn't point out that Isinggrim was a gray wolf, and he had always been gray.

No, instead, the story went into a long legal rambling about Isinggrim's age.

Where Renard called the goat and the sheep, you know, those people who are just beating Isinggrim, to ask if they remembered Wink, that conversation, Wink, where they talked about Isinggrim's upcoming fourth birthday, Wink, Wink.

He's even saying Wink, Isinggrim pleaded.

Oh, I'm sorry, it's a tick I have when I'm concerned, because I love my king so much, Renard said, and the crowd awed.

Meanwhile, the king was reduced to eating herbs and like random vegetables, basically trash, because Isingrim refused him the skin.

It's You gave him those That's your remedy Isingrim barked.

Renard sighed.

Look, it was easy.

The King would give it back to him when he was done.

Isinggrim could keep the skin on his arms and he could keep his claws.

No, no, no, no Joseph the Sheep bleeded.

He saw Renard's game here.

His con.

Renard's eyes widened.

He hadn't expected to be called out, least of all by Joseph.

It was a terrible thing that Renard was asking.

That was only half the fur on Isinggrim's body.

That wouldn't be enough to save the king.

Renard was jealous of the honor Isingrim was getting, and so he was sabotaging it.

You're welcome, Isingrim.

Joseph nodded solemnly.

Please stop talking, Isinggrim said, and I'll spare you the rest of it.

Bruno had the honors.

Using one of his razor claws and easily holding the shrieking wolf down, he sliced Isengrim in several places and pulled.

In a few minutes, Isengrim was naked, but like without his skin naked, probably the most naked.

Now, I don't really have enemies, but if I did, I'd like to think I'd probably stop there, at skinning them alive for no reason whatsoever.

Remember how I said that no one really liked Isinggrim, though?

Well, they decided to press things even farther.

The closest I've ever gotten to skinning an animal is playing Red Dead Redemption 2.

So I can kind of see where this next part is coming from.

He's purple, Joseph cried and pointed.

And yeah, beneath his fur and skin, Isinggrim's muscles and stuff were purple-ish.

Bruno the Bear wrapped the king in, frankly, the very gross and likely slimy wolf skin, and the rest of the crowd reeled.

Who did this wolf think he was wearing a purple cloak?

Now, if you didn't know, and I didn't until I binged The History of Rome by Mike Duncan about 12 years ago, purple was the color of the Roman emperors, and thus royalty.

And Isinggrim the wolf dared to wear it.

This is literally my exposed muscles and organs.

What is happening?

Isengrim wept.

The animals were incensed.

To wear a secret purple cloak inwardly and then deny the king the cloak needed to save his life?

Terrible.

Just terrible.

Isengrim knew when to fold him though.

And he shrunk to his knees, dropping his snout to the ground.

He said he was sorry.

It was his arrogance and pride.

Renard said that the wolf had earned his forgiveness.

Didn't the king think?

The king, sweating out his fever, nodded.

He did not care.

Yes, forgiven, whatever.

The wolf rose and the king commanded.

Wait.

Isinggram froze.

Oh no, what now?

Thank Renard, the king pointed.

Renard had recommended mercy, and the wolf should thank him.

That Renard was the one to recommend skinning the wolf was lost on no one except the king.

And Isingrim growled.

Still, the longer Isingrim remained, the more he risked.

Thank you, Isingrim muttered.

Renard smiled back.

Anytime.

With that, the ceremony was over.

Corvigaris, the horse, stopped dead in the marsh.

Whoa, whoa, whoa, the stork said, holding up his wings.

What?

Is it a predator?

The horse froze, glancing around.

The stork breathed.

No.

Oh my gosh.

He should be so lucky.

No,

it was his talons.

The horse had no idea.

The stork could have killed him.

With your with your talons?

The horse bit at some of the reeds poking up and chewed.

Yeah, that's why we're out here, right?

Because, like me, you're worried about your feet causing earthquakes, and so you're keeping them in the marsh, because it's soft and absorbs the shock?

The Stork nodded.

Um no.

No one is worried about that.

Are you worried about that?

He was out here for food, because the predators generally wouldn't disadvantage themselves to wait out in the muck, so he could eat in peace.

Not me, bro, the Stork said.

No.

He wasn't worried about himself.

He was worried about everyone else.

He just

he didn't want to kill again.

What are you even talking about?

Corvigaris, the horse, asked.

What was going on here?

Horses have it the worst.

Storks are always landing on them and crushing them, the stork said.

It was because they looked strong, but they folded like a baguette, slowly and brutally with a lot of cracking.

The horse grimaced, but he shook his head.

He had never heard of a horse being killed by a stork.

Pointing, the stork said, exactly.

No one had ever lived to tell about it.

It made sense in a way that was perfectly reasonable if you didn't think at all about the logic behind it.

And the horse didn't really think at all about the logic behind it.

He only knew that he was down in the water with the most dangerous animal he had ever known.

If you don't believe me, I can show you, the stork said.

But Corvigaris wasn't waiting around for that.

He, according to the text, panic farted and then rushed from the water.

Just like the stork, who was annoyed that the horse was in his fishing spot and who didn't want to get accidentally trampled by the horse during his own hunt, had been hoping for.

The horse went from one hunt to the other.

Only he didn't realize this was a hunt.

Frankly, neither did Isinggrim the wolf, until he turned the corner and saw Corvigaris right there.

Um

where's your skin?

The horse looked the wolf up and down, less afraid than very confused.

Ice and Grim said, Oh, that was quite a story.

You see, he just came from the king's meeting for all the important the horse wasn't invited, was he?

Well Anyway, the king was sick.

He needed a sweating cure for his fever, and the wolf knew that the only medical intervention that would save him was his own skin, so he gave it willingly.

Now, the wolf paced left and right, getting closer to the horse and backing him up to the water, I need a different skin.

And everyone at court said you were the one.

They said that you loved your king and all who helped him.

I don't need it for long, just until mine grows back.

The horse, Corvigaris, snorted and looked to the ground.

That, well, he did love his king.

And he was grateful for Isengrim giving the king his own skin so willingly.

Isengrim nodded, Yes, it certainly was willingly.

He could tell that Corvigaris was so eager to give this gift that Isingrim's lengthy speech was irritating to him, so he would sweeten the deal.

He would also help Corvigaris lose some weight in the process.

He would help the horse lose just the fat.

It would make him faster.

He wouldn't take the flesh and bone, of course, and only a few bites would help Isingrim.

Besides, the horse could eat grass and turn that into flesh.

That was a good deal.

The king himself decreed a royal thank you to whomever gave his coat to the wolf.

The horse looked at the wolf and said,

How dare you?

Isinggrim chuckled nervously.

What?

He was not expecting this kind of pushback from a prey animal.

How dare you ask this of me?

The horse snorted, this time in an annoyance.

Did Isengrim really think that a friend needed ask?

Isinggrim cocked his head, so Corvigaris would do it?

Corvigaris laughed.

Of course.

When the king needed Isengrim's coat, Isengrim didn't need to be dragged like a prisoner to give it up.

He gave it up willingly.

Corvigaris would follow his example.

Corvigaris looked over his shoulder to the stork in the pond.

Thing was, that guy over there, he means business.

Isinggrim squinted.

Him?

Oh yeah, so we should go to the forest, lest he see you taking off my skin and eating me and thinking that something bad was going down.

I literally don't know where he sits on the alignment chart.

If he'd kill you and eat me or kill you and save me, because he thinks something bad is happening.

Best to do it in private, in the woods.

Isinggrim said yes, that was indeed wise, in the woods, where no one could see or hear.

They started off toward the woods.

Your hair's looking a little scruffy.

Want me to give you a haircut?

Corvigaris asked, as the wolf trailed behind him into the forest.

Isinggrim ran his hand through his hair.

His tonsure, the shaved bare spot at the top of his head, had regrown.

Then he thought about it.

How did the horse give haircuts?

Oh, I have razor blades on my feet.

I do it for all the monks in the area.

Why do you think they're always giving us horses hay?

Isengrim shook his head.

None of this made sense.

Wouldn't foot razors be dulled by the road or paths or anything?

Oh, for sure.

But I have my own strop, so it's all good.

The wolf had a bag and stuff, but the horse was completely naked.

Where was his strop?

And yeah.

Renard's stories oscillate wildly between cynical political allegory and bathroom humor, all while remaining in the orbit of extreme violence.

So think about a leather strop, and then think about the one part of a male horse that's similar in length and shape to a strop.

Yeah.

Oh,

so that's what that is, Isingrim nodded.

Still, he couldn't believe that Corvigaris had razor blades on his feet.

Oh, for sure, here, here, take a look.

Corvigaris gestured back over his shoulder.

When Isingrim was directly behind him, waiting for that look at Corvigaris' back hoof, well, he gave him that look at the hoof.

A very fast one, but it was thorough and up close.

Isinggrim caught the horse hoof in the face and flew back like five feet, hitting the tree.

The horse felt different.

Oh, he shook his foot.

Darn it?

His shoe had come off and implanted itself right in Isinggrim's forehead.

Corvigaris laughed.

Well, he actually did give the wolf a ring in his head.

Nice, the stork called out from the water.

The horse, spooked by the super strong stork, bolted into the woods.

We'll see how Renard deals with Isinggrim when the wolf pays him a visit at home, but that will, once again, be right after this.

Not all group chats are the same, just like not all Adams are the same.

Adam Brody, for example, uses WhatsApp to plan his grandma's birthday using video calls, polls to choose a gift, and HD photos to document a family moment to remember, all in one group chat.

Makes grandma's birthday her best one yet.

But Adam Scott group messages with an app that isn't WhatsApp.

And so, the photo invite came through so blurry, he never even knew about the party.

And grandma still won't talk to me.

It's time for WhatsApp.

Message privately with everyone.

So, what do this animal

and this animal

and this animal

have in common?

They all live on an organic valley farm.

Organic Valley dairy comes from small organic family farms that protect the land and the plants and animals that live on it from toxic pesticides, which leads to a thriving ecosystem and delicious, nutritious milk and cheese.

Learn more at OV.co-op and taste the difference.

Nestled between summer's happy chaos and the holiday hustle-bustle is Scottsdale's best-kept secret: opulent autumn.

It's the perfect time to reset, find your balance, and embrace the thrill of new discoveries.

From sunny cinnamon desert hikes and pampering spa treatments to culinary delights from our celebrity chefs, Scottsdale has all the ingredients for a luxe, relaxing getaway.

And if you'd like to add a little holiday sparkle, we've got that too.

Visit unwindandscottsdale.com today.

Sucks!

The new musical has made Tony award-winning history on Broadway.

We demand to be home!

Winner, best score!

We demand to be seen!

Winner, best book!

We demand to be qualified!

It's a theatrical masterpiece that's thrilling, inspiring, dazzlingly entertaining, and unquestionably the most emotionally stirring musical this season.

Suffs!

Playing the Orpheum Theater October 22nd through November 9th.

Tickets at BroadwaySF.com.

Hey, hi, Renard said, standing over Isinggrim.

Um, me and my family, we're trying to sleep, you know, with the winter coming up.

Think maybe you can suffer somewhere else?

Or at least more quietly?

Renard's wife walked up to him and whispered in his ear as he stood over the form of the weeping, shivering Isingrim in the forest.

No, no, you're right.

He nodded and looked down to Isinggrim.

We actually think the silent, anguished cries of your tormented soul might be worse for the kids, you know, if they know you're out here.

Probably good to find somewhere else to be you.

Teeth chattering so loudly that Renard initially thought it was someone chopping wood, Isinggrim looked up.

You,

you did this to me, he growled.

Even with the patchy fur just starting to grow, he was still a wolf many times the size of Renard.

Renard said he thought he heard the kids, and his wife went back to the burrow.

When she was gone, he met the wolf's eyes.

I survive.

It's what I do.

I'm a survivor.

You bring me into a situation and it goes wrong for you, that's on you.

I'm not on your side.

I'm not on the king's side.

I'm on my side.

Renard's claw pointed to his chest.

Isinggrim glanced at his burrow.

Yeah, sure, them too, I guess, Renard said.

He told Isinggrim that the wolf knew better than to tattle on him and bring him to court.

Isinggrim said that that wasn't him.

That was Joseph the sheep.

Then your beef isn't with me, it's with Joseph, or rather your mutton.

Renard smiled.

Joseph had a family of twelve, and they lived in a field.

I mean, I'm not saying they're begging to be eaten, but a field?

Seriously?

Renard sighed.

Look, he was sorry about how things went down.

The wolf had his size and teeth and claws.

Renard had his cunning.

That's it.

If Isingrim wanted, he would show the wolf the field where Joseph and his little sheeplets lived.

Truce?

Renard held out a paw.

He was met with the wolf's skin paw.

Ugh, he he was looking forward to Isinggrim's fur growing back.

This was off-putting.

As the pair walked off in the moonlight, Isinggrim looked down at Renard.

You know, what you said about the size and teeth and the claws.

I could kill you right now.

Isinggrim's mouth began dripping with saliva.

Renard looked up and met his eyes once again.

I skinned you alive in 10 minutes with my words.

Isinggrim nodded.

Just that was just a fun hypothetical, of course.

The eating Renard thing?

Fun little thought experiment.

Had no bearing on actual reality.

Haha.

Yeah, that's what he thought.

Um, maybe

don't be you, Renard said to the hairless wolf as they approached the sheepfold.

What do you mean, don't be me?

I'm delightful, the wolf snarled.

Just like, be nice.

Lead with some flattery and some peace.

You're a priest, right?

Say priestly stuff.

Peace be upon you, brethren.

Isinggrim stood and stretched his arms out.

Joseph's twelve children huddled behind him, but he remained planted in the center of the sheepfold.

Oh,

it was the wolf, Isingrim.

What did he want?

I want what's owed to me for your your insolence, Isinggrim growled, quickly throwing away all that peace stuff.

I will take everything you have, everything you are as payment, and your 12 children as interest.

The saliva began to drip once again from his mouth.

Promise?

Joseph stepped forward.

Isinggrim said he didn't care how much Joseph begged for his...

Wait.

What did Joseph say?

Yeah, you're gonna eat me, right?

Joseph shrugged.

Great.

What did he think?

Joseph wanted to to be eaten by some, like, rando peasant?

He was there when Isinggrim's father ate his father.

It was only fitting that Isinggrim ate him.

That actually tracks.

Renard chimed in.

Could you maybe leave one of his kids alive so your children can hunt his for the next generation?

Oh, could you?

Joseph bleeded.

Uh, sure, I guess.

Isinggrim

froed his wolf brow.

I peed on Isinggrim's kids, Renard chimed in again, just reminding everyone of the cannon.

I peed on his kids.

Cool.

See what I mean, though?

Joseph said.

With you eating me, it just felt right.

Otherwise I have to deal with little weirdos like Renard.

Anyway, where do you want to do this?

If we wait long enough for morning for the shepherd to return, you're going to have problems.

And if we go into the woods, your family might decide they want to bite.

In fact

Joseph began to pace, that's a problem.

I want you to eat me, not some unnamed wolf who isn't a descendant from a wolf who ate my dad.

Then he did a short hop.

Wait.

Did Isingrim think he could eat Joseph in one go?

That way he didn't have to fight any wolves or...

He took a distasteful look.

Foxes for the scraps of him.

Renard shot him a nasty look right back.

Isinggrim said he usually liked to enjoy his food.

But think of the mouthful.

Me.

I'll go straight from your mouth to your entrails, all at once.

Joseph was getting weirdly excited about this.

Um

sure, I I guess, but how?

Isinggrim started opening his mouth as wide as he could, trying to gauge if the sheep would even fit.

Joseph gestured over to the shed that the shepherd used sometimes.

Here.

There were some holes by the door frame, and Isinggrim stuck his lower paws in when he got there, per Joseph's instructions.

It was still weird that Joseph was so into being...

consumed.

Look, I'm an old sheep.

I've had 12 children.

At a certain age, you accept your own mortality, and you're more concerned with legacy.

This just makes sense.

Okay, now brace your back against that pillar so I can jump down your throat.

The story assures us that this logic checks out, that it was possible for the sheep to actually be eaten all in one go if he ran and jumped feet first.

He, however, did not.

So male sheep do naturally have horns.

If you think a sheep charging at someone's face as fast as he can sounds like it might be painful, you've thought about this more than Isinggrim did.

You flinched, Joseph yelled after hitting Isinggrim's head against the pillar and tearing his horns through the wolf's soft palate.

the wolf, shrieking, collapsed.

Get him up.

I want to be eaten, Joseph cried.

Renard obliged.

Dazed and, you know, probably concussed.

Isinggrim stood with Renard's help/slash coercion.

You used to eat six sheep as an appetizer, and now you're falling down at the taste of one, Joseph yelled.

He ran and tried again.

After this, Isinggrim,

bloody and broken, was crawling away.

After just a taste, look how far you've fallen, Joseph yelled out after him.

Pitiful.

Hey, tell all your wolf friends how good mutton tastes.

I'll be happy to give them a little taste, too, Joseph cried out after the wolf, who crawled toward the forest as fast as he could, while the sun rose behind him.

You look hungry, Renard smiled out of absolutely nowhere.

I'm a lion, I'm always hungry, the lying king said.

Renard pointed, well then, he was in luck.

Renard had dinner for him.

Well, Renard didn't.

He was actually just a messenger.

For Isinggrim, the wolf.

The king had healed, and Isinggrim's fur had regrown completely.

The wolf, he was no longer sufficiently cowed and was starting to get a little bit more menacing.

Renard had resolved to fix that.

He told the king that the wolf wanted to express his thanks to the king for allowing him to help, so he wanted to have the king over for dinner.

Hey, so bad news, Renard whispered to Isinggrim inside the wolf's den.

Isinggrim shrieked.

And his kids cowered.

And the wolf asked him how he got in here.

But Renard didn't answer.

The king was outside.

He wanted to dine with Isengrim.

What?

Why?

Isinggrim blurted out.

He wants to honor you?

I don't know.

Look, I can help.

There's a cow nearby, Renard said.

Moments later, they walked out the front door.

Your grace, Isengrim smiled at the lion.

He was so glad the lion stopped by for dinner, so honored.

Renard, actually, had what they would be eating that evening.

Right, Renard?

Right this way, the fox smiled.

They spotted the heifer in the field.

Now, I'm not sure exactly what rules we're operating under, but the king's piece did not seem to apply to cows.

Maybe there's something to read into there.

Regardless, the cow was ordered to yield her flesh, and she obliged.

She wasn't given much of a choice or any.

She was asked with, quote, teeth and claws, and obeyed, when the lion's weight forced her to the ground, and the teeth tore into her throat.

I'll divide the meat for us, Isinggrim said when the cow stopped moving.

The king wiped his bloody mouth.

Oh, sure.

They wouldn't just tear at this corpse like animals.

Go ahead.

So the wolf set to it.

Front, middle, back.

One, two, three, in order of importance.

The king, obviously first, and then him, Isingrim, then a distant, distant third so far away, Renard.

One, front, two, middle, third back.

It was only when he saw Renard snickering and Rufanus, the king, looming, that he thought something

might be wrong.

This is how you divide the spoils.

You jump in front of me and take what you want.

You leave me the head and Renard the rear and you take the best for yourself?

Isinggrim looked.

Oh no, yeah, the king was right.

He wasn't trying to offend.

Then I hope you're not offended by my compensation, the lion roared, and tore Isinggrim's skin from his body for the second time in nearly a year.

Isinggrim shrieked and collapsed, gripping his sticky, purple,

whatever part of the body that is, as the lion put his cloak on.

He actually kind of missed it.

A giant wolf cloak was like a whole Game of Thrones vibe.

Renard said he would love to be so honored as to have the king wear his skin twice.

As for him, he wanted to give his part of the heifer to the king.

At this, the lying king grew serious.

Alongside Isengrim's tears, he growled that he was no common thief.

To take what wasn't his, no.

They would still divide the corpse, but Renard could do it.

Renard said, sure,

but he loved his friend the wolf.

It wouldn't do it unless the wolf was pardoned for offending the king.

The king inspected his luscious new wolf cloak, flicking a flea off.

You know what?

Sure.

So Renard made three piles that were all equal.

The first was the king's, fat and delicious the second was to take to the queen, who just gave birth and needed her strength, and the third to the young cubs, who could grow strong teeth by chewing on the bones.

What about him?

the king pointed to Isengrim, now rocking back and forth in the fetal position.

I don't think he's hungry.

As for me, Renard produced a hoof,

he was little, that was all he needed.

The king thanked Renard for his magnanimity and left with the food.

Several minutes after he left, Isingrim sat up and flew to Renard.

Hugging him, thank you, thank you, Isingrim wept.

You got me pardoned.

You got ahead of yourself, Renard said.

Where there is abundance, it is good to be content with sufficiency.

If you had been wise, you would have left unharmed and on good terms with the king.

Isinggrim's foe was his own greed.

Greed and discretion can't coexist.

You bit when you should have licked.

Power takes no notice when people lick, but when they bite, power bites back.

Isinggrim said yes.

Renard was so wise.

He was so lucky to have a friend like the fox.

Yes, you are, Isingrim.

Yes, you are.

Renard patted him on the back and then grimaced when his hand came away sticky.

That's where we'll leave things with Renard.

I think we have one more Renard story left, and it does wrap things up, but that will be for a later date.

Next week, we're back in Japanese folklore, and we're in the provinces, telling five interconnecting stories of love, loss, and surprising cliff mushrooms.

Real quickly, if you want to get ad-free and bonus episodes, check out mythpodcast.com/slash membership or find us on Apple Podcasts.

And if you'd like to connect with the community, I did some work on the Discord server to make it easier to connect and talk about the show.

We have a fun little community growing over there, and you can find us by going to myths.link/slash discord or by following the link in the show notes.

The creatures this week are the devs from Armenia.

And I'm not talking about Armenian software developers, unless the seven-eyed, seven-headed humanoid giants from Armenian folklore decided to do a hard pivot late in life to a different career and took up coding.

No judgment.

I know people where that's really worked out, so good for them.

There is a lot of overlap between cultures when it comes to this creature, so please forgive me if I unintentionally equate the Armenian dev with the Georgian dev or the Iranian dev.

The Armenian ones, though, enjoy the simple pleasures of harassing travelers and boulder fights.

Like I said, according to one source, they have seven heads and one eye in the center of each head, quote, the size of a bowl.

It's like a cyclops, but can a creature be called a cyclops if it has seven heads each with one eye?

It doesn't feel right.

We're obviously asking the real and important questions here here on Myths and Legends.

They're said to be fallen angels, so dev seems to fit.

When they're not trying to give each other brain damage with their favorite games, I mean they do have a lot of brains to spare, so they're probably okay.

They're gardeners, guarding their flower gardens.

Before you think they have a heart of gold though, some versions of them catch fairies in cages and keep them there.

torturing them because they have to touch iron until they starve because they can't smell perfumes as part of a multi-generational war between the devs and the fairies.

That all sounds really specific and cool, but I couldn't find anything more about it, and some places say that it's part of the Persian version.

Regardless, whether they're throwing rocks or imprisoning fairies, head up the mountain and try to convince them to make that career change and like learn Python or something.

Then run, because in some versions the dev can actually turn into a Python.

That's it for this time.

Myths and Legends is by Jason and Carissa Weiser.

Our theme song is by Broke for Free, and the Creature of the Week music is by Steve Colmes.

There are links to even more of the music we used in the show notes.

Thank you so much for listening, and we'll see you next time.

Today, we're exploring deep in the North American wilderness among nature's wildest plants, animals, and

cows.

Uh, you're actually on an Organic Valley dairy farm where nutritious, delicious organic food gets its start.

But there's so much nature.

Exactly.

Organic Valley's small family farms protect the land and the plants and animals that call it home.

Extraordinary.

Sure is.

Organic Valley, protecting where your food comes from.

Learn more about their delicious dairy at ov.coop.

Nestled between summer's happy chaos and the holiday hustle-bustle is Scottsdale's best-kept secret.

Opulent autumn.

It's the perfect time to reset, find your balance, and embrace the thrill of new discoveries.

From sunny cinnamon desert heights and pampering spa treatments to culinary delights from our celebrity chefs, Scottsdale has all the ingredients for a luxe, relaxing getaway.

And if you'd like to add a little holiday sparkle, we've got that too.

Visit unwindandscottsdale.com today.

Sucks!

The new musical has made Tony award-winning history on Broadway.

We demand to be honest!

Winner, best score!

We demand to be seen!

Winner, best book!

We demand to equal!

It's a a theatrical masterpiece that's thrilling, inspiring, dazzlingly entertaining, and unquestionably the most emotionally stirring musical this season.

Suffs!

Playing the Orpheum Theater October 22nd through November 9th.

Tickets at BroadwaySF.com.