The eclectic trio was on their trek home to Castle Petrice. What a peculiar thing to call it, ‘home’. Niklas had now been on the road for just as much time as he had spent in that dusty old crypt. Still, a home it was to him now, not only because it was where his duty and title bid him to go, but it was also a place where he was free from the judgemental eyes of his brothers and father.
Niklas felt a twinge of sadness then at the thought of his far-distant family. Not that he cared enough for the majority of them to feel their absence, but the thought of their harsh beatings–both physical and verbal alike–was always followed by memories of sister Frith rushing to his defense. The cool and calm, yet motherly Frith, whose sharp and icy tongue-lashings could, he was sure, bring down even one of the infamous Petrician monsters.
I do miss my sister… Came the thought to his mind.
With his two hands he clapped either side of his face hard enough to leave a little redness, as well as a fierce stinging.
No! He chastised himself internally. I cannot be homesick so soon! I must focus on making progress.
He huffed, and wore a determined expression then. I’ll show everyone back home what I’m worth. I shall make those who believed in me proud, and those who doubted me will be loathe with envy at my success!
Thomas peeked across Missy’s back at his newest companion, who he thought was behaving more strangely than he normally did. “My Lord, is everything alright?” He asked quizzically.
“Onward, Thomas!” Niklas declared with vigor, pointing decisively forward down the road. “There is much work yet to be done!”
“Aye, my Lord!” Thomas replied, unsure as to why they were so suddenly motivated now, but nonetheless easily matching his Count’s enthusiasm.
Missy, of course, did not make the same effort, for she was a mule.
It had been a little more than a day since their small party had departed the village of Thuud. Finona had seemed ready to muster her courage and rise to the challenge of convincing the village folk of Niklas’ good intentions. Indeed, she could be seen marching off with a stiff–but confident–gait as soon as her three guests had departed. Niklas hoped that she was not getting herself into too much trouble.
Since they had first left the Castle–what felt like months ago, at this point–their little group had traveled a curved path shaped similar to a fishhook, in order to more quickly visit many of the nearest villages. Now that they were making their way back they could take a much more direct path, one that led them straight back to the gates of their stalwart home. After a few hours' travel Niklas began to recognize landmarks in the land surrounding him, and realized that this was the same road he had taken by carriage all that time ago when he had first arrived in the province!
“I think I am starting to gain an understanding of the land, at least the bit immediately around the Castle..!” Niklas muttered mostly to himself, though the comment was loud enough for Thomas to overhear, and he did not hesitate to respond.
“That is good! It is indeed a very good thing for a Lord to know his land.” Thomas replied, ever-grinning. “Perhaps in the future you may travel further, until you know every nook and cranny of the County by heart!”
Now it was Niklas’ turn to grin back at him. “That is the plan, my good man. When my reforms are finally put in motion, I would like to see them put to action, and to observe the betterment of the citizens with my own eyes!”
Just then, as the two bantered good-naturedly, something caught Niklas’ eye. The silhouette of a lone figure was coming down the road towards them. Something about it gave him pause. It was normal to see a passerby on the road, but this was Petrice, a place where nothing was normal. As he looked about he noticed that a misty fog had steadily crept in around them on this already typical gloomy Petrician day, the mist increasing the difficulty of making out the details of things too far away. Niklas peered over at his human companion, who still wore his characteristic sunny grin and appeared to be petting Missy the Mule, whose placid gaze rested unwaveringly upon that far silhouette.
As they grew closer still to that slow, barely-visible figure, Niklas felt goosebumps rise on the back of his arms and neck. It was only when they were within about twenty meters of one another that he could make out the approaching form of a rugged individual. Dark, unkempt salt-and-pepper hair fell in waves all the way down to his shoulders, matching his beard of near equal length, giving the man an appearance not dissimilar to a beggar who had fallen upon hard times. His leather coat was tattered and stained, and the shirt of chainmail he wore under it was tarnished and rusty in places. Most notably though, the man wore a bastard sword upon the loop of his belt, and its wavy blade was forged of a now-familiar black iron-like material.
Silently and warily, but without breaking their stride, the two parties grew closer and closer upon that gray, misty road. Niklas and Thomas’ eyes were locked upon the lone man, while the man in question slouched, keeping his gaze trained on the ground about his feet with a vague and lifeless stare, his gait betraying a slight limp as he trudged forward.
Finally they passed each other on that narrow road. For all of the tension which had built within Niklas up to that moment, it seemed a bit underwhelming once it had passed uneventfully. He huffed out a short breath in relief that nothing had come of his anxieties after all. Meanwhile, unbeknownst to him, as Thomas and the stranger had nearly brushed their shoulders in passing, the downtrodden man had quietly muttered something to him. And while Thomas’ trademark grin never wavered, whatever words the stranger had imparted to him caused his eyes to harden.
Finally breaking the tense silence, Niklas spoke up. “Well I don’t know about you, but that left me quite unsettled!” He tried his best to sound lighthearted now even as his voice still shook a little from his nerves.
Thomas, for once, did not reply.
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“We are here.” Uldred declared flatly.
The seven convicts gazed about with looks full of awe at the distant gray and hilly countryside which they would now call their home. Uldred could not understand their amazement, for it was by no means a beautiful view–it was the same kind of crisp, lightless day as was common in Petrice. It was in fact slightly worse weather than normal, as their view of the distant hills was obscured by a hazy fog that was settling across the land. However, to these unfortunate lads who had lived all their lives in the slums of Otkorn, a place where the only thing awaiting their return was a dangle from the gallows, even an empty, sparse grassland appeared to be grander than heaven.
The men turned and bowed gratefully to the Countess– as best they could anyways, with the large packs strapped upon their backs. After the soldiers had departed for Otkorn, these seven men had free reign over the remainder of the camp and its supplies. For the original force of fifty men, the supplies allotted to them by such a cheap man as Baron Otkorn had been barely enough to get by. Now that there were only seven of that number left, if they ate meagerly, these lucky few might have enough rations to last for several months.
One by one, the now-freed convicts made their ways down the road, disappearing together into the fog covering the hills, going wherever the wind would take them and leaving Uldred alone where she stood. At least she would have been alone, but for the weaselly little man Hemsley. Once the six who had departed were no longer visible, she slowly turned her head to rest upon him the full weight of her intimidating violet gaze. He gulped nervously at her scrutiny, but did not move from his spot.
“I-I thought I might… go with you, y-your Ladyship.” He stammered in explanation, refusing to meet her eyes and instead staring intently down at the ground.
“No.” was her immediate reply.
“I can cook a-and clean, too! I want only to be of help to you, my Lady!”
“No.” she repeated.
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She began to walk away then–not fast enough to count as a run, she would never run away from such a pitiful man as this–but if she walked with a long gait, counting on her longer legs to quickly put a good distance between them, nobody was the wiser. But Hemsley jogged frantically along after her, for running was the only way such a small fellow could keep pace with her great stride. He panted as he followed at her heels, calling out to her between ragged, harsh breaths.
“You wouldn’t have to pay me, your grace–you wouldn’t even have to feed me! I can forage for me own supper.”
“Go. Away.” She replied coldly.
Huffing and even harder puffing now, Hemsley threw himself forward upon the ground and managed to wrap his thin arms around one of her massive boots, holding on so that with every step she took he was dragged roughly along after her. Uldred stopped then and attempted to shake him free from her foot, but the small fellow stuck to her like a persistent booger caught at the end of one’s finger.
“Why?!” She demanded with a loud, irritated bellow.
As he had successfully caused her to come to a halt, Hemsley quickly scrambled to his feet before her, putting his hands out as if attempting to calm a large, rabid beast.
“I-if there’s one thing I’ve learned over me whole life, it's that you follow the boss who’s the biggest an’ the baddest one around! That’s why I did what Abor said, and that’s why I wanna do as you says, milady!” he managed to say between harsh, wheezing breaths.
“...Who?” Uldred asked after a beat of silence, furrowing her brow in confusion behind her mask.
“O-oh, Abor? ‘E was the big fellow that you…” He then drew a finger swiftly across his throat while making a squishy, gargled sort of noise with his mouth.
Uldred stalked forward, drawing close to the small man, who shriveled like a prune under her. “You are already causing me trouble.” She said through her mask, now close enough to him that he could hear her breathing underneath it.
“H-how so..?” He asked carefully as a cold bead of sweat slowly ran down the bridge of his nose.
“Because I had already put that man out of my thoughts,” she replied, with the air of a general explaining to a particularly slow soldier how many rules he had just broken. “but now you have put him back there and named him. It will be… difficult for me to forget him again.”
And then she strode past the stunned little man and continued on her way. But quickly enough, he recovered his wits and scrambled along behind her.
“--Abor, who?” the man piped up. “I certainly don’t know ‘im! Swear I’ve never even heard the name in me whole life!”
Uldred sighed heavily as he caught up to her again, her wide shoulders slumping slightly as she realized just how persistent this little burr was in wanting to stick to her.
Maybe I should just kill him too… She thought wistfully as her new companion followed her along the road, although her hand didn’t so much as twitch once towards the hilt of her sword.
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A mule and the two men who accompanied her had continued down the road in uncharacteristic silence for the past while. Niklas had attempted to reignite his conversation with Thomas a couple of times, but the swordsman’s usually sunny demeanor had hardened and he looked about with a sharp focus, and every time Niklas tried to speak his words would peter out into silence before they could pass his lips.
The terrain that they walked had transitioned from a slightly bumpy and uneven plains and into an area of great, steep hills that would, if followed for a ways, eventually become a range of small mountains. Along and past the sides of the mostly-flat road sat piles of large, jagged rocks and boulders obscuring their view of the surrounding area.
This would be an awful spot for bandits or brigands to plot an ambush… Niklas thought as he glanced about nervously. His only comfort was the assurance that the old butler had given him back at the castle:, that there were no outlaws within Petrice’s borders. Such a claim as that sounded quite unbelievable, to be sure, but it was one which Niklas now prayed was correct.
Thomas raised his head, looking up at the clouds for a moment, and then he took in a deep sniff of the air. Niklas followed suit out of curiosity, but he detected nothing out of the ordinary when he did so.
Thomas let out a thoughtful, “Hmm.” Obviously, it was a different case for him.
“My Lord…” He said, finally breaking his long silence, his voice low and serious. “...you may wish to shield your gaze from the left side of the road for a time. Elsewise I fear that you may become quite upset by what you’ll see.”
The young Count met his gaze then, his brows furrowed in clear confusion,, but his companion did not elaborate any further.
As they continued walking in wary silence, Niklas could gradually detect a faint, distant clamor of some sort. As they went further along the road, he was able to make out the sound of voices chattering with each other some ways off.
If I recall correctly, if we were to travel some way to the West we would find another village… But it is nowhere nearby now. He thought to himself.
No matter how intently Niklas peered ahead, he saw nothing down the foggy road that could produce such a commotion like what he had heard. And as the tall, craggy incline to their left finally sloped down to their level and no longer blocked their view, Niklas was able to see some forms gathered a few dozen yards off the road.
“What is going on?” Niklas asked, peering over at the strange group in concern.
Thomas did not offer up a reply, his eyes still hard and focused as he looked about, surveilling their surroundings.
After a few minutes, Niklas’ curiosity got the better of him and he peeled off from the road and out towards the plain, heading towards the strange gathering on his own.
“My Lord-” Thomas began to say, putting out his hand to stop him, but Niklas was already some ways away by the time that he noticed. Dropping his hand back to rest on the hilt of his sword, he shrugged helplessly towards Missy the mule.
Ten, twenty, thirty feet– Niklas went farther further up the shallow incline of the open field, certain details around him began to become more apparent and unsettling. Strange, flesh-colored things he could not identify were strewn about. As Niklas counted them, he found there were half a dozen of them. Most of the group he had heard were huddled in a small circle nearby, and from their midst he could hear the heart-wrenching sound of a long, wailing cry.
As he finally came within about thirty feet of them the huddled crowd broke apart and revealed what appeared to be a woman at the center–she was the source of the wailing. Her front was entirely stained with the color red, and she knelt before the body of a young child who lay motionless on the grass. As a few of these people noticed Niklas’ approach, they then shouted at him and raised pitchforks or axes at him in a threatening manner. At this hostile display, Niklas quickly put up his hands and turned back towards the road.
Well, it is none of my business I suppose. He surmised. But what were those…things?
He would soon get his answer, for as he returned to the road, and his companions, he found that Thomas now appeared relaxed, and was no longer so on edge as he had been. Niklas wondered what could have changed in those few minutes that he was gone, for Thomas’ worries to have been so thoroughly banished. He then took note of a form that lay upon the grass on the other side of the road–one that was unfamiliar and flesh-colored.
“Thomas..?” He asked, peering around the man to get a better view of the thing.
“My Lord.” Thomas responded, grinning widely once more. “The Hunter we passed before had warned me that one might’ve slipped away from him, but I’ve gotten it!”
As he spoke he gestured down towards the fleshy thing at his side with the long, wavy blade of his sword, sending a few drips of oily-black ichor flying off its tip as he did so. That same ichor dripped from a wound at the center of that odd creature.
As Niklas got a good view of what Thomas had slain, he felt his stomach tighten in repulsion and he nearly retched. It appeared to be a man’s severed head, but a hairless one that was twice or more as large as normal, and most horribly deformed. Its eyes were bulbous and jutted from the sockets, and the pupils were so wide that one could hardly see any of its muddy-yellow sclera. Its maw sat ajar, and Niklas saw that the gums and many jagged, yellow-brown teeth jutted out much further than the lips could cover. What would be a man's ears were instead great wide flaps stretched out like bat's wings. Below where its neck should be, instead there had grown arm-like appendages, but ones that were unnatural. The skin of the head stopped below its chin and did not cover these new limbs, so veiny sinew and raw red muscle were all that wrapped around their bones, and it's strange fingers ended in wickedly sharp claws. But somehow, the worst of it all was how its horrifying visage seemed to be permanently twisted into the expression of a man wailing in agony and fear!
“What in God’s name is that, sir Thomas?” Niklas managed to ask with what little breath he could muster.
“Ah, I take it then this is your first Petrician monster?” Thomas replied in his usual jovial and lighthearted demeanor. He playfully jostled the putrid corpse with the tip of his blade as he continued, causing Niklas to gag in disgust. “You’re quite lucky, my Lord, for the majority of them are much more repulsive than these!”