“Pizza?” little Jarot asked.

“Pizza?” Jirot replied, placing a hand on her brother’s back, rubbing it gently. “You want pizza?”

“I want pizza…”

“I get some pizza.”

“I want daddy’s pizza…”

“Daddy is gone.”

Little Jarot pouted, but gave in to his sister’s hand as she brushed along the top of his head. Jirot, noticing how her brother’s ears drooped, wrapped her arms around him and kissed his forehead, brushing his hair back tenderly.

“When daddy come back, I tell him to make pizza,” Jirot promised, nuzzling her brother’s nose. ‘You smelly daddy!’ Jirot gasped, glancing aside, her heart thundering in her chest. “I did not say it! I did not!”

Vonda glanced towards her daughter, tilting her daughter. “What is wrong?”

“I did not say it, mummy!”

“What did you not say?”

“I did not say it…” Jirot pouted.

“Okay,” Vonda replied, reaching out a hand, allowing the girl to rush to her, so they could embrace. Vonda smiled, lifting the pair up, holding them so close.

‘Silly daddy! You come back soon!’

It was not the terror of the little Jirot the half elf needed to worry about upon his return.

Eastward, the heavily armoured figures rode upon their steeds, the forest surrounding them on all sides. The gentle rain fell upon their armour, a melody that accompanied their thoughts. The leading figure wore full plate, while the others wore heavy chain over their thick clothing. Upon their shoulders the blue that represented the East, while the symbols upon their back revealed their affiliation, and was perhaps their greatest defence against almost all foes.

Almost all foes.

The leading figure stopped, causing the others behind him to stop too. As they focused their senses, the knights tried to listen in to the world around them, but all they could hear was the soft pitter patter of rain.

“Sir?” the young man asked, the guard riding up towards the leader in full plate.

The horses whinnied, stumbling backwards, and the figure in full plate held out his hand, causing the guards to retreat behind him.

“I am Marshal Fisher Black, of East Port!” he exclaimed through the rain, gripping the reins tight as the horse continued to shudder, pulling further away from the road. Stonesword hoisted himself off his horse with surprising alacrity, before slapping Elane’s bottom to allow her to canter away, back to East Port.

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There it stood, between the trees. Tall. Red. Dark.

Stonesword couldn’t draw his eyes away from the figure, for even where he stood, he could feel it. The pressure of the creature oppressed heavily upon his shoulders, but there was already a greater duty which fell upon those shoulders, kept in place by the medallion pinned against his cloak.

“You kids head back to the city,” Stonesword said. “I’ll have a talk with the fella.” Except Stonesword could smell it in the air.

Decay. Destruction. Death.

“Okay, sir.” The man swallowed, but the chill remained in his heart. He pulled upon his horse’s rains, and just like that, the horseshoes struck against the stone, before silence assaulted the air.

“Are you lost?” the Marshal called, staring at the figure through his visor. It remained within the trees, focused completely upon him. “If you follow the road westward, you’ll find Life River. If you follow it eastward, you’ll find East Port. It’s in the name.”

“…”

“It must be awfully cold out there,” Stonesword said, feeling the heaviness with caught his chest. “Why don’t you step closer?”

“…”

Stonesword swallowed, feeling the temperature in the air drop. His breath caught within his throat as it reached towards its back, and drew out a long blade, the tips jagged, as though the blade had been cut apart randomly at its tip.

“Alright,” Stonesword replied, drawing his blade from the yellow scarf, allowing it to float away, off the stone road. He recalled the look within her eyes as she held the blue scarf, and the offer of a job to make sure she didn’t get shanked in an alley, for it had been equally as uplifting.

His blade had never felt so light within his hands.

It charged him with a speed that betrayed his size, but Stonesword waited patiently, the rain slipping between the gaps of his visors. He held his blade with both hands tight, readying himself, before finally the silence gaze way to the ringing of stone against steel, and steel against steel. Stonesword pushed through his limits as he clashed with the creature, striking true several times, while it bore upon him with a heavy blade.

As they clashed, Stonesword stepped forward, managing to gain the upper hand. His blade moved through the air like lightning, and the weight of the blade struck like thunder. He forced the creature back, but even as he grunted and panted for air, it did not utter a single noise. Even as Stonesword struck harshly against its body, or its armour, or whatever it was, it remained silent.

“Hwa!” Stonesword grunted as its blade through against his front, the blow striking deep within the Marshal. The pair continued to clash, Stonesword’s muscles burning with effort, and he noticed it began to slow, and now, he could hear it.

The ragged breathing.

Stonesword inhaled deeply, battering it with all his might, as though he were wielding, not a blade but a club. The Marshal roared with effort, feeling the ache within his muscles, the bruises pulsing all over his body.

Their shaking blades continued to crash against their opponent’s weapon and body, trying to slay the other.

A final burst of a roar filled the air, not just the roar of a desperate man, but another, of a beast facing death. Stonesword stepped back away from the creature, glaring at it, his grip loosening on his blade. He glanced down to his side, where the blade had cut through his armour. Liquid sanguine dropped onto the stone, washed away by the rain.

Stonesword’s legs grew heavy but he remained standing, gripping his blade tight in hand, and as it approached him, he swung it, but it stepped aside, and the Marshal fell.

“Ah. Grah. Tchah.” He panted, groaning out, trying to force himself to stand, pushing against the stone floor, as a shadow swallowed him. He grunted out in pain again, the Marshal rolling onto his back, staring his death in the face. “Lord So-,”

Thus the Marshal was silenced forever.

The Reaver inhaled sharply, smelling the sweet smell of blood within the air, feeling the ache within its body.

Was there anything greater than the art of death?

It looked down at the blade made of stone. A low growl of disappointment filled its core, before it turned, glaring at where the guards had fled. It slunk back into the forest, leaving the still form of the Marshal behind, the blood soaking the stone, washing away into the mud.

The hunt had begun.