They tried to make their walk as subtle as possible, not arousing suspicion from both the hellhounds and the humans. When asked, Aralt tried to convince them it was an important meeting and they should not disturb. Upon reaching Aralt’s tent, they entered and found themselves in a makeshift campfire area, surrounded by strategically placed pillows. Many hanging lanterns up top lit the area to enhance the various vibrant colors of the rugs, cushions, and the tent itself. While there was a roof, there were no real ‘walls’, prompting Aralt to find some tapestries to use instead; a form of privacy to prevent others from joining in. Once he constructed the walls, he turned to Faizan and stated, “Ensure that everyone is aware not to disturb. As for the two,” he eyed the unconscious humans that he and Stungalm were carrying. “I will hand these two to you. We got them stabilized, but they will need a place to rest.”
With a nod, Faizan caught the attention of a nearby hellhound to help him carry the two humans. Just as Aralt was closing the tent flap, he felt a sudden tug. Blinking, he checked out the source of the tug. When he discovered who it was, a small smile built on his face. He positioned himself to be a little closer to the target of his desires. “Why hello? I was wondering where you were. What’s going on?”
“H-Hi indeed,” Kyle chuckled nervously, his pulse racing being face to face with the hellhound leader. “I... I wanted to ask, or well implore, you. I want to take part in... I assume the meeting?”
A small grimace replaced the smile. His lips pressed together and eyes tightly closed, resulting in a slow response. “May I... ask why?”
Kyle kept a strong focus on Aralt, trying to mimic what Ronan might do if it was him. “I... I understand that you attempted to maintain secrecy, but I could perceive from the facial expressions that you were also aware?”
A hmmm noise emitted from the hellhound, another delayed response as his eyes diverted. “Although you are adorable and may possess an undisclosed talent for telepathy, I require a valid reason.”
I was not expecting that, but I’ll take it, Kyle thought as he kept a mildly strong posture. “The two people you saved, their names are River Valenciano and Ronan Valenciano. Ronan is River’s son, and River is the leader of our once standing settlement. I am a good friend of Ronan’s... for many years. And I am certain that he would want you to keep the hooded figure alive. And yes, I am familiar with what he is. An elf. Supposed to be an enemy of my people, but as you felt like a debt was to be repaid to me. I need to repay a debt to him.”
“A debt?”
“He saved me... from my abuser... my torturer.” He crossed his arms, shielding his body as he perceived a heavy, dull pain coursing through him. As his posture faltered, he sensed himself diminishing and averted his gaze. A flood of memories tried to play, and he had a hard time blocking it. A flash of images that he tried to push out of his crumbled psyche, almost in vain, as his body threatened to tremble. “So it’s... it’s why I hope there can be a reconsideration.”
Out of instinct, Aralt reached out to give a comforting grip, but Kyle flinched back. That was sufficient for Aralt to gain understanding. Faizan did this too... way back then...
“Well...” The hellhound started, “while I cannot have you go inside with me, I can keep that in mind when deciding. I still need to have answers, though. I have my people to think about, just like how you have to think of yours... just until your leaders wake up, anyway. Having a spokesperson is fortunate for them.” His lips reverted to a smile, trying to give a soft look for a man so adversely affected by the Pencari... by the elves. “I don’t think I ever got your name, by the way.”
“Oh. Right. Kyle. My name.”
“A big pleasure to meet you,” Aralt backed away a little, drawing himself back into his tent. “Let’s talk after I am done here. How about it?”
“Oh, yes. Of course.” Kyle jumped a little in response, “A-Anyway. Thanks for listening. I’ll-... I’ll leave you to it.” Dismissing himself, he stepped back and returned to his mother’s side. Observing him for a brief moment, Aralt proceeded into his tent. His softened expression now hardened, eyeing Stungalm and the ‘Elf’ hard now. Stungalm released out a gruff, “Are you done?”
“Excuse me?” Aralt growled, daring the masked man to speak more. “If you’re going to be a shithead, how about you take your damn mask off too? Am I speaking to one or two Pencari in my fucking camp?”
Nahele's posture perked, an awareness of the situation at hand recognized. “No, it’s just me. I’m the only one.”
“How can I be certain of that?” The hellhound paced back and forth. “That man has stayed masked, based on my awareness. While you elf are vouched for, I know of no one who spoke for him.” He then stopped and his glare intensified, “So... I suggest you take off the mask now.”
The surrounding air became motionless; Stungalm and Aralt never faltered from the stand-off. One awaited the other to give in, a mental battle of fortitude between them. The only sound being of heavy breathing, Nahele interjected his judgement, “Stungalm, it’s only us three if it makes a difference.” His voice, although firm, he labored himself to keep it genial. With the implication out there, the elf withdrew his hood. Aralt absorbed the image of the Pencari; doing a double-take on the elf’s face. The elf’s face, though weather-beaten, revealed a youthful yet mature age. A diamond-shaped face with a scar underneath one of his blood-red eyes, and medium length jet-black hair; curtained with fringes parted to the side.
With his face exposed, the hellhound’s attention returned to Stungalm. “Now take off yours, and... explain how the hell you two know each other.”
Eyeing Stungalm for a few seconds, Nahele gave a curt nod. “I’ll ex--”
“I’ll do it.” Stungalm interrupted roughly, “If it will make you shut up.” His gloved hands grabbed the mask on his face. As he was taking it off, he started the story: “We met when the Pencari confronted me.”
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Through the dense thicket of trees, a soft hue of orange sunlight peeked through the leaves. As the sun set further on the horizon, it created shadows that seemed to dance and swirl, flickering on the ground and walls of the forest. The only sound he could perceive was his own breathing, as if the world around him had come to a standstill. Suddenly, a rustle of leaves caught his attention, causing his head to turn in alarm. A deer walked calmly towards them, its hooves crunching the leaves underneath its feet. Their eyes briefly locked before it vanished into the woods again.
Damned thing seems to fucking follow me, Stungalm thought as he continued his long journey. He counted twenty seasons passing; six winters, six springs, six summers, and six falls. And yet, throughout the time he had wandered, the answers he sought were nowhere in sight. The human ruins didn’t provide much of it either, no sign of anyone passing by them. They usually stay in one place anyway, but what about her? Where would she go?
Despite his heavy steps, he held his chin high, knowing his clothing would shield his neck from being exposed. The hood over his head provided warmth as the impending cold arose from the air. His fingers twitched, recalling the virulent chuckles from his father, retelling him from the potential whereabouts of their mother. And the deal that stamped their fates everlasting.
I’ll tell you what, son. I will let you go if you defeat all of your siblings. At the same time. If you succeed, you can have your freedom. Pursue her. So, what do you say?
It was a risky move, but Stungalm knew he could not retract it. No turning back, not even at this point. He was determined to find her, and nothing, not even his own family, would deter him from his mission. With the pistol sword on his person, he faced all of his siblings; his brothers and sisters.
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
His brothers didn’t fare well, sobbing over the broken bones and unnaturally bent limbs. The sisters, however, did better than expected. His eldest sister laid against the wall, trying to get up but failing every time she attempted to stand. Bruises covered her face, with blood streaming down her cheeks, nose, and chin. Stungalm took his time walking towards her, before standing above her. His sister’s eyes glared at him as she looked up. Her jaw clenched in anger. She stared at him with fury as she spat at him. With no hesitation, he stomped on her hand. It cracked under his boot and blood pooled around it. He stepped off and held his pistol sword to her neck.
Her heavy breathing and the glare transformed into fear as she realized the possibility of her death. Her head tilted back to look at her brother as he held the pistol sword against her throat. She swallowed hard as she tried to speak. “I...I... I’m-” she tried to say, but Stungalm slammed his sword non-lethally onto her. Rendered unconscious, she was the last to be fought.
I fulfilled my part of the deal, father. And now so shall you.
It was impossible for Stungalm to forget his father’s rage at that moment; how his nostrils flared like an angry bovine. Or how he discharged out a guttural roar, demanding Stungalm to return to his place. But he emerged victorious in the fight. He had his freedom.
Coming back to the present, he released a deep breath and made adjustments to the satchel fastened to him. He holstered his main weapon on his right side, while his dagger was carried on his left. With nightfall, he sought shelter for the night. A cave, or perhaps a human ruin that would be sufficient for his taste. Disrupted from his thinking, he felt a presence stalking around him. One? Or maybe two?
Beneath the mask, his eyes darted right and left. Hand on hilt, he awaited the perfect moment to strike. Despite his kind’s lack of a scotopic vision, he trained himself during his travel to see better than most. So it didn’t surprise him to be confronted by two figures; dressed in black hooded clothes and masks. Initially, their approach was careful; discerning if Stungalm was friend or foe.
One of them spoke, “Málo hela Notto?”
Pencari language, Stungalm identified the dialect internally. Despite his inability to comprehend their words; he gave no ounce of care. His answer, he determined, would be their death. Removing his sword pistol from its holster, he aimed it at the elf and discharged. The Pencari’s companion rolled to the side as the projectile whizzed past him. Another gunshot fired as Stungalm missed the target. From there, it became a life and death battle. They rolled on the ground, kicking dirt up as they fought.
Stungalm rushed at them, his pistol sword swung at them with savage fury. Focusing his attack on their neck, he would’ve sliced through their skin if the Pencari hadn’t evaded. The tip of the blade barely grazed their skin, but it was enough to make them bleed; very little to sate his sword’s appetite. Then, without warning, they disappeared briefly before appearing behind him. In that instant, he parried the incoming magical projectiles and pushed back with a counterattack. His blade sent the first one reeling; half one way and half the other. As the split body collapsed onto the ground, it became rife with corruption. A black mist exited from its mortal flesh and flew out into the vast twinkling darkness above.
Witnessing the other’s death, the second Pencari’s confidence dwindled rapidly. Raspy breaths muffled through the mask as their flight response triggered. In mere seconds, they ran away with no set destination in mind. Before Stungalm had the opportunity to conclude this disappointingly fast fight, an arrow appeared from behind him; instantaneously passing by to hit its mark. Shot in the back, the newly made corpse fell onto the small patch of weeds; progressively coated in red.
With a hard exhale, he stared at the corpse, whose work belonged to another. “I had it handled,”
“You did.” A voice pierced in the darkness, “but I prefer to be extra sure.”
Pivoting toward the voice, Stungalm peered into the bushes where the cloaked individual was. Holding onto a longbow with one hand, he held out a free one. “Easy. They are my enemies as much as they are yours. I had noticed their movement and came to see for myself. My expectations did not anticipate your involvement.”
“Use smaller words.”
“Alright.” The hooded figure sighed. “I’ll keep that in mind for the future, although it’s uncertain.” The hooded figure advanced to the two corpses and got on his knees, rummaging through their persons for anything useful. Silently, Stungalm approached, curious about the stranger’s search. With no words spoken between them, he stopped to watch from a distance.
What is he searching for? He thought, finding it to be his luck to cross paths with another individual. Someone almost identical to him; a lone wolf wandering through the darkness like it was a normal thing. At least this one seems bold and resourceful.
“Who are you?” Stungalm gruffly asked, as the person stood up, grabbing the things he thought to be beneficial. “You don’t resemble anyone I am familiar with.”
“Because I am not,” the cloaked entity confirmed. “I had been hunting alone for as long as I can remember. Pencari mostly.” The hooded figure meandered back to where they had come from. “While I can surmise you're not a Pencari. Why do you wear a mask?”
“Protection.” Stungalm felt that was the only answer needed.
“Fair enough,” the cloaked individual continued. “Since it seems like we have a common enemy, if you seek shelter, you can come to mine. But be on your best behavior.”
“Why would I follow you?” Stungalm raised a brow underneath his mask.
“Considering you are not killing me, and I am not killing you. We have established enough of a connection to not bring harm to one another. While there might not be a big reason to follow, there is no big reason to not benefit from a cavern shelter.”
There was a pause between them, before Stungalm sheathed his pistol sword. “Fine. Good enough.” With that logic in mind, Stungalm followed the hooded figure into the darkness. Mutually wordless, they treaded through the forest. No reason to speak, really. They were strangers who had recently met. But they had one common goal, find shelter before night fell. The trek continued for an hour. They took the long route, with trees obscuring their way to their destination. During their travel, they kept an eye out for any Pencari activity, but it seemed quiet for the night. And eventually, they reached their destination; a waterfall.
“This is your place?” Stungalm asked with uncertainty.
“Yes. The waterfall here is fresh, the trees obscure enough, and the cavern hidden from the inexperienced.” The hooded figure climbed up on the rocks, and turned back to Stungalm, “You coming?”
“Yeah,” Stungalm caught up along the rocky walls of the cavern and through the hidden entrance. It was skillfully hidden, and one could fail to notice it unless they were aware of where to search. The cavern was narrow, but opened up once they entered. A wide cave stood before them, torches guiding them deeper inside. Taking his first step inside, he did not know what to expect; whether this was some elaborate trap. Staring ahead, he followed the cloaked individual through the flickering darkness. Along the way, he could see faint specks of dust floating around. Almost like fireflies in the night sky, as they traveled deeper in. Other openings, each lit by a torch, were out of reach. In the end, they reached the end of the tunnel.
While he would not admit it to anyone, the amount of children took him aback. Human children. He glanced around the room and estimated a dozen present. All of them directed their attention towards him, causing him to feel extremely uneasy. Their faces all held a degree of uncertainty, and a few hid behind those closest to them. Without knowing what to do or say, he stared back. “You might have to forgive their distrust. Masked individuals usually mean the Pencari for them.” The hooded figure then pulled his hood down to reveal the face.
Stungalm stood there, blank-faced and amazed under the mask as a Pencari was in front of him. The Pencari then spoke up, “I am Nahele; and yes. I am the one in which are your enemies. I am a fugitive, though, and I have hindered their mission to the best of my ability. These children came from one of their small encampments, and I made sure no evidence was left. I try to bring them back to their homes, but most of them... go back alone. Their families long gone by the time I come back.”
“Nahele...” Stungalm drawled out, taking in the name. “You are brave to show your face to me, since I killed your kin.”
“They are no kin of mine. Not anymore.” Nahele shook his head. “My only kin died years ago. I have no loyalty or motive to concern myself with them, particularly after what they did to me.” Taking out a bag, he gave away various berries, mushrooms, and fruits for the children to eat. “Here, eat up. The man behind me won’t hurt you. He also hates the Pencari.”
“Stungalm.”
Nahele felt compelled to direct his attention out of curiosity when he heard the mask being removed. There before him was a human. Rugged in appearance, with strong, unyielding eyes. Burning a slate-blue, his thick sandy-blonde eyebrows complimented it. His hair was of a same color; tousled and barely touching his shoulders. He had side-swept fringes that touch the thick, heavy stubble. His facial structure was wolfish, with a roman-shaped nose that held a fading scar. “That’s my name. Stungalm.”