[Erevan Burkwood][Session 1 - Level 0][Part 2]

Erevan sat at a desk in a workshop. A ballista was laid out in front of him. The teenager unwound the thick skeins of twisted cords and set to work recalibrating them. His father sat on the other side of the workshop, a gutted and half deboned werewolf laid on a table in front of him lit by a lamp. He used a series of glasses and beakers to extract the lycanthrope's blood. He swirled it around with other salves in different tubes.

A series of cages next to him were full of rats that were heavily scarred. He took one rat out, strapped it to his workbench, and made a small incision along its back. Then he applied a salve to it mixed with lycan blood. The rat convulsed for a few seconds before its heart stopped.

“Damn it,” Troike sat up slamming his hands on his desk.

“Science isn’t easy.” Erevan chimed in as if reciting something he’d been told a hundred times.

“I know.” Troike paced around the workshop circling around the other ballista. “I just thought I’d have some more progress with this batch.”

“Go get a drink and think about it,” Erevan suggested.

“How did I raise you to be so thoughtful.” Troike raised a hand to his forehead. “Alright. But I'm not getting anything alcoholic. I need a clear mind.”

The father left the workshop and headed towards the house. Erevan spent the next thirty minutes putting the ballista back together. His father eventually walked back into the workshop, drinking out of a thermos, and he sat and stared at the werewolf’s corpses.

“I think I need to get a little more dangerous with my experiments.” Troike said.

“Even more so than killing werewolves?” Erevan turned in his seat to face his father.

“We need to take one alive.” Troike said to Erevan.

“Alright.” Erevan nodded knowing he wouldn’t be able to argue with his father.

The two packed up their ballista and muttered the incantation to lighten their load. They dragged the sled with the two siege weapons on it out of the woods and across the snowy wastes. Troike spotted vultures circling above. The two hunters headed towards the birds.

Atop a rock in a clearing was a man with black hair and facial tattoos. There was blood dripping down the rock, pooling from him, and splattering across the snow. Below him were two zombies - frozen wights - clawing at the stone. Their rotting tongues lapped up the blood off the rock.

Erevan and Troike moved together down behind them and fired their guns. They killed both undead instantly and startled the man awake. He looked more pale than most Northerners, probably drained of blood.

“Thank the Gods.” The man muttered as he slipped off the rock.

Erevan caught him as he landed unsteadily on the snow.

“Who are you?” Troike asked.

“Lonny.” The man answered.

His black hair was tied back in a ponytail. He wore thick cloth, but seemed to be missing the layers of furs most people wore this far North. Across his face were black bars. A brand of sorts.

“Nice tattoos.” Erevan said.

“Erevan.” Troike barked at his son.

The teenager shrunk away. He wasn’t often yelled at, but he understood the message.

“Thank you, but they are not nice. They mark me as an omen of Death.” The man said as he leaned backward, bumping into the rock, and sliding down into the snow.

“You need medical attention.” Troike knelt down next to him.

“I was attacked by a werewolf. What I need is a swift death.” Lonny said.

“You’re lucky the wounds aren’t deeper. Let alone the fact you got away.” Troike said.

”Dad, we can cure him.” Erevan grabbed his father’s shoulder.

“Shut up.” Troike said through gritted teeth. “I’ll bandage him and let him try to get back to his people.”

“They kill infected Crows. Not worth the effort to save.” Lonny looked down at his blood stained hands.

“A Crow?” Erevan muttered, mulling over the word, before turning to his father. "Can't we just help him?"

“Fine, go grab a bag from the sled. We’ll put it over his head and take him home.” Troike said.

Erevan did so as Troike bandaged the Crow. The man had several slashes down his back and a chunk missing from his forearm. They put him on the sled between the two ballistae with a bag over his head. The two hunters dragged the Crow back to their home.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

As they reached the homestead they brought the sled into the workshop. Troike quickly made a potion with wolfsbane and liquid silver. He had Lonny take the potion before he turned to face Erevan.

“Erevan, stay with Lonny, I need to grab some surgical equipment from the house.” Troike Burkwood turned to leave.

“Okay,” Erevan sat in a chair. He took his helmet off, set it on the ground, and scooted closer to Lonny, “so, what’s a Crow?”

“Well, you are.” Lonny blinked, looking stunned, as Troike stepped out of the warehouse.

A roar broke the peaceful quiet as the heavily armored hunter, Delerk Koldottir, lunged out from behind the door. Two steps, snow crunched underneath them, as the hunter rounded the corner. He swung his halberd down at Troike Burkwood. The silvered blade slashed through his shoulder and his left arm dropped to the ground.

He let out a deep guttural scream as he fell backward in front of the workshop's entrance. With a wave of his only arm left, the ballista behind him aimed and fired. The bolt struck through the hunter's chest and sent him flying across the snowy lawn.

“Reload the ballista!” Burkwood screamed as Erevan jumped from his chair.

“Dad!” Erevan’s voice cracked.

“The Ballista!” He yelled.

Erevan turned to the ballista, waving his arm, as the bolt racked itself. He stepped around the siege weapon to run to his father. His body was motionless, limp and bent backwards, with two arrows protruding from his chest. Troike Burkwood laid dead.

The two bowmen were standing across the lawn slowly notching arrows. Erevan, blinded by tears, waved his hand, and a ballista bolt fired. It slammed into one of the hunters, sending him back into the treeline. Now two were dead.

Suddenly Lonny tackled Erevan to the ground. He fought to pin the teen's arms down. Erevan struggled and tried to kick free. As they struggled Lonny groaned as his wounds reopened.

“I’m sorry. I have to.” Lonny teared up as he looked Erevan in the eyes.

Erevan snarled as he snapped his head upward, clenched his jaw on Lonny’s throat, and tore into the flesh. Lonny pulled away but Erevan ripped through his skin taking a chunk of his throat.

The Crow scrambled away, clutching his neck, as blood spurted out. Erevan struggled to his feet and looked back towards the corpse of his father. They hurt his father, none of them deserve to live.

“Dad!” Erevan yelled, hoping dearly it would rouse Troike.

Glass shattered further back inside the warehouse. Erevan turned to see the man with two silvered shortswords stepping through the window. His swords were sheathed.

Erevan’s eyes quickly snapped down to Lonny's corpse as he realized they used the Crow to set up a trap. The hunters had followed them home. And what, all because they took a kill from them, or was there something more?

The hunter charged at Erevan, the teen raised his hand to shoot the second ballista, but the hunter lunged, tackling Erevan to the ground. Erevan tried to kick him away and scramble towards the exit. As Erevan turned over the hunter grabbed his black hair and pulled his neck upright.

“You’re a fucking Crow.” The hunter looked at the black hair, twisting Erevan’s neck, and stared at his untattooed face over his shoulder.

“I don’t understand.” Erevan cried out.

“Your father protected you.” The hunter slammed Erevan’s head into the floor planks. “He ran away with you.” He slammed him down again as Erevan's face contorted in rage. “He broke our traditions.” The hunter slammed him down one final time before standing.

“What are we going to do to him?” The remaining bowman asked, walking into the warehouse.

“Mark him.” The hunter said as he grabbed one of the dark red salves from his father’s desk.

The bowmen swung his pack around, pulled out a healer's kit, and fished a sewing needle out of it. The hunter took it, rolled Erevan over, and set to work. He dipped the needle into the salve, pierced it through Erevan's cheek, and drew a single thread through the length of his left cheek.

Erevan screamed and slammed one arm into the side of the hunter. The larger adult man didn’t budge. The toxins from the salve mixed with Erevan’s blood and a slow tingling feeling spread through his body.

“You will die a proper Crow. Hold still.” The hunter knelt on Erevan’s arms.

The needle pierced through his cheek, into his mouth, before the hunter drew it back through. Erevan bit down on the hunter's gloved finger. He quickly pulled his hand away from the teen’s jaw.

“I’ll kill you!” Erevan screamed as blood filled his mouth.

He spit into the hunter’s face before wrestling one of his arms free. With a flick of his finger the ballista spun around and fired at the hunter. The bolt sailed through him, impaling him from armpit to armpit, and the hunter died almost instantly. The bowman dropped the rest of the healer's kit and turned to run.

Something snapped inside of Erevan as he pushed off the ground. On all fours he reached out and grabbed the bowman’s leg. The bowman began to fall forward and as he threw his arms out to catch himself he knocked a lantern off of the central table.

Erevan crawled on top of the bowman, taking an arrow from the quiver on his back, and stabbed him repeatedly in the side. The bowman tried to speak but his speech was unintelligible between blood soaked gasps. Erevan thrusted the arrow into him repeatedly until the shaft broke off inside of the hunter.

The young Burkwood stood up, tears still rolling down his face, as he looked around at the fire spreading across the central table. The corpse of the werewolf was up in flames, and that fire spread to the ground as the oil dripped off the side of the table.

The teen stepped away from the archer’s body as flames spread to him. Erevan looked past him to the fire spreading the other way. Like a beast bent on destruction the flames inched toward the gunpowder kegs.

Erevan quickly grabbed the reins of the sled, muttering the incantation, as he dragged it towards the exit. The two firearms, the two ballistae, and all of their hunting equipment were on it.

As he reached the barn doors a ball of fire exploded outward from the gunpowder barrels. Erevan felt his feet leave the ground, as he was thrust forward, before slamming into the snow.

He slowly rolled over, staring as fire overtook the workshop, and spread towards his father. Troike Burkwood’s corpse went up in flames.

Erevan scrambled forward and grabbed the leg of his father. He pulled him away and used snow to pat out the flames. He quickly turned, feeling nauseous at the sight of the corpse, as he took a few steps away. Something about it being his dad made it even more revolting. Like his mind was rejecting the very idea his guardian could be dead.

He looked upon the warehouse and felt as if he was watching his life burn down. Tears welled up in his eyes, but he shook his head clearing his mind. As his lungs burned with sorrow and smoke he managed to take in a few deep breaths and calmed himself.

“I’m gonna live. I’m going to live.” Erevan tightened his fists, his shoulders shook as he felt rage building inside him.