[Erevan Burkwood][Session 3 - Level 1][Part 3]

Erevan woke up a few hours later to a boot in his side. The pain was nothing, like whoever did it wasn’t half as strong as the werewolves or hunters Erevan had fought in the past. He opened his eyes and found the barrel of his own blunderbuss set against his cheek. That quickly changed his attitude towards his would-be attackers.

Two men stood over him. One pointed the blunderbuss with a slight tremble to his hands.. Another held a hatchet, he was gripping it tight enough to drain the color from his fingers, and sweat rolled down his skin.

“Told you he was a crow. No other reason that man visited him.” The hatchet wielding one said.

He continuously readjusted his grip. Fidgeting and ancy as the sweat threatened to dislodge the weapon. He was leaning forward slightly, the ax held slightly raised, and the man’s eyes were wide with fear and anticipation. Erevan could tell that he wanted to kill him.

“I see he’s a crow.” The other man sounded irritated. His finger twitched on the trigger of the gun.

Facing certain death by brain removal with buckshot Erevan’s mind started racing. He thought quickly of any way to get out of this.

“My master was killed. I’ve come to the village seeking employment.” Erevan said, attempting to sound meek as he raised his hands slightly.

“How much was your rate?” The gunman asked.

“Are you serious?” The hatchet-man whined at his companion.

“Two copper coins a week.” Erevan answered quickly.

“Hot damn!” The man lowered the blunderbuss and removed his finger from the trigger.

“That’s not a real wage.” The hatchet man argued.

Erevan flicked his hand. The ballista spun to face the two men and fired at the one wielding the blunderbuss. The man's body slammed against the back wall, impaled by the ballista bolt, and the blunderbuss flew up into the air. Erevan caught the firearm as the bandit swung his hatchet.

Erevan parried the hatchet with the blunderbuss and was barely nicked on the hand. He pushed the older villager back, turned the firearm to face him, and pulled the trigger.

A dozen or so metal bb’s sprayed through the man's swinging arm. Mutilating the limb. Smoke filled the air as it escaped the cartridge. It wasn’t enough to obscure vision, but brough fond memories of hunting back to Erevan’’s mind. .

His father had invented the cartridges, they were quick loading devices, but were only good for one use. With the rest of the ammo packed away Erevan quickly dropped the firearm.

The teen ripped the hatchet out of the man’s mangled limb. He reached out with his good arm, grabbing lower on the handle. The man pulled the weapon towards himself, Erevan tried to pull it back, and they wrestled for only a second over it.

Erevan pulled the hatchet to the side, leaving the man open, as the teen used his good arm to grab the villager’s throat. He didn’t have the pure strength to crush his windpipe, but Erevan could feel the tattoo work its magic and lighten the man’s weight.

He lifted the villager up off his feet and tossed him across the room into a pile of hay. Erevan looked at the hatchet that was now in his hands. He looked over at the defenseless villager and began to step towards him. Erevan raised the hatchet.

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“What kind of fucking crow are you!” The man spit the words out; tears streaming down his face.

“I’m a Burkwood.” Erevan pulled the hatchet back and slammed it down through his skull.

The door to the stable room opened as the hatchet smashed through the skull of the bandit. Broxton stood in the doorway. He gulped as he took in the scene. The villager slumps into the hay pile, blood was splattered across Erevan and the rest of the room.

“I heard a boom.” The Goliath muttered.

“A gunshot. I was attacked in my sleep.” Erevan pulled out his second coin purse from his supplies.

The teen tossed a red coin onto each body. Wondering how long it would take Hvardrik to get here.

“What’s that?” Broxton asked with a shaky voice.

“Not sure yet. It’s best if you leave and let me handle this.” Erevan looked up at the Goliath.

The man was obviously terrified, and something about that amused Erevan. The eight foot tall monster of a villager and the young human struggling to reach six foot.

“Are you sure?” Broxton asked. “I could help clean up, help if you are hurt.”

A shimmering black portal opened. Like a swirling vortex that suddenly had a leg step through it. Hvardrik emerged into the room, black cloak on, and scanned the room cautiously.

“Yeah, your fine without me.” Broxton said quietly as he closed the door upon his exit.

The Crow necromancer watched the door close and then looked over the grisly scene in the room. He walked around, ran his hand over the ballista sticking out of the wall, and then moved on to look at the man whose face was nearly cleaved down the middle. His eyes finally stopped on Erevan.

“I left town only a couple hours ago. How did you do this?” Hvardrik asked with a smile.

Erevan shrugged. He honestly didn’t understand how trouble had found him so fast. And his hope for the town had grown infinitely small. He would have to leave soon.

“This is a new record.” Hvardrik ripped the hatchet out of the dead man and tossed it to the side.

Erevan removed his ballista bolt from the other bandit. It took effort to pull the bolt out of the wall, but the actual projectile was light for him. The necromancer took the bodies and heaved them through the portal.

“Alright. Good start.” Hvardrik commented.

“Thanks, I guess.” Erevan said. “What do I do about all the blood and gore?”

“Never cleaned a crime scene before?” Hvardrik moved his hands and muttered an incantation.

In an instant the room was spotless. Cleaner than it was before. He then waved his hand over the wall and the ballista bolt shaped whole repaired itself.

“Thanks for the corpses.” Hvardrik waved to Erevan as he moved towards the portal.

“Wait, where does the portal lead to?” Erevan asked.

“Somewhere I can’t take you. Yet.” Hvardrik answered cryptically before stepping through it.

The portal disappeared as Erevan sighed. He moved a haybale in front of either door into the room. He then laid down in some straw attempting to get more restful sleep.

Erevan eventually woke up feeling refreshed. He ate some salted venison. Then he took to the streets to find any sort of merchant. This town didn’t offer much, but he would make due.

The teen spent his two gold getting new boots and some trail rations that wouldn’t spoil as quickly as the meat. He had killed a few animals hunting, but didn’t have the salt to preserve any of it.

Erevan returned to the tavern during the lunch hours. He sat at the bar and no one bugged him as kept his helmet pulled tightly on. Broxton eventually walked over to him and held out his hand.

“This is the last of your pay.” Erevan took four copper pieces from him.

“This is considerably less.” Erevan locked eyes with the bartender.

“You want to get paid better. Get a better disguise than a helm. I’m not being executed for your hide.” Broxton sighed.

“Having me here terrifies you.” Erevan pursed his lips.

“The traditions of this land are upheld with blood and steel.” Broxton left.

“Fucking asshole.” Erevan left through the front door and headed to the stables.

In the morning Erevan planned on taking his sled to the front of the tavern. Getting a small amount of food and drink for the road. Then moving on from this town.