> Luthos creepy uncle… paid the God of Luck a surprise visit.
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> The first line of one of the many coarse prayers/sayings adorning the taverns of Taras in Goras attributed to Arguen Garth.
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> Unknown date.
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Arguen Garth
Hardir O’ Fardor
Lord of Morn Taras
Monarch of Wetull
King beyond the Pale Mountains
Aniculo Rokae
A touch of murder
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“Give him a lightstone,” Glen ordered a Zilan. “You. Bring yours here!” He stooped just inside the entrance to examine the old marble floor filled with different geometric shapes. The trail of blood continuing up the stairs to the second floor.
“Is there a light in here?” Troy asked shaking the lightstone a soldier had given him.
“No. It’s not a fucking lamp. Just keep it steady. Don’t step on the blood.”
“Do you sell these shit?”
Glen glanced at the beefy man. “Yes. There is more blood… where did you find the arm?” He asked Lefyr that came down the stairs.
“Next to your foot Hardir. You have to see this.”
“Found the body?”
“No but we followed the trail up.”
Glen signed for Troy to follow him and climbed up the internal staircase. Paused at the empty corridor of the second floor and then climbed another set of stairs to the flat roof of the building.
The repaired terrace providing a commanding view of the square where the two tables had been placed. Glen could see them not forty meters away in the well illuminated plaza, the night breeze soft on his hurting face. He turned his attention on the blood trail they had followed, splotches of gore here and there marking a relatively clear trajectory to the back of the terrace facing away from the busy square.
“More blood here,” Lefyr informed him. Glen could see it. Marines were patrolling the nearby alleys, but the absence of buildings –the workers had brought down most of them to use the material for repairs- allowed him to see the guts of Rain Minas at least two kilometers out. The majority of the still standing villas were around the four corners of the plaza.
“Stand aside,” Glen ordered the Zilan looking about for clues. “Order your men to search every district bordering the center.”
“We’re scouring the area Hardir.”
Glen nodded and knelt next to the larger drying pool of blood. The spray had painted the nearby wall of the terrace shaded area and the parapet low wall around it. “Come here Troy.”
“What did you find?”
“This looks like a half-heel to you?” Glen pointed at the bloody footprint on the cornice.
“Yep. It ain’t from your beast. Are beasts a problem here by the way?” Troy asked while Glen looked about for anything else of interest. The sound of soldiers running back and forth livening the quiet West Wetull night.
“What do you think it was?”
“Have no clue. A big wild dog? A puma? What’s the flavor of the month?” Troy taunted.
“No wild dogs. We have Trolls though up on the mountains. I killed at least a couple of Hydras myself.”
“Hah-hah… you’re serious?” Troy stopped to ask seeing his face. “Ever fought a Ticu?”
“Not personally. Why?”
“Had a friend that saw one of them naked. Just asking,” Troy said looking about him, the lightstone in his hand dancing over the gory scene. But where is the body? Glen wondered. Why stand so far back from the feast?
“We have Chimeras,” Glen murmured.
“Not a lion’s footprint that by the entrance,” Lefyr said approaching. “Chimera’s drink the blood, leave the body.”
“It left some of the arm,” Glen retorted.
“What’s a Chimera?” Troy asked with renewed interest.
Glen got up and stared at his boots. Then at Lefyr’s. Hmm. A different style used by the marines without strings. “That’s an adventurer’s wood reinforced heel. A Zilan design.”
“Are they common?” Troy asked.
“In Goras. But I guess by now most rangers have it, hunters as well. Foreigners even. I prefer them. I saw some of our Cofol merchants in the port. Some might have brought a pair here to sell.”
“That’s a lot of leather strings to tie up. How long to take them off?”
“I don’t usually,” Glen informed him. “Unless I decide to take a bath.”
“You don’t do that often?” Troy jeered with an idiot’s grin.
“Step aside,” Glen grunted. “Put some fucking clothes on.”
Troy snickered but followed after him. Glen walked at the other side of the floor terrace to once again stare at the plaza underneath them. He could see more citizens or bystanders occupying nearby terraces. Some bringing food up there to enjoy the pleasant night from above and watch the Monarch entertain his guests. Fighting the gladiator included in the festivities.
“You said everyone was busy looking down,” Glen started. “At the contest, the feast afore it.”
“Sure. Got anything? You seem wise. Not trying to imply anything,” the gladiator added still smiling.
Fuck’s sake.
“Maybe the victim was doing the same? The beast climbed up the wall and attacked while no one was looking this way. Tried to reach the back, even put a boot on the parapet’s edge but didn’t make it.” Glen puffed out and stared at the blood trail heading downstairs. “Why use the front door to leave?”
“Maybe it heard Paeris?” Troy suggested.
“So it rushed down the stairs, bringing the body with it? At some point near the entrance the arm fell off. It sort of… works, then it doesn’t,” Glen murmured in bewilderment.
“How did Paeris…?” Troy wondered realizing what had troubled Glen.
“He couldn’t. Nor would the beast goring the victim back here could have spotted him two floors down,” Glen replied. “This assumes the beast wasn’t on its way down already. But if it could come up the wall, why not leave the same way?”
Glen stared at the noble Zilan talking with some of the marines and Elwuin, some humans listening in trying to understand the animated Zilan. “Lefyr,” he decided with another glance at the nearby area from the good vantage point of the roof terrace. “I want a group investigating the villa across the street.”
“That would bring it closer to the feast Hardir.”
“Do it,” Glen retorted and rushed down the stairs.
Reaching the entrance, he walked outside but paused again and walked towards the disturbed wildflower bed the beast had hidden at briefly. Glen stopped there and glanced about him. The villa had a small garden, now a mostly abandoned flat area enclosed by a tall stone fence like all Zilan structures that had collapsed on a couple of spots. Workers had cut down the trees, clearing the garden from vegetation for the most part, leaving the occasional flower bed as decoration. One could see the plaza only if he stood near the villa’s modest open gates.
Unless he climbed up the stairs to watch the festivities from the roof.
The beast’s footprint was barely visible now with so many people walking back and forth nearby. Glen stared beyond the hiding spot next to the paved path leading from the gates to the villa but couldn’t see any footprints leaving. It had confused him initially into thinking the beast had escaped by climbing up the roof.
The sequence of events was completely different.
“It attacked the roof first, came down the stairs, exited from the door… hid here to watch Paeris run towards us,” Glen said and Troy frowned. Glen started walking towards the distant wall of the garden. He stopped to examine the two meter tall stone wall, covered with ferns, dirt and ancient mold… what looked a lot like specks of blood on the green leaves.
He touched one with a finger.
Yeah.
Glen glanced back at the spot next to the villa’s entrance thoughtfully.
“How far can you leap?” He asked Troy.
“Five, six meters if I have the momentum. More if I’m desperate I suppose,” Troy said and Glen narrowed his eyes.
“Can you make it from the bush to here?”
“Where?”
Glen pointed at the top of the wall.
“Mate that’s over ten meters, plus you have to clear the blasted wall,” Troy retorted but then pursed his mouth looking at the distance, head turning back and forth.
“I don’t want you to attempt it,” Glen stopped him with a groan of exasperation. “Just needed to put things in perspective. A beast could do it.”
He suspected some crazy athletic Zilan might even come close.
Lith had jumped from the pyramid. That was a twenty meters drop.
Could one make such a long jump though?
With the help of a spell perhaps.
“What?” Troy gasped. “No way.”
It did. Leaped from the fucking entrance to the top of the wall and then out on the street.
“Myrdor!” Glen boomed at the Marine. “You’re stationed here, what’s north beyond the edge of the city?”
“Nothing but ruins Hardir. Ah, the edge… you mean,” Myrdor paused to think about it. “I reckon the ravine leading at the edge of the plateau?”
“Does it lead to the forest?” Glen asked.
“It does Hardir.”
“There’s no way any animal can leap that far,” Troy protested his logic.
“You were considering it not half a minute back,” Glen retorted and signed for him to make a step with his hands. He wanted to reach the top of the stone fence. “If a human can reach that far a beast could reach even further.”
“I’m a champion of the arena!” Troy roared taking offense and then heaved Glen upwards easily.
A grinning Glen reached the top and sat down looking right and left. The spot where the beast had landed clearly visible. It was marred in gore for starters but also cracked, the top flat stones dislodged with detached material soiling the pavement outside the garden wall.
“Do you take offense when no offense is given?” Glen asked and jumped down with a pained grunt. “Fuck.”
“Was jesting. What now?”
“We find the beast,” Glen replied. “Determine whether this was a random attack or it had a touch of murder in it as well.”
“Ugh?” Troy grunted but the Monarch was already moving away. Glen headed outside signing for Myrdor to follow after him and Lefyr did the same not a moment later.
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Glen returned to their tables and went for the one he'd left his weapons and satchel. Put everything on and looked to find a harpoon for the gladiator from one of the marines. “Give it to him. Put some fucking clothes on Troy!”
Troy was wearing a pair of dirty leather pants.
“Don’t need clothes,” Troy retorted and grabbed the harpoon from the Zilan. “The beast heads for the ravine?”
“It won’t nest in a city,” Glen replied and turned to look at Paeris. “Come here bard.”
“Great Monarch, we talked about this,” Paeris protested. “I shall sing no more.”
You insensitive, callous bastard! That what worries you?
“Get your arse here!” Glen grunted irate and some of the Zilan talking with him murmured at the King’s harsh tone.
The crowd might not know what happened, but Paeris has no excuses.
“Yes your highness,” the handsome Zilan replied in a friendly manner and approached. Glen gave him a once over. “How can I be of service to our Monarch?”
“What were you doing there?” Glen asked.
“Festivities are bothersome,” Paeris explained.
“You turned a new leaf eh?” Glen said mockingly.
Paeris nodded. “That’s surprisingly accurate.”
“What did he say?” Troy asked as Paeris had switched to Imperial. The Elderblood cast a glance at the curious bare-chested gladiator and smiled.
Is he flirting? For crying out loud!
“You didn’t get inside the villa,” Glen noted clenching his fist.
“Left the moment I saw the blood,” Paeris’ eyes switched to the listening Lefyr.
There was not much of it on the doorframe.
“You have blood on your shoes,” Glen pointed and Paeris stooped to check his leather shoes.
“Must have stepped on… hmm. There’s no blood your grace,” he said raising his head.
“There isn’t. But you thought there was,” Glen replied soberly.
Paeris pursed his mouth. “Can I speak with your excellency in private?”
“Lefyr is an officer and Troy can barely understand a word in Common,” Glen argued.
“Hey!” Troy protested. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“See?” Glen smirked, but then he turned serious again. “Answer the question. The first one.”
Paeris stood back and then brushed his hands down his shirt. “I entered the villa.”
“What… were you doing there?” Glen hissed restating his original question. “I know you walked inside. Matter of fact. I think you went all the way up the roof…”
“I didn’t touch her,” Paeris cut him off. “It wasn’t me. I’m the victim here! I was in danger.”
“Lord Paeris who was she?” Lefyr asked.
“Hardir, I’d like a private audience,” Paeris insisted.
“Lefyr,” Glen said soberly. “Prepare an armed group to search the ravine. I’ll join you.”
“Yes sir,” Lefyr replied and marched away with a last glance at the blank-faced Paeris.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“Speak fast,” Glen hissed.
“She called me on the terrace,” Paeris started lowering his voice. “It is not a crime to seek pleasure Hardir.”
“So you went there but upon arriving you saw the beast,” Glen continued not bothering to comment. “What was it?”
“I don’t want to speculate.”
“Is she alive? Lefyr knows her,” Glen asked, a nervous tick appearing on his left eye. With the right still swollen, he had trouble seeing the Zilan’s face.
“I remember two glowing eyes, a hairy beastly figure,” Paeris replied and stared at some of the nearby Zilan watching their conversation. It was obvious they were listening in. Glen didn’t care. “I ran. I’m not a person that enjoys violence or acts of heroism. I couldn’t save her.”
“You fought an assassin to save your life in the king’s bedroom.”
“That happened more than a dozen centuries in the past. An ancient tale of another time,” Paeris replied maintaining his composure. “I barely survived.”
“How the hell did you escape?”
“I didn’t Hardir. I was stabbed repeatedly,” Paeris argued calmly.
Yet the assassin didn’t have as much trouble dispatching the King and the Queen of Wetull that night. Glen thought remembering a very old conversation he had with Flix.
When you learn of the old King’s fate, the Gish had said. Ask what became of Elas’ sister.
Aenymriel.
Nym.
But that old crime wasn’t relevant to this attack. Was it? Glen shook his head trying to clear his thoughts.
“What beast follows a witness to his kill? Down a set of stairs and out in the yard. Stops the pursuit realizing you were heading into a square full of people and leaves. All the time carrying a whole body with him?” Glen asked the Elderblood and Paeris pursed his mouth displeased. “What are we facing here Paeris? You are well over a thousand years old. Maybe two.”
“I’m older than that Hardir,” Paeris said evenly. “I just take care of myself.”
“Yet you can’t strike a note or lift a hand to protect yourself. Save a girl that wanted your company,” Glen added a little disgusted with his actions. “You devolved Paeris.”
“Apathy is an affliction,” Paeris replied with a grimace. “Caused by trauma. At first I was bothered with it. Learned not to. I’m allowed the choice to keep myself safe and leave heroics to those that seek more from life, oh great Monarch. I just want to be.”
“I don’t believe you,” Glen retorted. “You also seek pleasure by your own words and backed Rothomir for the throne. Who was the girl?”
Paeris shrugged his shoulders. “Ityliel,” he said indifferently and Glen narrowed his eyes.
You son of a bitch!
“Tyl,” Glen hissed through his teeth. “Good that I sent Lefyr away.”
“What?” Troy snapped ogling his eyes and Glen glanced his way equally frustrated. “Was she inside the villa?” Troy asked his face turning red with anger.
“The beast is sated Monarch. Tomorrow we’ll see both moons full in the sky. Months until we witness them again,” Paeris said staring in Glen’s sour face. “Leave the matter be.”
Troy grabbed the Zilan by the throat and started strangling him with Paeris desperately trying to defend himself. Glen pursed his mouth watching the Zilan struggle for a long moment undecided, the open-mouthed bystanders staring at the scene in bewilderment.
Argh, damn it. Glen cursed grinding his teeth in frustration.
Then slapped the gladiator’s beefy arm once. “Let him go,” he told the snarling Troy.
“Why?”
“He’s a member of the Council of Twenty,” Glen explained and Troy released the gasping Zilan. Paeris collapsed to his knees with several Zilan rushing to help him up.
“So what?” Troy growled not believing his ears. “He could’ve helped her!”
“Lower yer darn voice,” Glen counseled him angrily. “It’s done. Now get your harpoon. Let’s head to the ravine.”
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Nesande’s Shade cast a bright blue ring around the invisible, all black, Ora’s Eye in the cloudless night sky. Glen turned his eyes at the dark downwards slope of the ravine. The natural chasm meters deep, wide as a small valley. Escaping waters had dug it but the riverbed was dry. Exposed vines, thorny roots and undergrowth covered its vertical walls, caves gasping open in the basalt rock at the sharp banks with sediment gathering at its base making tall trees sprout out amidst the rich vegetation.
The incline rather steep for horses.
“Any tracks?” Glen asked the Zilan leading their group.
“Nothing sire.”
Glen grimaced and climbed down from his horse. The ground covered with soft soil over the bedrock. Large stones littering it amidst the rotten leaves. He’d a lightstone in his hand, another tied on a chord hanged from his neck and looked about the lively place. Insects could be heard buzzing and their many animals raising a ruckus in the enclosed area.
“Split up,” Glen ordered. “Check those caves and the trees.”
“Where does this lead?” Troy asked him. He had his harness over his bare chest. Two fancy sword handles visible over his shoulders.
“The Chestnut Forest. A big area,” Glen murmured and walked carefully on the dark ground. “It goes all the way to the shores under the Plateau. The fishing port there.”
“You should have let me snap his neck,” Troy griped.
“Thought about it. But I may need him.”
“For what?” Troy asked a little frustrated. “Just put another one in the Council!”
“Not my Council Troy,” Glen replied. “Wetull is a peculiar place to rule over. Emerson wouldn’t have agreed to that also.”
“Bah. You do everything the old man says?”
“Not really,” Glen admitted and paused to look at him. “Can you use both blades?”
“I’m a Dimachaerus,” Troy retorted with a snort. “Ayup. Can you?”
“Sure,” Glen replied.
“Are ye any good?”
Glen pursed his mouth. “Reckon I am.”
“Wanna put that to the test?” Troy grinned sheepishly.
“Are you a thrill seeking idiot?” Glen snapped. “We’re looking for a missing girl here!”
“There’s no way she survived,” Troy said defensively. “It’s why I got angry with that creep.”
“I know… you slept with her?” Glen asked with a deep sigh.
“What if I did?”
“When did you…?” Glen paused in frustration. “She’s a Zilan.”
“So what? Didn’t think about any of that at the time or after. Neither did she, I reckon.” Troy frowned. “The Wyvern King probably knows more on them long-eared lasses.”
Glen didn’t really. He was a bit apprehensive around Zilan females.
“They can read yer mind,” he warned him.
“Bullshit! Who says that?”
“Everyone knows it around these parts,” Glen said defensively.
“All of them?”
“That I don’t know fer sure,” Glen admitted.
“Huh, well… I was a bit drunk at the moment,” Troy grunted. “Could’ve missed it. Lots on my mind.”
“You thought of something else while bedding a Zilan?”
“Don’t want to talk about it mate. I’ve sobered up with all that happened.”
“You started it. It’s called conversation,” Glen snapped.
“They call it gossip where I’m from. And I wanted to break a sweat. You turned it pretty weird. Read my darn head. Hah!” Troy retorted and looked about him frustrated.
“Did she spoke in Common?” Glen insisted casually.
“Didn’t talk much Garth of Goras,” Troy grunted. “Not my style.”
“Uhm,” Glen replied not believing him. “Must have, since you learned her moniker.”
“She told me that herself!”
“In what tongue?”
Troy puffed out in frustration. “I don’t remember.”
Glen shrugged his shoulders having made his point.
“Lefyr!” One of the searching soldiers yelled. “We found a sheath!”
Glen turned to walk towards the Zilan marine.
“What type?” Lefyr barked from the other bank of the ravine.
Glen reached the Zilan and he showed him the empty dagger sheath. The leather moist from the humidity of the place, the leather strap torn as it must have gotten caught on a snapped low-hanging branch.
“It’s Tyl’s sire,” the Marine said sadly and Glen nodded.
“I know,” he replied much to the Zilan’s surprise. “Point your light between those tree trunks.”
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“Anything else?” Lefyr asked two hours later. The night had progressed slowly but despite searching around the area thoroughly they found nothing more. Glen pressed his back on the tall thick tree trunk and stared at the darkness of the natural incline leading to the Chestnut forest. He could hear Zilan yelling inside the caves, amidst the trees and their lights shining all over the ravine.
“Nothing sire,” a dispirited Myrdor replied. “No sign of her. We must write the commander.”
“Let me worry about that damnit!” Lefyr barked at him visibly frustrated.
Glen smacked his lips equally peeved with the fruitless search and waved the Marine leader away. “Go have another look deeper in the woods,” he urged him. “We must find her.”
“Yes Hardir,” Lefyr agreed and marched away grabbing Myrdor by the shoulder.
He spotted the pirate’s dog standing two meters away watching the Zilan moving away.
“Go away,” Glen grunted and the dog snorted. Milky eye tearing up. It must have followed us all the way from the city, he thought.
“Oust. Leave! There’s no food for you here!” Glen yelled and then gave up as the dog looked to the skies indifferently.
Glen rolled the damp sheath in his fingers thoughtfully. He was tired and still healing from having fought the much-faster recovering Troy earlier. What a stupid idea, he told himself. Why would you fall for that?
Pride, he decided.
Trying to live up to expectations.
Bunch of bullshit.
They needed a proper scout to sniff out the beast. A better night or day. What had that low-life Paeris called it?
“Morrow is a new moon,” Glen murmured, the expression used by Soletha when she was frustrated with the young princess and moved from the trunk, moisture gathering on his nappe and dripping under the collar of his leather gambeson. “But tonight the old moons die.”
Forgive and forget. Not an easy thing to do. Inis-Mir had channeled Glen’s wrath of that day and hadn’t forgiven the Priestess yet. She would though, once the girl grew up a bit more.
Allgods I miss her, Glen decided thinking of his daughter. I need to go back.
Nothing more I could do here.
The pirate’s dog growled.
“Just fuck off!” Glen snapped and reached to wipe the moisture with a hand, felt it sticky on his glove. Thick and gluey. Glen brought his arm forward and stared at the dark substance he’d gathered at the tips of his fingers. A shiver run down his spine, the Monarch’s mind remembering the black tears on Sen’s face and he groaned like a wounded beast recoiling.
His eyes clearing a moment later and the liquid on his fingers, now bathed in the lightstone’s luminance looking more crimson than black.
Glen tipped his head back and stared high following the tall tree’s dark trunk. The bark rough and covered with moss. But not everywhere. At regular intervals chunks of the bark had been dug down to the white interior, the hard skin scrapped off. The trail lost ten meters above the ground where the heavy chestnut tree branches started. The canopy lost in the pure blackness.
He dropped the sheath. Loosened the straps on his plate and removed it. Glen snapped his arms forward and cracked his fingers one by one.
Come on, he urged his older self. You’ve done this a thousand times afore for pennies. This is a worthy cause all things considered.
The Monarch looked to find purchase for his fingers, then the tips of his boots. Glen breathed out slowly, clenched his jaw and heaved himself up the trunk.
Cursed the gods and his stupidity halfway up, four meters from the ground and then concentrated on reaching the first branches more than thinking about it as a slip of the foot could gift him a broken leg or back in the best of cases. A broken neck or head in the worst.
“Fuck’s sake,” Glen grunted grabbing at the first thick branch and with a terrifying moment of suspension heaved himself up enough to slot it under an armpit, feet dangling in the air. He was weighing a ton it seemed.
Stupid piece of lard! He admonished himself, breathing heavy trying to swing his body up. You gotta lose some pounds for crying out loud!
The next branch was easier to reach and the ground disappeared from his eyes. Still cursing himself Glen found the thicker mid-branches of the massive Chestnut tree and soon after Ityliel.
Whatever was left of her anyway…
The beast had eaten her innards, ripped open her chest to reach the internal organs, scrapped the face to the skull and chewed the neck down to the vertebrae. Pieces of flesh were still bleeding on the leaves and the branches of the tree. The porous bark absorbing most of it.
A grim-faced Glen stood over the unrecognizable pile of flesh and bones of the young Zilan and breathed out slowly. He looked at the bleeding corpse without really seeing it, numb and more sad than angry. Glen had a glimmer of hope she could have made it despite her injuries, but it was a fool’s hope.
“Sorry I never got to know you,” Glen murmured resting his back on the moist trunk and staring at the giant branch extending at least seven meters away from the tree. Lost in the sea of thick branches surrounding it. Above and below.
“Hrr…” something said. A low guttural sound whistling through the heavy laden branches and the unseen dog started barking from the base of the tree.
Glen stood up and squinted his eyes, the glowing stone on his chest shining its bright white light creating shadows all about him.
“Who’s there?” Glen snapped, furious with the dog’s incessant creepy barking that reached him muffled through the branches.
“Old unnatural smell… hrr… coming up the stairs… hrr… yeah. Tender flesh tasting… hrr… human,” the voice rustled, as if coming out of a soggy tube and whistling through iron bars or teeth.
Luthos creepy uncle… came to pay him a surprise visit.
Glen stepped forward to approach the half-eaten corpse shoved between two forking smaller branches, the thick bark crackling under his boots and a hand reaching for his sword.
“Hrr… serve Monarch… hrr… the Circle said… hrr…. until next time.”
“Show yourself you piece of shite!” Glen roared taking another step, his boot touching Ityliel’s ravaged body and used his Kopis to chop at a large leafy branch.
Once.
Twice.
And it dropped freeing more of the larger branch he stood on. Glen’s light illuminated more of the surroundings. At the end of the thick Chestnut branch, the wood arched considerably in order to support the weight of the beefy creature standing there. Two glowing beastly eyes appeared four meters away and Glen smelled wet fur and putrid sweat running down a very dirty hide. So much scorching unadulterated malice doused him from the close proximity of the monster, his leg started shaking.
Found the short lustful god
Boning the uncle’s wife over a table
They rolled over thick leaves here
They rolled over sticks ‘n hay there
All over shit ‘n mold
In the lord’s fucking stable
A hairy arm closed the black cloak and long hairy fingers secured its clasps one by one with Glen watching in shock. Beastly snout and gnarly fangs, a red tongue salivating down its hairy inhuman chin.
Click and clack the clasps were heard as they closed hiding the muscular hairy body.
That beastly head with hairy long ears looking back at the frozen Glen until it finished and the beefy arm retreated in darkness. When it returned, a long blade had sprouted there. The humanoid half-wolf half-beast smiled a predator’s gnarly smirk.
“Hrr… ever sleep afar… hrr,” it told the ogling Glen breathing heavy between agonizingly formed barely coherent words and amidst the darn dog’s wild also unnatural guttural barks. “From the a… hrr… l’fern. Watch… yer footing… hrr… now,” it added with a maniacal growly larking howl or belly deep chuckle.
Then it leaped away disappearing into the darkness and the branch snapped into place. The violent momentum dislodging the broken up body of poor Ityliel and all but plunging the stunned Glen to his death.
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The next day found the sleepless Glen watching the mourning Zilan and sober humans gathered to pay their respects to the murdered Ityliel, some of the Marines on duty so aggrieved they refused to patrol the city and Lefyr allowed them to visit the cocooned in a white sheet young female first.
One of yesterday’s feast big tables used to deposit her momentarily.
A group of pirates from the crew of White Deceit that had learned the news from the human merchants had come as well. They were standing further apart from the Zilan and their Cofol friends in pensive silence while casing the nearby buildings.
Eh, at least with honest crooks you know were ye stand.
Glen walked towards them and stopped before the deeply bowing Abrix and the Pirate Captain apparently named Horace… something or other. That dog standing a couple of meters away and watching the mourners pay their respects in the middle of the square.
“I think your dog sniffed out a monster last night,” Glen told the listening with wide open eyes in the beginning Horace. The Pirate furrowed his brows when Glen finished.
“Alas yer Excellency,” Horace said sadly. “Never had no dog despite what rumors ye may have heard. The ports… are full of liars.”
Glen pursed his mouth and pointed at the one-eyed dog that had turned its head around to watch their exchange.
The dog barked once.
“The dog disagrees,” Glen hissed and the dog barked twice.
“What dog milord?” Horace asked innocently.
“That one. It follows yer arse around all the fucking time,” Glen grunted. “Can’t you tell the blasted truth for once in yer miserable life?”
“Apologies milord,” Horace replied assuming an inconsolable expression. “I just can’t help meself.”
Glen groaned and stood back. He could sympathize with him but only to an extent. The pirate pretended to wipe his eyes from non-existent tears.
“I was trying to… anyway. It helped in a sense,” Glen continued after a couple of tries half in the mind to punch Horace in the mouth. That’ll make him shed some tears for sure.
“It did?” Horace asked sounding flabbergasted. Quickly recovering. “Why… anything the milord wants to spare I’ll take to give to the crew.”
“The milord would rather eat his glove,” Glen deadpanned. “Than paying yer likes.”
Horace stood back shocked with Abrix snickering next to him.
“Did you train it?” Glen asked curious after a moment of listening to the uncontrollable chuckling of the masqueraded hat-wearing Gish.
“It’s a rare breed,” Horace said with a glare at his petite colleague.
“I’ll buy it.”
“I’m afraid you can’t,” the pirate said with a frown. “The dog is not for sale.”
“Five gold coins,” Glen tested his resolve and Horace stooped as if in considerable pain. He removed his hat and run a hand through his thinning disheveled grey hair. “I see you are considering it. Ten gold coins. Imperial.”
The pirate started crying with real tears. “I can’t sell him. Abrakas have mercy. He won’t leave me.”
Glen stood back surprised. “Is the animal that attached to you?”
Horace couldn’t speak overcome with emotion. “Aye, curse him,” he sniffled. “Alike the plague.”
“Well then,” Glen murmured and grimaced. “I guess that’s a no.”
Horace wiped his face with the back of his hand and eyed the dog with what looked like pure hatred. “Could I perhaps, given our recent warm rapport…’ he started sadly. ‘…ask yer lordship for a tenth of the amount to buy supplies for the brothers? Two tenths if possible? They haven’t eaten in three days milord.”
Glen shook his head with understanding.
“You could ask.”
Horace looked at him hopefully.
“But you won’t receive any coin,” Glen elucidated.
“Surely it’s not a permanent arrangement? Mayhap on the morrow I bother—?”
Glen cut him off sternly.
“It is.”
“Yes senior.”
The Monarch thought about it some whilst examining the lowly, despondent looks the pirates were throwing him. He’d seen hungry stray dogs with more dignity. “But you can restock yer ship with supplies,” he said aloud for his crew of misfits to hear. “I’ll inform Lefyr to allow it for free. Just this once.”
“Gratitude illustrious Milord!” Abrix serenated with a high-pitched voice and dived to hug Glen’s leg with both arms.
“Don’t thank me,” Glen replied a little uncomfortable, shoving the Gish away while fighting the urge to kick that ridiculous hat from his small head. “Thank the blasted dog.”
And the wagging its tail, smugly-looking at them dog barked twice in agreement.
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