Hands grasp for purchase in the snow as he stumbles to his knees, his chest heaving as he sucks in frigid air and his limbs heavy from his desperate escape into the wilds. He turns back to his village, and even from here he can see the shifting glow of hot oranges and violent reds against the blackened night sky.
Somehow he could still hear them. The screams. The despairing multitude of voices crying out to an uncaring retinue of deities, each one as silent as the last. They rang in his ears, dragged like nails against his mind, flooded his body with one instinct: ‘run’.
And so he does. Scrambling to his feet, ignoring the biting cold of ice and snow against his skin, he runs, fear and anguish fueling him in his pathetic attempt to escape the hell his home had turned into.
“S-----! S-----, please!” He cries out into the night, voice hoarse and ragged from the rawness of his smoke scarred throat. “S-----, I know you can hear me! Please come out, I beg of you!”
He knew not how long he had run. Only that the pain of overtaxed limbs and lungs had turned to a bone deep exhaustion some time ago. That his body had failed him once more, and that he was falling, rolling down a hill now that his legs had finally given out. He lied there, on his back, the night sky taunting him with distance and indifference. Tears pooled out from the corner of his eyes as sobs racked his body, streaming down the sides of his face and into the powder of freshly fallen snow underneath him.
“S-----...” He cries out once more, his voice choked with an agony one only acquired through true despair.
“I am here, little one.” A voice calls to him softly, voice as tender as he had always remembered, though now he was able to pick out a distinct note of sadness to it. One he only just now began to understand.
He turned to face her, she who he had abandoned years ago, yet had clearly not abandoned him. ‘How pathetic he must have seemed’, he thought. ‘How truly wretched he was.’ And yet as always, there was no judgement in her gaze. Only an acceptance of the path he had chosen to walk, whatever it may have been.
“You are dying, little one.” She remarked, her voice so very quiet and her eyes so very sad, and he knew it to be true. The cold seeping into his limbs was not just from the snow around him, but from the two wounds his body bore, an arrow to his shoulder and a stab wound near his gut. Still, he cared not for such wounds. Instead, no matter how pathetic he may have seemed, he crawled towards her.
“Save them.” He begged, urging his body forward until he grasped onto the hem of her dress. Truly, he was scum. But if being scum saved those he loved, then he would bear it. “Please save them.”
She knelt down in the snow, gently prying his hands from her skirt and cradling his head in her hands. For a moment he thought she might listen to him, forgive him his treatment of her, but one look into her eyes and he knew she would not.
“I cannot.” She said simply, the words cutting down what hope remained in him.
“But you can!” He pleaded, hands moving to grasp at her arms. “I know you can! Please, if you would just-”
“I cannot save them, for to do so would mean my death. It is me they hunt for, and hunt they have.” She stopped him, shaking her head, and he began to sob once more. The despair overwhelmed him, then. Not even his desperate flight into the woods would spare his home its fate. She put a hand to one of his wounds and winced, as if seeing him injured hurt her just the same. Her mouth settled into a determined line, resolve in her gaze. “I cannot save them, but… I can save you.”
For a few moments he didn’t understand her words, but when he did he shook his head vehemently. “No. No, do not! If my family is to perish, then let me perish alongside them.” He whispered fiercely, but the weakness of his voice did not match his resolve.
She stared down at him, her expression sorry, but steeled. “I am sorry, little one. I thought if you perhaps requested to be spared this fate, if you were to come to terms with your own end, that I would be able to respect your wish. But…” She bit her lip, the love in her eyes conflicting with her apparent sorrow. “But I cannot bear it. Not an unjust end like this. Not for you to be taken from me so cruelly.”
With her last words she bent her head down. He feebly pushed his hands against her, attempted to stop what fate he knew awaited him, to struggle out of her grasp, but even in his strongest state he would not have been her match, let alone with how weakened he was now. Her lips kissed his neck, and with a slight sting that swiftly turned to pleasure, he felt something being injected into his body. A liquid fire that overrided the bliss her dangerous kiss would normally bring, spreading through his bloodstream and consuming his very soul. He screamed silently, every cell in his body being turned to molten metal, before hellish darkness consumed him.
---
The village of Noster was a quiet one. Located on the eastern side of central Katou, with a population just barely nearing one hundred and fifty, it could be said that Noster was perfectly average. Its residents were all quite local, either having been born there, or having moved from Silverstep just a half day's ride north for one reason or another. Its roots could be traced back nearly one hundred years, when land was offered to those who wished for a fresh start and the families who moved together decided it was just as good of a place as any to settle down. Starting initially as a farming homestead for Silverstep, enough people had settled it to officially stop being referred to as a hamlet and instead as a proper village, albeit a small one. It was one of the few settlements as close to the eastern borders of Katou as possible without encroaching upon the Wildwood, and was certainly the most southern of them. With the Amberstone river flowing on its banks, and the Wildwood being little more than a day's journey east or south, the land wasn’t without its dangers, but none of its residents would think of it that way. To them it was home, and though some small traders and the occasional hunter passed through, strangers were always a thoroughly new affair.
Which was why the outsider riding into its borders on horseback, with the sun offering its last rays of oranges and reds to the sky before the purples and blacks of night took over, was immediately halted by one of only three peacekeepers that resided in Noster.
“Ho there!” Jerrick called out from his makeshift wooden perch, licking his lips and squinting as he tried to make out the newcomer in the low light of dusk. Jerrick was a portly man of average height, decidedly past his prime and with the stomach to show for it. Still, he was garbed in what could, with a little generosity, be described as leather armor and a hand-axe at his belt, while years of having worked as a lumberman in his youth ensured his frame was still nothing to be scoffed at. Though not imposing, Jerrick was sizeable enough that he was confident he’d give would-be ruffians pause, something he hoped would be the case as he approached the cloaked figure on horseback.
The figure - now decidedly a man once Jerrick had gotten a closer look at him - seemed ordinary enough. Of medium build, though perhaps a little on the taller side if he dismounted. His face and body were hidden underneath the aforementioned cloak, but judging by the lumps underneath it Jerrick wouldn’t doubt that the man was wearing some form of armor. What’s more, the figure had the unmistakable hilt of a rapier sheathed at his hip, which looked to be of decent make. Jerrick’s eyes couldn’t help but admire this stranger’s mount, however. The beast was mighty, standing taller than Jerrick knew he could jump, with a sleek, glossy black coat that caught the few remaining rays of sunlight fetchingly.
“Ho there, sir!” Came the reply from the man, whose voice caught Jerrick off guard. It was smooth, deep, with a texture that reminded Jerrick of one of those treats Camilla baked every so often down at the tavern. It seemed to caress the ears, and for some reason Jerrick felt the unease and frustration he had been plagued with the past few days fade away. This stranger was one of the good folk, he could just tell.
“That’s a real beaut’ of a horse you have there! What’s its name, if you don’t mind my asking?” He said, stopping just a ways away from the man and his mount. Close enough to catch onto him if he made any sudden movements, but Jerrick was sure this man would do nothing of the sort.
“Her name’s Nora.” Came the man’s reply, still with that voice that seemed to lift away the day’s fatigue from Jerrick’s shoulders. “Is this Noster, by any chance?”
Jerrick nodded, a smile he hadn’t had in days making its way onto his face. “Aye friend, this it be. What brings you to our home?”
The man noticeably perks up at the news, and he reached into a pack dangling off of the side of his horse. After rummaging around for a few moments he pulled something out, and when Jerrick moved closer to inspect it he saw in the stranger’s hands a rolled up tube of parchment.
“I have a delivery for a woman who goes by the name of...” The man pauses, inspecting a smaller slip of parchment dangling from the tube by a string, “Malendra?”
Jerrick nods. “A courier, then. There be a Malendra here, aye. She’s a little ways out of town, lives on one of the farmsteads just a bit further south.”
The man shakes his head ruefully, carefully putting the parchment back into his sack. “Tomorrow, then. Tell me friend, is there a place I can get a drink? Maybe a room for the night for me and my lady here?” He asks, patting his horse’s flank.
With a nod Jerrick turns to point down the well worn dirt road, where rows of small houses were still visible in the quickly dying light. “Sure is, friend. Just head down the road a bit, and you’ll see Ol’ Camilla’s tavern. Impossible to miss, really, it’s the biggest place in town. Tell the mistress that ol’ Jerrick pointed you her way, she’ll have you an ale on me. Food and room is up to you though!”
With a laugh the stranger gently urged his mount forwards, into the town. Just as he passed, Jerrick suddenly remembered the cause for his unease in the first place.
“One more thing, friend. Be wary of staying out at night. Two of our folk have gone missing this past week, wouldn’t want you to end up the third.” Jerrick warned, and the man nodded his thanks.
“I’ll be sure to. Good ‘eve to you, Jerrick. May we meet on the ‘morrow.” The stranger replied, clicking his tongue and setting his horse into a slow trot.
Jerrick watched him for a few moments more, nodding to himself. One of the good folk. He had an eye for character, and knew he wasn’t wrong this time. Odd, though. Talking to him had strangely made him forget about the missing people, if only for a few moments.
Having sullied his own mood once more, Jerrick frowned and resumed his post. If the lad was still around come tomorrow evening, maybe he’d offer him a few drinks. Good company was always hard to come by, and somehow Jerrick knew he’d be just that.
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---
The tavern was as easy to find as Jerrick had described it to be. Two stories tall and wider than any of the cottages it was flanked by, it really would have been near impossible to miss. The hooded man hopped off of his horse with a grace that one only acquires after years of riding, murmuring in its ear to stay put. Walking up the well-maintained wooden steps to the tavern, the stranger could hear hushed conversation curling into the air outside from underneath the sturdy oak door to the entrance. He pushed open the door to see around two dozen or so people split into different groups, each one nursing tankards of ale and talking quietly among themselves.
The atmosphere was decidedly unlike a small town tavern whose residents had nothing better to do than get drunk and lolligag about. It was solemn, heavy, like people who were loath to go home without a few good drinks in them first. And any conversation that had been happening beforehand ground to a halt at the newcomer’s arrival.
At this point the man had flipped his hood back. After all, arriving into a town and into a tavern were two completely different situations in terms of concealing one’s face.
The stranger was wearing a knee length black traveler’s cloak that looked as though it had seen its fair share of use, though it was patched up well. Underneath it was the unmistakable shape of leather armor, and if the occasional glimpse the tavern dwellers were able to get through its cloak were of any indication, decently priced armor at that. Black cloth pants met where the cloak ended, tucked into well-worn leather boots that seemed to have a bit of heft to them. The stranger was taller than average, if a little slim. But what really took them all aback was his face.
Fair skin without an imperfection to be seen indicated that the man obviously didn’t spend his work sweating underneath the sun, which when coupled with his slimmer physique gave the appearance of a scholarly man.. His face was angular, with high cheekbones and a sharp jawline that would be arresting enough, let alone his long, silky dark hair and eyes the color of a midsummer sky. The people in the tavern studied him, as he did them for a few moments, before walking up to the bar where an older woman with curly red hair was busy clearing off plates.
He sat down, which seemed to break the spell that the tavern was under, conversation once again flowing in the hushed, tense atmosphere that had been present before. He waited patiently while she carried off the dishes in her hand to the back, aware of the occasional glances the other patrons were sending his way.
“Sorry for the wait dearie. What can Ol’ Camilla get for you?” The short, motherly plump woman addressed him once she returned. The man fixed her with a small, tired smile.
“I’ve been on the road awhile, you see. I’m looking for a bed to stay the night and a place for my horse to rest, if you have it. Oh, and Jerrick tells me that my first ale is on him, if you would be so kind.” He says, moving his hand to the purse under his cloak. Camilla smiled sweetly as she pulled out a mug from beneath the countertop and poured him his drink.
“Five copper pieces will get you a night for you and your horse, with whatever is on the menu for dinner and breakfast included. If you’d like something else for food or drink, let me know and we’ll see about adding it to your cost.” She said, and the man nodded, trading the copper for the mug of ale. As he took a sip the woman pocketed the money and turned to the back.
“Rennis! Rennis, get out here!” She called, and after a few moments a scrawny young boy with a shock of curly red hair that matched the woman’s bounded out from the back room. His eyes darted between the man and the woman, wide and with that telltale sparkle of youthful intelligence. “See that this man’s horse is taken out to the stables, and make sure it has some grain for the night eh?”
The boy nodded, and with one last furtive look at the man he hurried past the tavern tables and outside into the night air.The man idly watched him go, taking a deep sip from his mug. “Your boy?” He asked, licking the drink from his lips and turning back to Camilla.
Her smile deepened, an affectionate twinkle in her eye. “Aye, nine summers old as of last month. He’ll likely pester you once he’s back, we hardly get any traveler’s around this time of year and he can’t help but want to hear their stories. Smart boy, sometimes too much for his own good, but if he starts to bother you tell him to bugger and he’ll listen.”
He nodded, sipping his ale while he idly listened to the hushed conversations around him. Most of it was general complaining about their days or their spouses, but there were a few that piqued his interest.
“... an’ I’m telling ye I saw it!” One of the people located at the table directly behind him hissed. “Something big, lurking in the Wildwood. Had me hounds near pissing themselves it did. Mean sons of bitches - an' you know jus' how mean they are, Emmet -, an' cowering behind me with their tails tucked. Whatever it is, I guarantee ye it’s what took Aster and Elain.”
The man subtly turned his head to listen in on their conversation. The table had three to it, all older men that looked as though even if they had heard the term ‘easier road’, they had certainly never traveled it. The one who had been speaking was obviously deep into his drink, with the slackness of face and flushed cheeks that only drunks had. One of his companions scowled at him, slamming his own mug onto the table.
“Fer Solus’ sake Traven, ye prolly had one of them mushrooms again. I’m telling ye, yer jus’ imaginin’ things.” He growled. “Ye were sayin that shite around my boys earlier, had ‘em asking me if there really were werewolves in the Wildwood.”
“Nothin but rumors, those. But I do think there is somethin near the wood, might be a direwolf that made its way down from the northern forests. Me and Molly were goin huntin when we came across a dead boar. Big ‘un too. Beasty had its innards right savaged.” The third at the table mumbled around his cup, shuddering and crossing himself as he drank.
“Bah, believe what ye want. I’m jus tellin ye what I saw.” The first to have spoken snapped. “Still bad business though, two girls going missing in the same week. If not the beast, then maybe-”
“Excuse me sir, your horse has been stabled out back.” A quiet, higher pitched voice spoke from the man’s left, interrupting his eavesdropping. He turned to see the young boy - Rennis, he remembered - that Camilla had sent off earlier. The boy was peering up at him with large, intelligent green eyes that sparkled in the light of the tavern.
“Thank you, boy. Here, for my horse. I’m sure she appreciated it.” The man said, digging into his purse and tossing a copper piece to him. The boy caught it with a toothy grin, then hopped up onto a neighboring stool.
“So sir, where are you from?” He asked, reaching across the counter and grabbing an apple from behind it. He offered it to the man, who declined. The boy shrugged, and sank his teeth into it.
“Around.” The man answered vaguely, smiling at the way the boy rolled his eyes. “But I live over in Karthas, now.”
The boys’ eyes lit up at that. “The city?!” He exclaimed, suddenly much more excited. “What’s it like? Is it true that there’s a tavern like ours on every street? That you can get mugged by rakes and ruffians if you turn down a wrong alley? Tha-”
The man held up his hand, mirth turning up the corners of his mouth. “Slow down there boy. One question at a time. Yes, there are inns and taverns all across the city, but not nearly as many as you seem to think. No, getting accosted by thugs isn’t a common occurrence. And yes, before you ask, there really are as many people as you might believe there are.”
The boy seemed to hold his breath, as if hinging on every word that the man spoke. He looked the man up and down, studying him. “What are you all the way out here for, then? I don’t think I’d ever come to a town like this if I grew up in a city.”
The man parted his cloak, revealing a satchel that had been hidden underneath it. “I’m a courier. I go from town to town, making deliveries for people who are otherwise too busy to make the trips themselves.”
The boy pursed his lips, studying him. “Does that mean that you travel a lot?” After receiving a nod, he studied the coin still in his hand. “Does being a courier pay well?”
“Aye, it does. If you have the right clientele. It can be dangerous though, especially nowadays.”
“Dangerous? Like bandits and wild animals?” Another nod. “Have you ever been robbed?”
“Rennis!” Camilla snapped, having made her way back to the counter. “Quit bothering the poor man and go back to studying your letters! I didn’t pay for that tutor just so you could slack off when he’s not here!”
“Yes, mother.” He pouted, hopping off of the stool and walking to the back.
Camilla huffed, shaking her head and smiling apologetically at the stranger. “Sorry about that dearie, the boy gets too curious for his own good. Takes after his father in that regard, bless his heart. How’s another ale sound for you?”
The man nodded, passing his tankard back to the tavern keeper and waiting for her to refill it. “Say, stranger, I never caught your name.” She remarked offhandedly as she handed him back his mug. Taking another sip, the man gave her a wink.
“That’s because I never gave it. But the name’s Raikos, and anyone who pours my drinks can call me Rey.” He said, smiling.
---
“Alright, enough loitering about you lout. It’s time for you to go home.” Camilla said, shaking awake a younger man who had passed out at his table. He came to, blinking with unfocused eyes and looking around.
“Wuh…” He said blearily, clearly only just barely conscious. He dazedly glanced at the seats around him, before letting out some choice words. “I can’ believe they lef me. Wuh is my ma’ gonna think abou’ me stumblin home this late?!”
Camilla rolled her eyes, slapping him on the arm. “They didn’t just leave you, they tried getting you up and out for nearly twenty minutes, but you refused. Well, now I’m not trying, I am getting you out. Go on, shoo, shoo.”
She dragged him to his feet and pushed him through the tavern, but made sure that he didn’t stumble on his way out. He gave his thank yous and promised to pay his tab the next day, to which Camilla gave a disbelieving ‘hmph’ and closed the door behind him.
The man stumbled through the street, singing and laughing to himself until he felt a violent urge to empty his guts onto the side of the road. He keeled over, the contents of his stomach splashing onto the ground as he threw up. When the fit ended, he stood and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt. Then, feeling the sudden need to empty relieve himself another way, he pulled down his pants and pissed straight into the pile of puke he had made.
He giggled to himself as he tried carving his name into the contents with the stream, but with how unsteady he was and the fact he was barely able to remain on his feet it was a thoroughly impossible task. Once he was done he pulled his trousers back up and cinched them around his waist, hiccupping and swinging back around to continue walking, resuming his song. But it was then that he saw a dark figure walking on the road towards him. The man squinted and leaned forward, trying to make out any features he could recognize. Unfortunately his vision was far too blurry, and he hiccupped again as he swaggered forward.
“Ho there *hic* friend! Wha’ are ye doin out this late? " 'Avin’ a *hic* piss?” The man giggled to himself again, unsteadily leaning on his knees as he felt his stomach seize once more.
He looked back up to see the figure much closer than it had been before, but still without any distinguishable features he could make out. No, that wasn’t quite right. Now that the figure was closer, he could see a wide grin underneath the hood of the cloak he wore, pearly white and… were those fangs? The man was just about to let out a yelp when the figure spoke.
“Shhh. You don’t recognize me? We’re friends, remember?” The voice that came from the hooded figure was smooth, silky, calming. Instantly the fear that had flooded his body was washed away by pure jubilation at being reunited with his dear friend. What had he been worried about? This man clearly meant him no harm. Why, look, he was spreading his arms for a hug right now!
The hooded figure took him in open arms, so warm and welcoming. The man sighed in pure relief as he felt pressure he hadn’t even known he had in his neck disappear with a slight stinging sensation. The sting was quickly replaced by pleasure, and he sagged in his friend’s embrace. Yes, this was right. He was so tired. He just had to sleep in his friend’s arms… just a little nap…
The hooded figure pulled his mouth away from his victim’s neck. The man had a content smile on his face. He was still breathing, deep and even, with such a look of peace one would think he was the happiest man in the world. The figure licked his lips, then positioned the man to make it look like he had simply passed out on the road. He’d tasted quite good, surprisingly. Like lotus paste cakes, almost, if a little alcoholic. With a blur of movement, the man was gone, his prey sleeping peacefully on the dirt next to his own piss and vomit, where he’d be found and most likely laughed at come morning.