The Ashen's steel-covered boots thudded heavily against the muddy road, each step sinking slightly into the soft earth. The air was thick with the damp chill of morning fog, clinging to his cloak and making the distant trees look like shadowy phantoms. The low mist swirled around his legs as he trudged forward, the fog obscuring everything beyond a few paces. The soft gurgle of a nearby stream was the only sound that cut through the silence, the water murmuring as it wound its way around rocks and roots hidden beneath the surface.

The pale light of dawn struggled to break through the haze, casting the world in shades of grey, the faint glow of the rising sun barely visible behind the dense canopy above. His breath came in slow, controlled exhalations, visible in the cool morning air, as his sharp red eyes scanned the path ahead. The once-clear road was now a series of slick, treacherous puddles, remnants of last night's rain, and the faint scent of wet earth and decay clung to the air, mingling with the distant, lingering smell of swamp water.

Each step felt heavier than the last, the weight of the steel boots coupled with the thick mud clinging to the soles. The Ashen’s form, tall and imposing, moved with a quiet but purposeful grace, his cloak brushing the ground with each stride as his pointed ears flicked at the slightest movement in the mist, always alert. The only sound other than his boots was the occasional rustling of the fog, or the distant croak of a hidden creature in the swamp.

Despite the eeriness of the morning, there was a calmness to his movements, a focus on the task ahead. A slight shift in the wind brought with it the familiar metallic scent of blood and death, confirming that the monsters he'd been hunting were near.

As Kael continued down the road, the faint outline of the town became clearer through the thick fog. The silhouette of its stone walls loomed ahead, and the distant clang of a blacksmith’s hammer echoed through the mist. Kael's boots sank deeper into the mud with each step, but his pace never faltered. 

He pulled his hood low over his head, concealing the ashen hue of his skin from view. He was all too familiar with the sharp, fearful looks of the townsfolk, their eyes filled with superstition and disdain when they saw his true form. His hands slid into the worn gloves, the fabric stretched tight against his fingers, an effort to hide the sharp claws that had replaced his once-normal nails. It was best not to draw attention, not today. He didn’t need their slurs, their hushed whispers behind their hands, or their fearful gazes. 

He was an Ashen—one of the soldiers created in a long-forgotten war. A weapon made from magic, potions, and dark rituals. Physically, he was a far cry from the mortals who now inhabited the land. His body had been forged for destruction, engineered to be stronger, faster, and more resilient than any human, elf, or dwarf. 

His skin, the color of ash, gave the Ashen their name—an eerie, pale grey that set them apart. His eyes, a burning crimson, were able to pierce through the dimmest of light, seeing things others could only dream of. He could sense movement in the shadows, track the smallest of signs others might overlook. His nails, now curved into vicious claws, had replaced his fingers, useful in close-quarters combat when weapons were too cumbersome. His fangs, sharp and cruel, gave his smile a predatory edge, a reminder of the monster he had been forged to be.

He had been made to fight, to kill without hesitation, and he was far better suited to the task than any mortal. But with that came the cost—the constant reminder of what he had become. When he had been human, he had been just like them. Now, he was something else entirely. 

As the town grew nearer, Kael allowed the thoughts of the past to fall away. He needed to focus on the here and now. The town was small, humble, and the last place he wanted to be. But a job was a job, and he needed the coin. The sooner he could get in, finish the job, and leave, the better. The townspeople were likely to offer little more than a cold reception—if they were even willing to hire him. The town was within his reach now. He just had to stay focused.  They were watching him, no doubt. They always did.

To anyone who watched him pass by, Kael would appear as just another traveler braving the morning fog. A man draped in a black cloak that clung to his form, shielding him from the biting chill of dawn. A sword hung at his back, its scabbard worn from years of use, a shorter blade resting at his waist, more practical for quick access. His attire, simple yet functional, spoke of a mercenary, a soldier for hire—one of the many who roamed the land in search of coin, navigating the vast stretches of Cavalcade. 

Most who would glance at him would see nothing more than a seasoned warrior.

Those who might glimpse his skin—a hue far too pale for any man—might think it was the result of a life lived in the cold, perhaps they'd assume he came from the northern regions, from Westmor, a place infamous for its unyielding cold and the deep snows that covered the land year-round.

 It wasn’t uncommon for men from that frozen, harsh region to wander south in search of work, their presence blending with the steady stream of adventurers who trekked from town to town.

They wouldn’t know that it was the mark of something far darker, something crafted by magic and alchemy, a purpose-driven creation to fight wars that had already ended. 

Kael approached one of the few people who stood outside the ramshackle building near the edge of town. The morning fog still lingered in the air, clinging to the ground like a damp veil. The man was hunched, his shoulders wrapped in a thick woolen cloak, his face weathered from the harsh elements of the region. He was older, with a scraggly beard that seemed to fight against the chill.

Kael kept his steps measured, his boots leaving faint imprints in the mud as he approached. His red eyes flicked over the man’s form, reading the subtle signs of fatigue and the unspoken wariness in the stranger’s posture. 

“Is this Redridge?” Kael’s voice cut through the silence, low and gravelly, as though it had grown used to the weight of battle and solitude. 

The man blinked, looked up at Kael, and then nodded slowly. “Aye, this is Redridge. You ain’t from around here, are ye?”

Kael gave a small nod, his hood still drawn low to shield his face. “I’m looking for whoever posted the notice. The one about hiring a monster hunter.”

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

The man’s eyes shifted, narrowing slightly, perhaps unsure if Kael was another one of the many mercenaries who passed through the town seeking work. But after a moment of contemplation, he seemed to reach a decision. He straightened up and gestured toward a building behind him—an old, crooked structure that appeared to double as a local tavern and inn. 

“The one you’re lookin’ for’s in there,” he said with a grunt. “Owner’s name’s Kellan. He’s the one who put the word out. The job’s got a bit of a twist to it, though, so you might wanna think twice ‘fore you go rushin’ in.”

Kael didn’t flinch. He was used to strange tasks, and in his line of work, “twists” usually meant more coin in the end. 

“Thank you,” Kael said simply, his voice giving nothing away. Without another word, he turned and walked toward the tavern, his cloak billowing behind him, the sound of his footsteps muffled by the fog and the wet earth beneath. The man watched him go, eyes lingering on Kael’s retreating figure for a moment longer before he shuffled back inside his building, disappearing into the haze of the morning. 

Kael didn't look back. His mind was already focused on the task ahead, wondering just what kind of trouble this town had gotten itself into.

Kael stepped onto the worn wooden floor of the tavern, the creak of the stairs beneath him echoing through the otherwise quiet space. He used the edge of the stairs to scrape the remaining mud from his boots, the sound of grit grinding against wood faint but noticeable in the otherwise still air. The low light of the establishment was dim and sparse, only a few candles scattered across the walls, casting shadows that seemed to stretch unnaturally in the quiet gloom. 

To any ordinary person, the place would have been dark, a haze of warmth and smoke hanging in the air. But to Kael, the red glow of his eyes adjusted instantly, piercing the shadows with an almost unnatural clarity. The tavern felt as bright as day to him—every detail sharp and crisp. He scanned the room methodically, noting the sparse furnishings: crooked tables, mismatched chairs, and the faint odor of stale ale mixed with the ever-present smell of damp earth.

There were only a handful of villagers seated in the tavern. Their attention was mostly focused on their drinks, a few murmurs shared here and there, but otherwise, they seemed oblivious to the newcomer. The occasional clang of a mug against a table or a grunt of conversation filled the silence, but none seemed to pay Kael any mind. He wasn’t here for pleasantries anyway.

He crossed the room with purpose, moving toward the far side where a man stood behind the bar, wiping down an already clean mug. The bartender was older, with a patchy beard and a balding crown, his skin weathered from years of hard work and hard drink. He didn’t seem to take notice of Kael’s presence until the Ashen was already standing in front of him. 

“Can I help ye?” the bartender asked gruffly, wiping his hands on a rag, his eyes flicking up to meet Kael’s but quickly looking away, a flicker of hesitation in his gaze.

“I’m here for Kellan,” Kael said flatly, his tone carrying the weight of someone who had learned patience from years of service. His gaze moved over the tavern once more, scanning each face for the person who had posted the notice.

The bartender nodded, a low grunt escaping him as he motioned toward a corner of the room where a man sat, hunched over a table, scribbling something in a worn notebook. “That’d be him. Kellan’s the one who posted the notice. Don’t know what ye’re getting into, though,” he added, his voice low and cautious, as if to warn Kael off.

Kael’s gaze followed the bartender’s gesture, focusing on the man in the corner. He wasn’t particularly imposing, dressed simply in a brown tunic and leather vest, his hair a messy tangle of black curls. There was a nervous energy about him, a tension in the way he scribbled quickly in his notebook, as if his thoughts were moving faster than his hand could keep up.

“Appreciate it,” Kael replied, before turning and making his way toward Kellan. The tavern seemed to grow quieter as he passed, the murmurs of the villagers dying down ever so slightly as they watched the Ashen approach. But Kael paid no mind. He had grown used to being an outcast, to drawing attention without asking for it. His focus was solely on the task at hand. 

As he reached Kellan’s table, he stood still for a moment, allowing the man a moment to acknowledge his presence. Kael’s red eyes gleamed under the dim light, but he didn’t make any effort to appear threatening. He was a man of few words, and that would be all that Kellan would need to understand who he was.

Kellan looked up, blinking rapidly as if surprised by the Ashen’s silent approach. His hand froze mid-scribble, and he wiped a nervous hand across his face before setting the pen down.

“You’re the one answering the notice?” Kellan asked, his voice rough with suspicion but laced with a hint of relief.

Kael nodded once, a slow, deliberate motion. “I am. You have a job for me?”

Kellan sighed, setting his mug down and glancing around the room as if to make sure no one else was listening. Then he leaned forward, his eyes filled with unease.

Kellan wiped his hands on his pants and cleared his throat. “The livestock started disappearing about two weeks ago. First it was a few goats, then cows—every night, more and more vanished. No signs of struggle, no blood, nothing. The barns were just... empty. But the worst part is the claw marks. On the homes, on the doors, some of them on the trees by the fields. Big, deep scratches, like something with massive claws was dragging itself around. The farmers are terrified, and they’ve barricaded themselves inside.”

Kael’s brow furrowed at the mention of claw marks. He was familiar with beasts that left deep gouges in wood and stone.

“Then there’s the sounds.” Kellan shuddered, looking over his shoulder again. “At night, the screams. They come from Shrieking Hollow, a cave system to the north. They’re not human, not animal—just... strange, disorienting. Sometimes they echo across the marshlands, and the whole town goes quiet. People say it feels like the screams are inside their heads, like they’re being pulled toward the Hollow.”

Kael’s gaze hardened as he processed the information. He had heard of Shrieking Hollow, a maze of caves and tunnels that had been a place of local legend for years, but he had never given it much thought. It sounded like it was about to become more than just a legend.

“A group of mercenaries came a few days ago, all the way from Gardeen. They were looking to solve the mystery, maybe hunt down whatever’s been taking the livestock. But they didn’t come back. Last we heard, they’d gone toward the Hollow, but... nothing. No word, no bodies, just their horses wandering back with no riders.”

Kael studied Kellan for a moment, his red eyes scanning the man’s face. Kael took a deep breath, his mind already working through the possibilities. 

Kellan, wringing his hands nervously, began, “I was thinkin’—well,  maybe, uh, thirty Cilfa be fair? That seems like a modest fee."

Kael leaned back in his chair, his red eyes gleaming as he stared at Kellan, the faintest edge of amusement curling his lips. “A modest fee, you say?” he asked, his voice laced with a slight mocking tone. “Is that the price you were going to pay the mercenaries?”

Kellan stiffened, his fingers nervously tapping on the wooden table. He shifted in his seat before quickly answering, “Well, no. It’s different. There were four of them, all strong men. You’re just one man.”

Kael’s smirk deepened as he leaned forward slightly, his piercing gaze never leaving Kellan. “So, because I’m alone, I get less? Is that the deal here?”

Kellan fidgeted, clearly flustered. “It’s just... we’re a small village. I don’t have much. I can’t—”

Kael cut him off, his voice turning cold and authoritative. “Let me stop you right there. Whatever is in that cave killed those four mercenaries, didn’t it? Four men, gone without a trace. You’re telling me you expect me to go in there for less than what you offered them?” He didn’t wait for a reply. “If it killed four men, it’s clearly not something you can just throw a couple of coins at.”

Kellan’s eyes darted away nervously, but Kael’s gaze was unyielding. “I’m going to need the full fee. You offered the mercenaries thirty Cilfa a man I assume. That’s one hundred and twenty Cilfa. So, for me, I expect at least that, plus ten percent more for the added danger. That brings it to one hundred and thirty-two Cilfa.”

Kellan’s eyes widened, his face paling. “One hundred and thirty-two Cilfa? That’s... more than we can afford...”

Kael’s eyes never left him, and his tone remained firm. “You want me to take the risk of walking into a cave that killed four seasoned mercenaries, and you expect me to take less? One hundred and thirty-two Cilfa, Kellan. Take it or leave it.”

Kellan let out a long sigh, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I... I understand. Alright, one hundred and thirty-two Cilfa. But it’s all I can spare. I’ll have it ready when you finish the job.”

Kael gave a small, satisfied nod. “Good. And don’t worry—if this monster proves to be more troublesome than expected, I won’t bother haggling. I’ll just take what I’m owed.”

Kellan paused for a moment, “Follow the road north. About a mile out, you’ll see the edge of the marshlands. The Hollow’s just beyond that. You can’t miss it. Just... don’t go in there unprepared.”

Kael gave a low chuckle as he stood to leave, the weight of his boots scraping against the wooden floor as he gathered his gear. “I’ve survived worse than whatever is waiting for me in there.”

With that, Kael pushed the door open and stepped into the cool morning air of Redridge. The fog still clung to the ground, thick and heavy, but Kael’s senses, honed by his Ashen enhancements, guided him through the mist.