The heavy doors of the Crimson Phoenix swung open. "Hurry up, Aldon! We don't have all day," Dû-Cane grumbled, forcefully pushing him into the bustling streets. The warm breeze carried the remnants of volcanic ash, resembling winter snow in the Frösténveldt. Menacing clouds shrouded the solitary peak of Mōns Eldur.
They made their way through the crowded, ash-covered streets of the Hraun District, heading towards the docks in the Hraunsvelter Lava Fields. Del Santo paused to observe a merchant meticulously crafting and selling handcrafted lye soaps made from soot. Dû-Cane firmly grasped del Santo's shoulder. "Stop wasting time, del Santo. I aim to reach the docks before nightfall."
"Release me, huntsman! I know how to walk."
"You will walk, or I'll fasten a cable and drag you," Dû-Cane growled with indifference.
Men like Aldon del Santo, the ones who ran their mouths and resisted arrest, were the kind that Dû-Cane showed little mercy. He had eliminated bounties for far less. A deceased target still brought him coins, but a living one would secure a complete reward.
They descended the rugged slopes into Eldur Dal, known as the Valley of Fire. The towering canyon walls stretched endlessly on both sides, reaching heights beyond sight. The canyon, narrow and lengthy, was filled with thickets and rocky formations. Dû-Cane couldn't help but think that it went on for miles and would need to make camp for the night.
Dû-Cane forcefully pushed del Santo against the canyon wall. He gathered some thickets and assembled them with a flint shard. With his hunting knife, he struck the flint, igniting a small campfire. He aimed to ensure they wouldn't attract too much attention. The pass of Eldur Dal was seldom unoccupied, notorious for bandit attacks under the cover of darkness. It was also home to numerous carnivorous creatures that eagerly preyed on unsuspecting victims.
"We’ll camp here for the night, and at first light, we'll continue our journey. Take care of your wound," Dû-Cane instructed, tossing a worn-out rag to del Santo for him to use as a bandage.
"I wouldn't need it if you hadn't stabbed my hand," del Santo retorted bitterly.
"And you shouldn't have resisted."
The scorching heat had taken its toll on Dû-Cane, making him increasingly irritable. He walked beyond a rocky outcrop, out of del Santo's sight. Surveying his surroundings, he ensured no prying eyes were upon him. Taking off his mask, he placed it on a rock. From his weathered cloak, he retrieved a water skin, bit the cork, and spat it out. He eagerly emptied the contents of the skin into his parched mouth.
After quenching his thirst and satisfying his hunger, Dû-Cane swiftly donned his mask once more. He reinserted the cork into the water skin and tossed both the skin and a ration of food to del Santo. "Eat. You're of no use to me if you're dead."
Dû-Cane relieved himself of his burdensome equipment, except for his armor. Placing his utility belt and knife within easy reach, he settled down and leaned against the adjacent wall. Closing his eyes, he allowed the soothing crackle of the campfire to lure him into a restless sleep. He ventured beyond the boundaries of his own reality, entering the ethereal Realm of Dreams.
The crackling campfire sounds gradually transformed into echoes of a battle long past. The ethereal haze that veiled Dû-Cane slowly dissipated, revealing a motionless corpse submerged in corrosive waters. A sense of familiarity tinged his thoughts as he cautiously approached the figure in the mire. With every step, the ground beneath him trembled, unsure if it was his own legs quivering or the earth giving way. Upon reaching the water's edge, he halted, peering into its depths to find more petrified bodies, impaled by spears and arrows. These corpses belonged to the Imperial Guardsmen, an almost extinct faction. They had met their demise in the Saltmýre Ambush and the fall of the East Garrison, memories that Dû-Cane had long suppressed. Uncontrollable weeping overcame him. Amidst his tears, Dû-Cane heard whispers that escalated into agonizing screams echoing through the Saltmýre. He scanned his surroundings yet found no one in sight.
"Captain, we're under attack!" The voice jolted Dû-Cane, who turned to face its source, only to find the petrified guardsman. Echoes of distant cries reached his ears, drawing him towards the ruins of the East Garrison. Once formidable walls now crumbled, consumed by invasive moss thriving in the marshlands. "We can't hold them. They'll overpower us. Help us," desperate voices pleaded. As the fog lifted within the forsaken fortress, skeletal remains of more Imperial Guardsmen came into view. "You failed us," their voices whispered, haunting Dû-Cane.
His grieving for his fallen comrades was abruptly interrupted as he caught sight of a shadowy figure on the opposite bank of the mire. Dû-Cane instinctively reached for his sword, yet before he could unsheathe it, an arrow struck his left shoulder. Gasping, he awoke, clutching his shoulder, only to find no arrow there. Examining the wound beneath his chest plate, he discovered it to be an old scar from the Aegregian Civil War, long past. He sat, panting, attempting to regain his composure.
"You were having a nightmare," del Santo spoke from a dark corner of the canyon. The fire had dwindled, casting faint illumination in the early morning hours before dawn. Dû-Cane remained silent, still gathering his thoughts. "You were involved in the civil war, weren't you?" del Santo probed.
"My past is none of your concern!" Dû-Cane retorted with a hint of bitterness. He never spoke of his life before taking the oath and becoming a huntsman. Let the past remain buried, alongside those who had fallen, Dû-Cane thought. Recalling any happy memories from the Aegregian Civil War was an impossible task
"You mentioned a name in your sleep. Who was he?" del Santo inquired.
"Who?"
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"Éryn. That was the name you repeatedly called out in your sleep."
"The fire, it's fading. We must rebuild it. It's not safe to let it extinguish," Dû-Cane deflected, attempting to change the topic.
"Well, if you don't want to discuss the war, could you at least share your guild callsign? I'd like to know the name of the person I'm addressing."
"Dû-Cane," he responded, hastily rising to his feet to gather more firewood and rekindle the dwindling flames. Dû-Cane's fear of what dwelled in the darkness was justified. Perilous creatures lurked in the shadows, ready to ambush their unsuspecting prey. Dû-Cane was all too familiar with the lurking dangers that inhabited the dark corners of the Hraunsvelter.
From atop the canyon walls, a pair of yellow eyes observed their every move. Del Santo continued his incessant rambling while Dû-Cane stacked freshly gathered firewood onto the dying embers, rekindling the flames.
A solitary howl echoed in the distance, emanating from beyond the canyon. Dû-Cane froze, motionless. That kind of howl could only signify one thing, he thought, and it wasn't favorable.
"What was that sound, Dû-Cane? Is there something out there?" del Santo exclaimed, alarmed by the noise.
Halting his fire-building efforts, Dû-Cane listened intently, attuned to any signs of imminent danger. Another howl pierced the air, this time much closer than before. Dû-Cane slowly rose to his feet, his gaze scanning the surroundings. His hand reached for his hunting knife, holstered at his thigh. Holding the blade up to the light of the fire, he began to twist the ornate pommel. With each twist, a series of gears engaged, and suddenly, whoosh! The short blade of the hunting knife shot out of the hilt, extending to almost two feet in length. Dû-Cane skillfully twirled and thrust the blade through the air with deadly precision. Del Santo sat there, mouth agape and rendered speechless by the display.
"You possess a finely crafted blade there. I haven't seen one since the days of the Civil War. I was just a boy back then, but I've heard tales that these blades were made specifically for the members of the Imperial Guard. I suppose you've seen your fair share of battles as a Guardsman or perhaps stumbled upon one during your missions. They say the Aegregian Imperial Guard is nearly extinct; the remaining few have gone into exile," del Santo remarked with curiosity. Dû-Cane glanced in his direction but remained silent.
The once-distant howling grew closer and more frequent. Dû-Cane scanned the canyon in every direction, searching for the source of the eerie sounds. Del Santo continued his rambling until he abruptly fell silent, startled by a piercing howl that erupted from the western end of the canyon.
Shriek! They were here. A group of amphibious creatures emerged, their marbled patterns contrasting against their black hides. Standing upright on their hind legs, their maned heads reached the height of a small child. Bony claws extended from their webbed hands with a grotesque crack.
"What the hell are those things?" yelled a terrified del Santo.
"Dí-Ignewara! Get behind that outcropping and stay hidden!" commanded Dû-Cane forcefully.
A pair of Dí-Ignewara charged towards Dû-Cane with alarming swiftness. Another climbed the wall, attempting to flank him. He swung his blade, aiming for the shoulder of one of the creatures, only to have it bounce off their impenetrable, diamond-like hide. In retaliation, a Dí-Ignewara swiped at his armored midsection, while another sank its sharp teeth into his right bracer. Dû-Cane winced as the creature's teeth pressed the steel into his forearm.
Reacting swiftly, Dû-Cane landed several powerful punches to the creature's eye, forcing it to release its grip. He adjusted his bracer, then charged forward, leaping off a rock. With a fierce thrust, he plunged his blade into the eye of one of the Dí-Ignewara. The creature writhed in agony, emitting a spine-chilling screech, before collapsing lifelessly to the ground. Dû-Cane retrieved his blade from the socket. Meanwhile, the other Dí-Ignewara's chest began to swell, ultimately unleashing a stream of liquid flames from its mouth.
"Oh shit!" exclaimed Dû-Cane, narrowly avoiding the searing flames by taking cover behind the rock. Seizing the opportunity, he swiftly advanced and dropped to the ground to evade another fiery assault. Rising to his feet, he sprinted toward the Dí-Ignewara. The creature's mouth opened wide, preparing for another fiery onslaught. With determination, Dû-Cane thrust his blade into its gaping maw, eliminating two of the beasts.
Before Dû-Cane could recover, the third Dí-Ignewara leaped from the canyon walls, pouncing on him and pinning him to the ground. Struggling desperately, Dû-Cane fought to free himself, unable to reach his blade. Fangs pierced his left bicep, eliciting a scream of agony. He struck the beast in the eye, forcing it to release its grip. Wedging his legs into the creature's torso, he exerted a powerful kick, finally freeing himself. Although out of immediate danger, he knew the fight wasn't over. Retrieving his blade from the mouth of the fallen Dí-Ignewara, he prepared to defend himself.
The Dí-Ignewara charged at Dû-Cane, who crouched down and raised his blade upward. As the creature descended upon him, the blade pierced through its jaw, and both the beast and Dû-Cane crashed to the ground. Neither moved. Aldon del Santo emerged from his hiding place, rushing to the aid of his ally. He rolled the lifeless Dí-Ignewara off Dû-Cane, relieved to find him still breathing. Dû-Cane had survived.
"You gave me quite the scare, Dû-Cane. I thought you were a goner," remarked del Santo.
"Me too," Dû-Cane agreed, his voice filled with gratitude and relief.
"You're fortunate to have come out of that alive. Your armor is truly remarkable; I've never seen anything quite like it."
"Aegregian Steel, first-generation craftsmanship. It’s hard to find a better craftsman outside the forges of the Wraith Hallows."
Dû-Cane settled by the fire, rummaging through his utility belt. From its contents, he retrieved an explosive device and skillfully disassembled it. Extracting the black powder, he carefully packed it into his arm wound, wincing at the touch on his torn flesh. Heating a piece of metal until it glowed red-hot, he swiftly applied it to the wound, cauterizing it with a searing flash.
As daylight slowly emerged over the canyon, Dû-Cane glanced at the sky. "It's time to move. We must make our way to the docks." Del Santo took the lead without hesitation. They ventured eastward, the canyon gradually widening and descending into sprawling lava fields that stretched as far as the eye could see. The docks lay not far ahead, motivating them to quicken their pace despite the challenging terrain.
Upon reaching the docks, they encountered an elderly man diligently securing the ropes of one of the ferry boats. He paused his task and acknowledged the arrival of the two men. "How can I assist you, gentlemen?" greeted the dockworker.
"I require passage for two, myself and my captive, to the Wraith Hallows," stated Dû-Cane.
"I don't have a boat departing for that destination until midday."
"I must cross the lava fields before midday. I'm willing to pay extra."
"If you're in a rush, I can provide you with a boat, but you'll have to make the journey on your own."
"Very well. Give me the boat," Dû-Cane replied, slipping coins into the docker's outstretched hand.
"Understood. Exercise extreme caution; the lava fields are treacherous."
"I can handle it. Many thanks."
Dû-Cane and del Santo boarded the boat while the docker released the rope that held it in place. They set off towards Wraith Hallows, and the dockworker waved them farewell until the boat vanished from his sight.