Hunting The Black Bat

Part Of The Elf Scorn Saga

An axe chopped off the head of a near toothless brigand, his head rolled across the floor with an expression of sheer agony of meeting the finality of death. Scorning their losing, the brigands wearing the emblem of the black bat, he doubled their efforts, and fought against the warriors in the tavern.

Despite taking hostages of innocents, the precise shooting of their archer, and the deft strikes of their swordmaster had dwindled their numbers from dozens to a frightened few. Surrender was not to be permitted as they would be hanged for their crimes, so out of spite, one of them, grabbed a oil lantern, and threw it on the dry wood floor, causing a eruption flame.

Bārnillɇr, the elf swordmaster shielded his body with his thick, scaled cloak, that protected him, but sadly much of the innocent patrons were horribly burned by the growing flames. Most would die unfortunately, all they could do was smash open the door, and allow as many to escape as possible, as the flaming roof began to collapse.

In the fiery chaos, the swordmaster’s eyes saw the three rogues who caused the chaos escape through a smashed window in the back. The last one, a black toothed scoundrel who started the fire, gave the elf a rotting tooth smile, before leaping out the window into the night.

Wanting to give chase to him, one of his party, the archer Hɨmlɨn, grabbed him by the shoulder and cried out in despair, ‘Sanwqüi is still in the fire!’ his words made Bārnillɇr’s snow pale skin flush a deathly crimson.

‘Sanwqüi!’ he cried out as he rushed towards the door of the tavern, trying to rush into the flames that now fully consumed the inside, and was spreading fast through the town.

Fømʉrt and Aløkāstōr, the other two of their party, tried to hold him back, their large, burly bodies could barely keep him at bay, before he forced them off their feet with a unnatural strong push. The silhouette of their bands leader vanished in the golden blaze that completely consumed the inside.

Together the three elfs called out him, fearful they’d lose two of their close knit crew. Crackling of the fire grew louder, as moan of wearing wood beams could be heard above, everyone moved back, as the structure buckled, and became to slope down.

The town guard came on the scene, and forced everyone back, as they tried to get the fire under control by dousing it with buckets of water from the canal.

Unable to help their comrade, the elf trio were glared at by the people they tried to save, those of mankind’s blood often scorned them for their races tense history.

‘Vile devils.’ the tavernkeeper scorned them openly. ‘If you didn’t start trouble those outlaws wouldn’t have cause to start anything.’

‘Don’t be a twat!’ roared Aløkāstōr his size loomed over the man, as he brought the blunt end of his hammer to point accusingly at him. ‘If you haven’t taken their silver, which they likely stole from others, they’d have no cause to stay, and molest the womenfolk.’

Despite the bigotry the people had towards the elf race, the truth in the large elf’s words carried must to dilute their hatred of that people.

‘He isn’t wrong.’ one man stated bluntly. ‘If you were the honest sort, we wouldn’t get those sellswords and bandits in our town.’ the words of man was agreed upon by others, as blame shift to the landlord, who remained silent, and slowly removed himself from the scene, to disappear into the shadows.

As the windows burst open from the flame, the tavern appeared that it may collapse, as those who battled the blaze, backed away, and those in neighboring buildings, fled into the streets to avoid the spreading fire. Before the elfs could accept that two of their precious comrades had perished, a dark shape appeared out of the blaze, rushing out of the fire, smoldering with smoke. Protected by the scales cloak, the large form staggered forward, as the tavern collapsed behind him, but thankfully he made it far enough to be safe.

Falling to his knees, the figure’s cloak opened up revealing Bārnillɇr, the renowned swordmaster of the Castle Mountains, his face was terrible burned by the fire, almost to the bone. Cradled in his arms was brittle, charred form, that of Sanwqüi the elf chaplain of the faith, whose life had been taken by the blaze.

Face showing his crestfallen despair over the loss of his cherished lover and comrade in arms, Bārnillɇr looked off not seeing anything in his long sighed gaze into utter blackness. Rushing to his side, his surviving comrades, lifted him to his feet, and guided him to the church for healing, trying in vain to remove the charred body of Sanwqüi from his arms.

***

The elf race as most people know are a race of hermaphrodites, that mate for life, after meeting their soulmate, a precious bond is formed, where one takes on more masculine aspects, while the other becomes more feminine. Bārnillɇr and Sanwqüi were soul bonded the moment they laid eyes on one another, having been unified with three other elfs on a shared enterprise of earning wealth.

Either through treasure hunting, mercenary work, or slaying terrible beasts, they were well paid, and were saving up to retire in luxury. Their recent work as sellswords in the conflict between two noble houses, ended with windfall of silver, that they earned through victories in many skirmishes.

They decided to share a drink together, before splitting up the band, to live out a well earned retirement, but then the brigands showed up, and started threatening innocents. Sanwqüi always had that sense of justice, having been trained in the church, his moral compass always pointed towards direct opposition to the wicked.

Bārnillɇr often warned him, that intervening would get him hurt, in fact they fought about it more and more often, as if the swordmaster knew in the back of his mind what was fated to happen. Seated in the healing ward of the church, by others wounded by the fire, his face was applied with ointments by the priests, as he held the charred remains to his body.

Despite the urging from his comrades and the healers he wouldn’t let the body go, even as the charred flesh well off in flakes, leaving only the brittle bones.

Not till he was drugged with a sleeping potion, could they free the bones from his still clutching hands. Trembling, his hands were also badly burned, so was his body under his tunic, and pants. Through the night the priest and his assistants tended the elf’s wounds, applying rare ointments to soothe his pain and encouraging wounding, while cutting away dead flesh.

Stitching up the gaping wounds that had a chance to heal, he was bandaged up as if he were a glorious king being set to rest in a tomb.

Sleeping from the drugs, the rest of his band had Sanwqüi’s remains buried in the graveyard, fearing their leader would scorn them for having the funeral before he was ready to awaken, they were more worried of the body rotting any further. After that it rained for days, as the three elfs waited for Bārnillɇr to fully recover.

Despite being a prime specimen of a elf fighter, his body was badly burned, and the turmoil in his breaking heart, and wounds gave him a fever. Long after all the other patients were healed and ready to leave, he laid in bed, languishing in a state of intense nightmares.

Dreaming of pleasant summers day with Sanwqüi, of kisses and picnics, turned into horror as he felt his lover’s skin melt in his arms. That jeering smile of the cause of his loss, and the embittered hate that formed in his mind.

A hate for that man, his cohorts, and any human with such evil in their hearts. Elf people can be cruel, but it is cruel out of the lesser of two evils, man had a savage streak in them, one that he wanted to murder, to expunge from existence, when he awoke it was screaming in vehement rage.

So loud were his cries it woke his companions who rested at the tavern near the church, while he recovered. Upon hearing that heinous wail, they knew, he had woken from his deep sleep.

***

Bārnillɇr stood over Sanwqüi’s grave for hours in the pouring rain. Wearing his scaled cloak, his form seemed crooked, as if his head was naturally in a state of endless sulking. Out of the three of his companions only Hɨmlɨn, his blood brother in arms dared go out to speak with him, during his moment of mourning.

The priest was paid for his work, and there was nothing keeping them there, but for the swordmaster’s grief, as his tears were dead and buried in the darkness of his mind.

‘You know he wouldn’t want you to stay here.’ the archer told the swordmaster. ‘Wasted your life away, waiting for death…’

After a brief dower silence, Bārnillɇr spoke, his voice no longer the mirthful adventurer, now it was a cold, sinister growl. ‘Death doesn’t wait, it takes and reaps till all is barren.’

Afraid of his friend, the archer wanted to tried to find any trace of his old friend, in that haggard, deformed elf that stood in the rain, collecting the growing darkness around him like a gloomy shroud.

‘Do you expect us to wait for you to die of fever then?’ the chill of the rain, wasn’t doing anyone good, and Hɨmlɨn’s compassion was wearing thin.

A hard shove from the swordmaster, sent the leaner archer to the ground, scrapping his elbows on the stone of another grave.

‘Expect nothing from anyone. Do not expect me to grieve, have you ever known this pain?’ the words were seasoned with a suffering that Hɨmlɨn or any elf his age every experienced. Often he was envious of Bārnillɇr and Sanwqüi for finding their loves so early in their near immortal lifespan. Only recently does he recognize the tragedy of losing the one person you’d ever love to such extremes, so early in your own existence.

‘I expect you not to give up, as you have inspired in me and the rest of our band.’ standing to his feet, Hɨmlɨn’s passions become overrun with his grief and hate. Lunging at the large elf, he was kicked sharply in the chest, and both former devoted friends, fought one another, neither pulling punches.

It became such a frightful brawl, that Fømʉrt and Aløkāstōr tried to pull them apart, to stop from any more harm to be inflicted upon one another. Bleeding form his nose, mouth, and a terrible gash above his eye, Hɨmlɨn was easily wrangled, as held his side from the rib cracking kick, the swordmaster gave him without hesitation.

However Fømʉrt struggled to take hold of Bārnillɇr, who while in a fit of great rage fueled by his grief, lifted the large elf up, and slammed him, headfirst into a gravestone. Cracking his head, Fømʉrt bled swiftly from his head, and his life became in peril.

Stunned at his own actions, Bārnillɇr was overcome with guilt, as he was trapped by indecision, as the other two ran to their fallen friend.

‘Why did you do this? Do you hate us so much?!’ Hɨmlɨn forgetting his own anger, was overcome with worry for his friend.

Unable to control the raging tempest inside his mind, the elf left fearful in his moment of remorse what his anger might do to the friends he had left. Rushing off in the rain, the Bārnillɇr couldn’t bear to look back, fearing he might’ve killed Fømʉrt. A sin he blamed on the human who put that rage inside his soul more than he did himself.

***

Beer tasted dreadful to Iscariøt, his rotted, black teeth made everything he consumed taste putrid, but he still swallowed the contents of his tankard, if only to embolden his temper. A prostitute has cheated him the last time he visited the brothel. Having stole much of the coins in his purse, he was brutally beaten by the guards when he tried to exact his vengeance upon her, he spent his time drinking, as his two companions enjoyed themselves in private rooms.

All the while he kept his eye on the women who stole from him, a opportunistic harlot, who eyed noblemen, who had their hands around the chins of younger, prettier girls. She had gotten older the last he saw her, and no amount of makeup and disguise the hag she as becoming.

Skinny, shaggy chinned, she needed to put out of her misery. Waiting patient, he hid his recognizable smile behind the tankard, as he wore a party mask of a bat to hide his face.

‘I am going to bed for the night, Javier.’ she told the guard keeping on eye on the downstairs, which was pretty quiet, except for the deep kissing of those too cheap to buy a private room. ‘Would you like to join me? I get lonely at night.’

‘The madam told me not to leave my post, the last time she almost fire me.’ he told her, the large man looked tempted, as anyone man would of free night with a seasoned whore.

‘She wouldn’t do that, your her most, virile man.’ she pouted her rosy lips, as if to draw him away for his post.

‘Sorry.’ his voice sounding sad, as he watched her walked up the stairs, her rear end barely covered by her silken panties.

Finishing his tankard, Iscariøt schemed to follow her, but upstairs was off limits to those without a female escort. So he had to either find a way to get around the watchful guard at the foot of the stairs, or find some camouflage for his intrusion.

Luckily he found something, a stray lamb whose virgin innocence was as obvious as her intact hymen. ‘I’m mad about you!’ he told the girl who was perhaps too young to be a whore. ‘Let me buy you for the night.’ the girl froze in fright, afraid of the black tooth scoundrel that got her in his grasps.

‘Not her.’ a defiant voice spoke firmly, way before the guard got the chance to rough up the man. Looking in the direction of the voice, Iscariøt saw madam Ørlea standing in the doorway, exquisite perfumes and cigarette smoke coming off her, as her lingerie showed more of her body than covered. ‘She is here to serve drinks, not to be broken in by the likes of you.’

Letting her go, Iscariøt only needed a cover, and he believed he found one. ‘I’m just looking for company for the night, if I wasn’t so sure this was a whorehouse, I’d swear you got nothing but nuns living here.’

‘This is a brothel.’ the madam defended with hotty sternness, as she held the girl that ran to her close to her, to see if she was alright. ‘And maybe it isn’t the place for your kind of business.’

‘My kind of business?’ Iscariøt swished his tongued around his blackened teeth, and smiled with mucus trailing over his smile. Holding his tongue, he remembered the reason for his late night patronage to that establishment, and reached into his purge, pulling out a stack of silver. ‘My business pays, now if I can’t have the girl, tell me, who can I get?’

The madam looked him over, not liking the looks of him, he had a untrustworthy face, akin to a jackal. She eyed the coins he placed on the table, as she neared him, sizing him up, with only the length of the dagger she hid in her leggings apart from them. Taking the coins, she placed them in her tight cleavage, and took him by the collar of his tunic, leading him up the stairs.

‘I can handle your kind.’ she said proudly, often Ørlea would deal with troubled patrons herself, and she had a strict, satisfying way to pacify the dregs too foul for her girls.

The guard was on edge over the guy, he could’ve sworn he remembered him, but he was in a crowd of thousands of others, he had to beat for trying to harm the girls. Often they’d come back, with different names, different clothes, but his was not a face of wounded pride, he had a devil’s face, one that enjoy inflicting pain, and he just needed a reason.

Ørlea wasn’t a fool however, and he trusted she’d call for him, if he got out of hand. Reaching the hallway upstairs, the madam led Iscariøt to her room at the end of the hallway, through a large, scarlet door.

Once inside, the smell of incense was intense in the air, as the room was brightly lit by candled and lit oil lamps.

‘Get on the bed.’ she ordered, as she went to her vanity to get herself read.

‘No cuddle first?’ he teased, but she shot him a firm look.

‘Either the bed, or—’ she pulled out the knife from her stocking, ‘—I’ll slice off your manhood and feed it to the dogs.’

In that moment her confidence weakened to sheer terror, as a wrathful ugliness came over the mans face, it was clear she got hit on a very sore spot in his ego. Turning her head to the door, she tried to cry out, but a needlepointed sharpness intruded in her chest, and punctured her throat.

Air leaked out from the wound, robbing her voice of volume, as the black tooth rogue got in close, and snatching her knife away, began to brutally slice open her abdomen, and pulled out her entrails. Death was long, and agonizing, as she heard the wet sounds of her organs dropping on her carpet, what killed her was her entrails being torn out followed by a gush of blood that covered the floor, and the man’s clothes.

Laying on the ground dead, the carpet muffled the sound of her body dropping, and gave no indication of her demise to the below below. Taking some of her clothes off her dresser, Iscariøt wiped the blood from his clothes and boots, so he can freely explore the top floor without rousing suspicion.

Entering the hallway, he saw the coast was clear, as he quietly went door to door, looking into keyholes, to find that thieving slut, that he was obsessed with killing. After searching down on row, he found her, as he peered through her lock, he saw her sitting in front of her mirror, removing layers of her makeup.

Sucking his sour teeth, he felt a tingle of excitement in his stomach, as he tried to turn the knob, but found it lock. He heard her inside pausing, then he smile maliciously as he figured out a way to gain access. Ever so gentle, he knocked on her door, a quieted rap, that she could hear, but no one else could.

Knowing her well enough, Iscariøt believed she was still feeling the sting of Javier not accompanying her to bed. Maybe she might mistake the gentle knocking as him, trying to ditch his post to spend the night with her. By the sound of jars clattering, he smiled as he imagined her reapplying her makeup, and after spraying on perfume, she would adjust her breasts, then with a few practise smiles in the mirror, she chose the best one to seduce her paramour.

Swaying her hips as she came to the door, and undid the lock, as she opened the door, a familiar repugnant smell hit her noses, but before she could put the chain lock on her door, the door was forced open, she let out a scream, before she was pushed inside, and her door was slammed shut and locked.

***

Javier leapt towards the stairs, the moment he heard the screams upstairs, he knew in that moment, Viviyet was in danger. Knowing her screams anymore, he rushed upstairs, hearing her cries of pain, and the relentless shredding of flesh, and the splatter of blood. The hallway upstairs was filled by worried patrons and the other girls, who listened to the carnage, with fear in their eyes.

Running right up to her door, Javier forced open the door with one hard kick, he felt his heart fall to his stomach the moments before he reached the door, after hearing a deathly quiet inside the room. Once the door was forced open, a dark figure leapt from the window, and vanished in the night, laying on the bed was Viviyet. In horror he saw her body was covered in blood, her insides were throat around the room, having been pulled free from the incision that sliced her stomach open, splitting her bellybutton in two.

Wanting to go to her, he knew she was dead, instead he ran to the window to see where her slayer went, but the night was too deep, and a rain so came, and drowned out all trace they might’ve found of her. Another scream came from the hallway, as Javier ran out into the hall, he saw the room to the madam’s room was open, one of the girls went to tell her what happened, and found her murdered.

Both women that he knew since he was orphaned dead, murdered in such a brutal butchering. As the other guards came to see what happened, Javier trembling with rage recalled who was escorted upstairs by the madam. Then recalled what he knew him from, and recognized the bat emblem they wore on their garb.

‘The man who did this—’ Javier looked coldly at the other guards. ‘—his comrades are still here.’

***

Standing under the Witch Tree, in the grayish blue day, under a cloudy sky, with a steady cascade of rainfall hammering his head, Javier looked upon two dead men, he had lynched that morning. Despite their claims of innocence, and ignorance of their fellows schemes, him and the rest of the brothel guards hanged them, though they didn’t strangle good.

Out of pity, Javier grabbed their legs with his large arms, and with a firm tug broke their necks, killing them quickly. Despite the girls and his fellow guards claiming he shouldn't let them suffer, Javier was not a spiteful man, he believed a man’s debts whether to the bank or for his sins are paid upon death.

God may judge if he is willing to let them into heaven, but dead men deserve to rest, though his anger compelled him to let them hang in that tree a while longer before he had them buried. A need for true vengeance ate at him, the town guard didn’t catch the black tooth fiend, but his description, and news of his crimes will dog him closely.

Madam Ørlea was the favorite of the count of the realm, so he was quick to offer a bounty on him, offering of five hundred gold pieces for him dead or alive. The offer would have bounty hunters after the blackard, but that still wouldn’t help in tracking him down, for from their town, he could be gone in any given direction.

The marshes south were filled with outlaws and bandits, the east was a branch of different roads that would lead to a coastal port, the west lead to the wild country where no man obeyed the king’s laws, and north into the mountains and the domains of the Crimson Lords. All equally good routes of escaping justice, and leaving the dead yet to be truly avenged. Killing those two men were merely a response to grief and rage, a feeling anyone would be guilty of indulging in a moment of loss.

Perhaps they were innocent, but guilt of association was a still a strong rule of law in that realm, and it was too late to think of such thoughts after the deed was already done.

Still he wondered about the emblem of the black bat, was it some occultist symbol? Or some kind of marker of association for a syndicate of some kind? No matter the reason for the indicator, it was another way one could find the fiend. Before he could move, Javier stopped at seeing a approach of a shadowy figure through the haze.

Standing before him, was a man wearing a sharp edged mask, that converted most of his face, and his right eye, replacing it with a gleaming ruby stone.

‘Is this where the ones with the black bat emblem can be found?’ the stranger asked in a rough, wolfish voice.

Javier said nothing but gestured to the hanging men. Moving towards the hanging men, the masked stranger with the cloak and hood of burnt scales, examined the hanging men’s mouths, one had yellow teeth, the other pearly white.

‘He’s not here.’ the stranger spoke scornfully.

‘Who do you seek?’ Javier asked, as he suspected they both sought the same man.

‘A man who deserves to die.’ the stranger turned away, and started to go off into the ran, but Javier stopped him with a firm grip on his shoulder. Feeling the tension in the other man, Javier kept his hold, but spoke quickly.

‘Do you seek a man with black teeth?’ the stranger turned to face him, the look on his face confirmed his suspicions. ‘He has kill two women, both very beloved in this town…and by me, if you seek him out, to bring him to justice, I may know someone that can help us in this search.’

‘Us?’ the stranger was quick to catch that the man wished to join him on his search.

‘Yes. I cannot remain here, not when he is out there. Whatever motivates his wicked heart, I know it’ll only lead to more deaths. Let me join you, and I’ll take you to a master tracker. He hunts outlaws and criminals, he’ll be able to follow him even with all this rain.’

The stranger seemed to contemplate the offer for a bit, before nodding, and removing his hood, revealing his elf heritage.

‘I am Bārnillɇr swordmaster of the Castle Mountains.’

‘And I am Javier…and I have no great title.’ both men nodded to one another, as they now shared a bond formed by the mutual goal of vengeance. As the ran fell over the Witch Tree, a cold wind blow northward, causing them to sway.

***

Hidden in the thorny brush, a still shape blended into his surroundings, appearing as apart of the dead plant life. Leaping through the narrow strips of sturdy ground, in a expansive sea of quicksand, and bogs, a red haired elk came into the clearing. Flicking its ears, it heard no sound to indicate danger, it smelled the air and nothing, but still the elusive beast had a sense for threats, and did not ease his guard.

Slowly it trod deeper into the opening, looking around as if it were to suddenly spot a predator. After a time of cautious searching, it found nothing, turning its head it looked to the way it came, believing it may have been followed. Before it could turn back a sudden tremor was felt through his system, and its legs gave way under its weight.

A long white arrow had shot into its chest, piercing through its layers of thick fur, burying through its hide and striking its heart with such swift force it killed the creature before it could think about its own demise. Mercifully cruel, the efficiency of a good hunter requires a decisive strike, as another shot defeated the purpose of ending the preys suffering as quick as possible.

Rising from the thorns, a man in a coif, dressed in earthy colors surcoat, went to secure his recent kill. Using a rope, and a sled he had hidden in the brush, he pulled the elf back into his yurt near the edge of the swamp. There in a clearing, there was a sturdy Witch Tree, whose roots dug deep into the ground, and had become sturdy of bark.

Tying the elks hooves together, he hoisted it up on a branch, and after tying the rope down to a peg, began to drain the blood, gut, and skin the large animal. Removing most of his clothes, his body sweaty and became smeared with blood from his labors. Using a assortment of curved and sharpened knives he spent most of the day butcher the beast down to a neatly cut pile of meat.

What parts he wanted to use for other things, he put on racks, boiled, or stored for future use. With the bucket of blood and guts, he threw it to the quicksand, as he had no use of such parts, before he stoked the flame in his smoker.

Days of the meat cooking in a heavy iron cask, his next few months of his larders preserves were accounted for with one kill. Sitting on a stump, he then started to chew a shriveled, leather tasting carrot from his garden. As he ate his lunch, he saw two figures in the distance, they were following the road to the swamp, and once they diverged from the bend in the road, he knew he was going to have visitors.

Not eager to offer them food, since all he had was unsweetened vegetables to eat, and not wanting to spare the meat, he expected they were looking for a tracker, as many do who come to visit him in is isolated dwelling. The reason for living in such a wretched landscape of quicksand, was to avoid people as much as possible. Memories of the treacheries of other humans, the hurt they can inflict and the insults, made him grind his teeth as he finished his meal.

Soon enough, the two men stood before him, as he remained seated on his stump. One he didn’t recognize, but he knew Javier, he worked at the brothel, he visits from time to time.

‘Javier, you bring any of those girls with you?’ the hunter asked.

‘Do you see any with me?’ the brothel guard retorted.

The hunter slyly looked at his masked companion, and clicked his tongue. ‘I supposed not.’

‘Wit aside Thrɇdmørɇ, we have business with you.’

‘Business?’ he mocked the notion he only deserved a visit when his services are required. Though he appreciate the solitude, he resented that someone who knew his preferences would just assume he could propose his services to someone he doesn’t know. ‘You come here seeking a bounty I take it? People only come here if the Count puts out a reward for a criminal or rare beast, I could find them on my own if that is my inclination, why would I need to partner with either of you?’

‘This isn’t about the gold.’ Javier sigh already exhausted by the hunter’s hurried speech.

‘Oh gold is it? Must’ve done something pretty bad, what he do kill his favorite whore?’ the hunter smiled at his own wit, before seeing the cold, seriousness on both the men’s faces.

‘He killed Madam Ørlea and Viviyet.’ Javier told him in a voice that betrayed his restraint.

‘And Sanwqüi.’ the masked man added.

‘Well…I don’t know who Sanwqüi is, but I know Miss Ørlea and Viviyet. The Madam can be a tough old thing, but she was fair, and Viviyet was sneaky, but she never did anything deserve a killing—.’ he turned to look at the masked stranger. ‘—and I am certain Sanwqüi was nice too. So you both seek this guy, not for the gold, but for revenge?’

‘Justice.’ the masked man stated, with a sharpness that could cut.

‘Well…—’ he thought about it, Thrɇdmørɇ was not one to do things just for pay, and he did enjoy the brothel. He started to think he owed the Madam something for the times she accepted a little less, but a lot more, just because she knew him as a lad. ‘—she was good to me, your Madam, I think I can help you. Tell me though, is this a capture or—’

‘He dies.’ the masked man once again spoke with a finality that ended any compromise if any challenged the death sentenced he had already decreed.

‘Well, I am not so much for killing men, but as long as it is done by you and not me, I’ll help you look for him.’ standing up, the hunter went to his yurt and started preparing a kit and a back of supplies to see him to the end of the hunt.

‘I am Thrɇdmørɇ by the way stranger.’ once he finished getting dressed in proper garb and packing, he offered his hand in greeting to the masked men.

Shaking his hand, the man removed his hood showing off his elf features, and his odd mask, that hid much of his face, and had a precious ruby where the other eyehole should’ve been placed. ‘I am Bārnillɇr, swordmaster of the Castle Mountains.’

‘Bārnillɇr?!’ Thrɇdmørɇ pulled himself back in shock and awe. ‘Believe it or not swordsman, I have heard of you. Your legends has spread, of how you ended the Dread Men, and captured River Castle during the war. You have many enemies here elf, best you keep your name and race hidden, lest we encounter more trouble than we are looking for.’

Nodding in agreement, the swordmaster replaced his hood, and soon the trio went off to find a killer, and perhaps split the bounty.

***

Starting at the well trod mud outside the brothel, Thrɇdmørɇ gazed at the layers of tracks over the slick mud surface. As Bārnillɇr and Javier stood back and watched in the midday sun, the long nose of the hunter seemed to twitch every time he tilted his head every so slightly in one direction. After several moment the elf swordmaster started to suspect it was some kind of farce he was being put through, to either throw him off the trail, or make fool out of him, but his doubts were soon vanquished by the hunter’s joyous cry.

‘Ah-Ha, I see his boot print!’ pointing to the slight indentation that was buried by a wagon wheel imprint, his fingered followed where the heel would’ve been, and traced its origin, not to the door of the brothel, but the high window. ‘He jumped from the window, made it to the woof on the first floor, and left from that…to…here!’ he pointed to a crushed brush that was planted around the building, to give it a more elegant appearance. ‘Then he just ran out this way.’ Following the direction, he noticed the wear of the points, and in his mind, the hunter pieced it together, forming a near complete image of what tracks the killer made.

Following after the tracker, the trio went across the town square, through alleyways, over a bridge in a rain swollen river, and towards the tree line to the north. Avoiding the main roads, the outlaw decided best to go through the trees. Most likely hoping to keep out of sight of guards who might be watching the roads for him, as he had just murdered two women.

Once in the wilderness, Thrɇdmørɇ found the trail easier, and despite the head start the rogue had, there were fresh signs of his movement, as recent as that morning. From a pile of feces hidden in the brush, to a fresh dead body, of a poor man whose throat was slit, and his possessions robbed.

Looking at the dead man, lying face down in a shallow stream, it was agreed two against one to take time to burry the poor soul. Despite having sympathy for the dead, Bārnillɇr was worried the man with black teeth will escape their pursuit if given the time.

Seeing the ease the man they hunted could kill, and pilfer from others, Thrɇdmørɇ felt good he agreed to help them, as it was clear they weren’t tracking some one time murderer. This man was wicked, and to his dying breath will continue claiming lives, if only for the sick joy it brings his miserable soul.

Once a stone marker was placed on the grave, they continued their search, finding he was heading towards the hills, either out of paranoia, or somehow realizing he was being followed.

‘Couldn’t of been that long since he’s been here.’ Thrɇdmørɇ stated. ‘These tracks are fresh, the water has barely pooled in them, and the twigs of this branch he broke hasn’t oozed with sap yet. He is either a easily spooked man, or he knows he is being trailed.’

‘How?’ Javier didn’t believe in the supernatural, but couldn’t figured how anyone could have such insight if not through black magic. ‘We weren’t loud, and these forests are too dense for him to see too far back.’

‘He’s been backtracking.’ Bārnillɇr realized it in a epiphany that struck him like a stabbing. ‘He let us follow these tracks, while he hid his doubling back, he’d been leading us away from his true destination.’

The trio seethed at the revelation they had been fooled. Made to look as gullible as a any ordinary town idiot, despite his hasty, despicable actions, the man with black teeth was a cunning quarry.

‘Hold on, let us think this through.’ Despite his limited schooling, Javier was pretty good at logic problems, and often did pretty well in questions requiring a thorough thought process. ‘Could it be he wants us to follow him into the hills?’

‘Yes, I believe that is what he was hoping for.’ Thrɇdmørɇ laughed at Javier's attempts to sound more educated.

Javier ignore the sarcastic mockery of the hunter, and considered what he would do, if he was being hunted.

‘If I were him, I’d know eventually the people tracking me, would realize I misled them and catch up. So, I’d look for a place where I can cross great distance in a short amount of time.’ upon saying that he saw the hunter’s face turn from a teasing smile to a stunned realization.

‘Yes, that makes sense, and I know where he can do that.’ Thrɇdmørɇ leading the trio started at a swift sprint, turning into a hurried run, that Javier struggled to keep up.

‘Slow down, where are we going?’ Javier was fit, but not used to long distance runs.

Able to quickly explain while leading the pack, the hunter told them precisely where their destination lay. ‘The Crimson Kingdom have a airfield near here, to help carry travelers over the mountains that border their lands. If he wanted to get ahead of us, he’d take their next ship, since there wouldn’t be another arriving in this region for a month.’

Hearing this Bārnillɇr quickened his pace till he ran passed Thrɇdmørɇ, unwilling to allow that murderer a chance to escape him into the wide open world. Leaping over brush, dashing between closely intertwined trees, he was leaving his two companions behind, who tried to call to him, but their voices didn’t reach his obsession for revenge.

***

Wiping the blood from his knife, Iscariøt closed the lid on a luggage trunk, that contained the body of a noble woman whose throat was slit open. Locking the latches on it, he then turned his attention to the body of her husband, he he murdered first to get his fancy clothes, and boarding pass on the airship. After he strangled him with a chain, he had to kill his wife to keep her was asking about the husband.

Taking the husbands body, he dragged it off the baggage area, while the other passengers, and Crimson Guards were distracted by the fire he caused, by setting the bar on fire. Smiling all the way, as he dragged the naked body of a once proud nobleman of high birth to the edge of the plateau the airship would land upon, then threw him over the edge.

The body plummeted as fast as expected for dead weight, vanishing into the sheer darkness in the depths below. Returning to the other passengers who waited for the ship to land, Iscariøt kept quiet, and politely smiled at those who looked at him, with a closed mouth. Nodding friendly away any suspicion, which there was plenty, considering his dirty face, his unkept attire, and vile smell of someone who is deadly allergic to soap and water.

Believing he was a simpleton cousin of royalty, or a merchant of low birth who bought his way into high society, they regarded him as he liked it, with silence and disinterest. Even the Crimson Guard gave him little attention, even after the suspicious fire that consumed the structure used for passengers to wait for the ship.

Wiping the sweat from his head with the scarlet stained handkerchief, he hoped that his ruse in the forest succeeded. Hours ago, he covered his tracks and doubled back, in case his killing of the whore and her madam caused a posse or bounty hunters to hunt him down. Surprisingly through his hiding spot in the brush, he saw them following his trail. Having been a scout for a mercenary company, he knew how to create shortcuts when laying down tracks, so you can return to a point where your pursuers would follow, then lay new tracks.

Leading him on a trail into the hills to the west, he then went eastward to the cliffs where he’d board the airship and fly off to a different realm altogether, where he has collected no bounties. Typically bounty hunters don’t bother to stray far from their territory for a bounty worthy of a couple of whores.

Wasn’t the first time Iscariøt had to avoid those seeking revenge upon him, and he knew it wasn’t going to be the last. Just as he began to have paranoid thoughts that maybe his deception was discovered, he saw a black object slowly drift around the bend of a mountain range.

‘The ship!’ he pointed out to the crowd, who looked towards the ship, and nodded and casually cheered its arrival.

Built by the Crimson Lords, such flying machines, and other such machines that have left other nations in centuries behind their progress. Despite offering to share some of their secrets of their works for a price, the other kingdoms were bound by the teaching so the church, whose hierarchy decreed all such Automations to be high heresy.

Any such construction or use of such machines would have one burned at the stake or banished. Fortunately the landing pad was out of the territory where the church had authority, as many nobles and merchants sought access to the northern realms where such discoveries are not forbidden.

Crossing his fingers, Iscariøt’s breathing became labored, as the strain of waiting for the ship, while wondering if his ruse worked was enough to make him want to scream out loud. Despite its arduous speed however, the airship flew above their heads, and in its shadow they watched as the ship lowered down onto the landing pad, as a number of service staff ran to the luggage to prepare it for loading.

Rubbing his chin, and sucking his teeth, Iscariøt kept his composure, not wanting to make a break for the ship, he waited in a line that formed with as much patience as he could handle. As the ship landed, and was tied down in place, as stairs lowered from a doorway on the ship.

Up close, it was clear that the airship was a newer model, far larger than the previous one, the large balloon the Crimson Lords call a blimp was twice the size as before. The compartment attached to it was also larger, though there were not that many passengers who could afford a ticket to ride it, though he imagined it was filled with more extravagant facilities to pacify the passengers on the long voyage.

Might explain why the man he killed was so desperate to keep his ticket, the price increase must’ve have been hefty even for his purse. Once the ship was moored, the crew started to allow the passengers on, who one of by one stepped up inside the doorway of the ship. As each one followed suit, the line crew shorter as the ship began to fill with those eager to reach their destination.

Counting each step as he reached those life saving stairs, Iscariøt felt each of his heartbeats as he drew closure, and he felt as if he could pass out when it was finally his turn. Handing the boarding pass he acquired to the ticket taker, the man in a spiffy red uniform with golden tassels took out a strange metal device, that punctured a hole through the pass.

‘Enjoy your voyage M’Lord.’

Iscariøt grinned broadly, careful not to show his teeth, as he took back the ticket, unaware he had absconded with the identity of a Lord. Climbing the stairs, he looked back before entering the doorway, and his face turned a ghostly pale, as he rushed inside, and in the aisleways of the compartment, found a booth with a seat closet to the window.

There in the distance, down the road that lead up to the plateau, he saw a distant figure, a familiar one, one that he knew would comeback to torment him for his crimes. That scaled cloak he could see it, even a half-league away flowing in the air, he recognized it, belonging to the elf swordmaster. After setting th fire, he thought he lost him, but since then, he felt as if he was being stalked, that he’d know no peace, so long as that mad beast had his scent.

Moving faster than he’d expect an elf can on foot, he estimated it would be close call, if the ship could fly off, before the elf caught up to it, which would put him a dire situation. Aboard that ship, with a sheer drop on the other side of the plateau, or flying through the air, far above the ground with that sword wielding justice seeker vying for his blood.

When he saw him in the woods, he could feel the malice he had for him, and considered him lucky that the elf didn’t notice his presence. As the passengers took their time coming board, and the line got steadily shorter, the elf driven on as if his fury was a slave master whipping him to move on at that crazed pace, closed the gap faster than Iscariøt expected.

Leaning in the cushioned chair of his booth, he started to consider his options, till he looked at front and saw the deck of the ship, where the captain controlled the ship was wide open. In that moment his eyes went wide and a black tooth smiled spread across his scheming face.

***

Leaving two of his party a quarter league behind, Bārnillɇr felt himself moving with pace with the wind once he saw the airship touch down. Watching the distant silhouettes start to board the ship, a foaming malice drooled from his gritting teeth. Drawing from his scabbard, his moonthril long sword, he was eager to fight his way if necessary, to plunge his weapon into the heart of that reviled murderer, and watch the life leave his eyes.

Hatred was nearly all consuming inside his heart, and the rising desire to slaughter any who intentionally or happened to stand in his way, was overtaking his sense of honor and control. Being a swordmaster required decades if not centuries of training, tempering ones emotions to be stoic, contemplative, and in control. Not only to guard oneself again enemy strikes, but to spare other such cruelty of a merciless, swift finish without a chance of redemption.

The word “redemption” however became a irritation in his mind, the very thought of allowing that man not to be sent straight to the pits of Hell, made him so angry he felt sick. Even if he did reform, and made amends as best he could, the elf could not forgive, if he lived out his near immortal lifespan, and was lying in bed dying, he’d still curse that man.

Reaching the slope, he was so close to reaching the airship, breathe was being forced in out of his lungs agonized labor, as if the air he breathed were shards of glass. Resting only briefly at the slope, he exhaled roughly expelling the built up phlegm, as it clung to his chin, then he charged uphill, his eye showing through his mask, a window in his hateful scorched soul.

Whoever he was before that blaze, was burnt from him in a infernal purge, it was as if he was walking through the chambers of hell, and emerged a Hellbørne avenger. Legends tell of those such people, possessed by a primordial evil, that corrupts them into avatars of their dark desires. Whether true or myth, it didn’t matter anymore to the swordmaster, all he was after the fire might as well have been bent to a diabolic purpose.

Punishing those that wronged him to such a degree, that is was a sin in itself, climbing the trail leading up to the plateau, he heard a rally of screams from above, in that moment he felt his vengeance slipping away. Straining his entire body to overcome the strain of his muscles and the exhibitions that hampered him for a day without rest, he leapt onto the pinnacle of the rise, and saw with eyes that gazed upon everything as if it were a reflection, that the airship was lifting off.

Crimson Guards and staff on the ship struggled to pull it down with the long ropes used to tether it to the ground, but it kept rising higher, and were pulling out its stakes.

‘No!’ the scream came from his throat as a horse roar so intense it made everyone at the plateau look at him with utter fear. Never had they heard such anger, such pain, such venom that echoed across the valley and mountain range as it were many voices unified through one throat.

‘I’m not letting you get away!’ the elf wheezed through his strained throat, as blood started to bubble from his tearing vocal chords. Running towards the tethers, with sword in hand, he jumped up on it, grabbing the large weave of rope strands, while those trying to keep hold on the tethers tried to warn him and get him off for safety.

Waving his sword at them, he let out a guttural cry, that frightened them, with his mask, and bloodied teeth, he looked like he might be a demon. Lifting himself with his legs and free hand, he ascended with the dexterity of a squirrel climbing a tree. As the airship lifted higher off the ground, it seemed it wouldn’t escape the rope, but then the doors opened.

The people below became deadly quiet, as they heard what can only be screams of terror.

‘No! No! Please!’ the voice repeated those words, even after the man was pushed out of the airship, and his body plummeted down, his trajectory deliberately aimed at the elf.

The weight of the man, crashed against Bārnillɇr causing him drag down the rope several feet. Grabbing onto his scale cloak, the man frantically screamed for the elf to save him, but Bārnillɇr didn’t see another life in peril, but a flea that has latched onto him, trying to save its pathetic existence. With a shrug he expelled the man from his form, and he fell screaming, Bārnillɇr didn’t pause to watch the man hit the bottom, he continued to climb, as the robe became taut, as the airship struggled to free itself from the tether.

As it continued to work its engines to lift off, the door opened again, and this time there were two voices of fear, as a woman and her young child were poised to be thrown. Looking up, Bārnillɇr saw looking down on him, with a curt expression that showed his black teeth, the man who killed his soul mate.

‘Bastard! Fiend! I will send you to Hell!’ his screaming echoed throughout the air, chilling the blood at all that heard it, except for the man with the black teeth.

Smirking at the declaration, he threw the mother and daughter off the airship, making sure they were properly aimed. As he did someone on board must’ve tried to push him off as well, but whatever happened Bārnillɇr couldn’t see, for the women smashed into his body head on, as the girl managed to grab onto his boots.

Both women whimpered, begging for help, but Bārnillɇr couldn’t care for them, he was tempering his wrath into a orb that would replace his broken heart. A colder one, one that can tolerate the furnace of hate that boiled his insides. Climbing the rope again, the elf was impeded again, as the man with black teeth got the upper hand with the man and several others on the ship, and managed to push them off in one merciless kick.

Falling in with frantically waving arms, the foursome of men scattered as they fell, two missed the rope entirely and fell to their deaths. One was caught in the turbines of the ship, and was eviscerated into a gory pudding, while the last, dove towards the elf, and before he struck, a fed up snarl came from Bārnillɇr.

‘Enough!’ he cried and with a slash of his sword, cleaved the falling man in two, then feeding his fury, he shoved off the women holding him, and as he was about to kick off the girl, he felt a twinge of regret. Something he thought he didn’t have in his hardened heart, as the girl started to cry bitterly against the leather of his boots, he saw her cry for her mother, watching her fall to her death.

‘Mommy! Mommy!’ the gasping, croaking, and weeping was too much for his heart.

Unable to find the courage to apologize, he sheathed his sword, and used his free arm, to tuck her beneath his arm.

‘I’ll carry you down.’ he told her as softly as his hoarse voice could manage. And he steadily, but quickly slid down the rope, stopping at intervals to keep from falling to quickly. He continued this, till he reached the bottom, and the girl trembling in his arms, broke herself free of his hold, and ran off to be consumed with her grief.

Going to her mother, whose face was fractured into a puddle of crimson on the stone landing pad, she was held back from touching the body by a woman, and some of the Crimson Guard. Having seen what he did, the people around him glared at him with contempt, seeing how he could’ve saved lives, but didn’t find that mercy till so many have died.

As he felt his vengeance battle with his empathy, there came a painfully loud snapping sound, as the airship had managed to free itself from one of the ropes that snapped in two. The large tendril fell down onto the ground in a impactful crash, that could’ve easily killed somebody.

Seeing his time was short, Bārnillɇr tried to climb up to the ship again, but as if the weavers of fate unified against him, the other tethers broke almost all at once, freeing the airship. It shot up into the air, the tension from its confinement gave it lift, as it soared directly into the clouds, and within moments shrank into the distance.

As the ropes fell around him, smashing into the ground Bārnillɇr didn’t move from where he stood, even when a tendril of rope almost fell on top of him, he just looked at the black speck in the sky, and felt a embittered numbness in his newly forged heart.

Something was wrong, something in the heavens above was working against his goals. Unable to muster the strength to even cry out in failure, Bārnillɇr collapsed and darkness swaddled his exhausted mind.

***

Opening his eyes to the night sky, Bārnillɇr let out a pained moan, as he noticed a light warming him not to far away. Lying on outstretched fur pelt, he didn’t have the strength to lift his sore body to look at his surroundings, but he knew Javier and Thrɇdmørɇ were near.

‘You slept the day away.’ Javier’s voice was weary, and didn’t carry far in the darkness.

‘I…know…he got away.’ the elf swordmaster was weak, he couldn’t even lift his head. Thrɇdmørɇ had to come over to him, lean his head on his lap, as he put his flask to his lips, to drink water. Slowly he drank cool elixir of life, washing away his scarred and frayed throat, and soothing the smoldering wreckage in his stomach. Once he had his fill, he closed his mouth, and the flask was pulled away. ‘Thank you.’ was all he could say before he felt light headed.

‘Those ships, may fly high, but they slow down without moment, we’ll be able to catch up to it.’ Thrɇdmørɇ’s words gave him comfort. ‘Tomorrow we’ll try and catch up to it—’ a brief quiet came over him, as he seemed to be contemplating something. ‘—the Crimson Guard told us what you did. They considered arresting you, but we told him of our mission, and they decided to let you go. I can understand your pain, and what was taken but can you say what you have done is right?’ the hunters words were as somber as priests sermon.

Yet, there was a need that had wormed its way into his wounded heart, and was eating the dead flesh that was once his morality and compassion. Though not entirely dead, it was buried under layers of vitriol.

‘Right…wrong…he dies.’ that was all the elf spoke on the matter, before he closed his eyes and went to sleep.

***

The northern valleys was a harsh terrain to cross on foot, without horses, they needed to climb over rocks, through bristly brush, and over dried fords. Animals were scarce so game was not to be found, and the rations Thrɇdmørɇ brought were going quickly, as the days progressed. Often the two of the group would see Bārnillɇr look to the heavens, as if he expected to spot the air shift.

‘We are following the winds.’ Thrɇdmørɇ spoke aloud, as if he could read the elf’s question on his face. ‘The tension of the rope gave it speed, but it is a far larger ship than the previous one, so it will be weighed down, and fly slower. If we follow by day, we’ll find it, if my guess is right, by the edge of Lake Glöm.’

‘You are wise in many things.’ the elf began to say, as he continued on, half-limping, as his legs were still mending from his harmful pace he had before. ‘Tell me how does a hunter in the bog know of such things?’

‘I wish to know as well.’ Javier joined the conversation with youthful curiosity. ‘I’ve known you for years, and didn’t think you were this knowledgeable.’

‘For a hermit in a swamp, you mean?’ the hunter feigned offense, that the young man didn’t quiet catch, till he saw the other’s smile at his naivety.

‘Oh, you jack’n’apes. I am serious, how do you know? Have you been to the Crimson Kingdom before?’

‘More often than I’d care to.’ the hunter answered. ‘That was not a good time in my life, I regret what I have done, and resigned myself to this simple, isolated life.’

‘Were you—?’ Javier began to speak but held his tongue, he didn’t wish to offend his c companion.

‘A assassin?’ Thrɇdmørɇ’s bluntness made Javier blush with embarrassment.

‘I was going to say murderer…it isn’t unheard of killers seeking redemption through isolating themselves in some miserable mire, or forest hut.’

‘And other such fanciful tales you were told as a lad.’ mocked the hunter. ‘I am not ashamed to say, I have killed for gold, and much worse reasons.’

Both the elf and brothel guard were confused at what he meant.

‘Worse than gold?’ Javier figured taking another’s life for profit was the worst thing anyone could do, and the souls of these villains are what fuel the Devil’s fireplace in Hell.

‘I’ve killed for the most corrupt of reasons. I have murdered for little more and a lot less than I cared to recite…If I were to safe tenfold as many lives I had taken, I’d still be damned, and the Devil himself is welcome to my soul…I wouldn’t want a God who is that forgiving.’ Thrɇdmørɇ’s words saddened the spirits of his companions, and for the rest of the day, they traveled the valley in silence.

***

Night had come swiftly, as the twilight faded in mere moments, not giving the trio much time to light a fire. Thrɇdmørɇ with a few whacks of his flintstones, produced a bounty of sparks that lit up the tried sticks, and wood they had gathered.

Making camp on the crown of a hill, they overlooked the valley of shadows, as they were less than a league away from the trails leading up into the mountains. Despite the distance they covered, there seemed that much more land that needed crossing. All the while the three, had barely spoken since the midday, and had finished eating their rations.

None of them felt like sleeping, as there was a presence in the air, a sinister wickedness, that seemed to exist beyond the light of the camp fire. Protected by large stones that formed a barrier around their fire, they had a vantage if ambushed by brigands or some feral beast, yet the air still quiet, and had a bitter chill to it, as if ghosts were floating through the ether.

‘I stand watch.’ Thrɇdmørɇ volunteered. ‘I’ll switch with Javier at midnight, and Bārnillɇr when the sky show signs of the dawn.’ a wind then started to howl overhead. Sounding as if it were some banshees cry, a superstitious fear came over them, making it hard to sleep.

While the other two struggled to drift off to the realm of dreams, Thrɇdmørɇ searched the darkness from the top of a rock. The moon had vanished in a darkening sky, as clouds formed as if conjured by some vile entity. Something was stalking the night, it wasn’t man, beast, or anything the hunter dealt with during the day.

This was something he only felt drift past him during the night, and was fortunate to go unnoticed, a kind of spirit, a demon of depraved intent. Drawing out his bow, he had a arrow placed on the string, as he waited with a stoic patience of a monk at prayer.

The air grew colder, the fire started to dimmer, and Javier and Bārnillɇr fell into a deep slumber, as if they were under some curse.

Then as the darkness seemed to utterly consume all the world around Thrɇdmørɇ, a face poked through the shadows, as if the darkness that surround it was a eyelid, and the night was just opening one eye. Terrible to gaze upon, the face was more pallid than a fully reaped corpse, eyes as tormented as the damned, with a mouth so overgrown with jagged, yellow teeth, it couldn’t fully close.

Staring into those blinding white eyes, it was enough to make him feel as if he was falling into a sea of milk. Feeling the cold make his spine shiver, and his fingers twitch, it was as if a spider with thousands of tiny, needly legs, was crawling all over his body, inside and out. Courage seemed to be pacified by a nullified acceptance, he wasn’t even aware what was happening, his mind seemed to lose all his instincts.

Unable to wonder what was happening or who he was, the face drew closer, and Thrɇdmørɇ in one last moment of realization, let out a terrible scream as the face’s teeth bit into his cheek.

***

Dawn came, and through the early morning mists, two figures awoke on the shaded hilltop, as the sun was about to poke over the mountains. Rubbing sleep from his eyes Javier felt as if his mind was still half asleep. Took him a few moments of rubbing his head, and emptying his bladder to remember that he was supposed to take watch.

‘Thrɇdmørɇ…Thrɇdmørɇ…Thrɇdmørɇ?’ he kept calling out his name, as he wanted to ask why he wasn’t woken up for his turn at watch last night. ‘Thrɇdmørɇ!’ his voice became more frantic, as he searched the campsite, the fur rolled out for his bed wasn’t slept in, and there was still a sinister feeling lingering on that hilltop.

Searching the ground, he saw no trace of the hunter, which made him worry. Looking for Bārnillɇr, who was turned over in his sleep, he shook him awake, which he came to with some reluctance.

‘What is it?’ he groaned as he blinked his one eye awake.

‘Its Thrɇdmørɇ—’ Javier sounded as if he was a frightened child. ‘—he’s missing, he didn’t wake me up for my turn at watch either. Please help me find him.’

Waking up quickly, both of them search the hill, and seeing no tracks to indicate his direction, they started to wonder if he was taken in the night or abandoned them, till the sun fully rose in the sky, a light of a the new day, showed them where his body was left.

Curled up, in a stiff, fetal poise, the hunter, and their companion was dead, his skin had become cold to the touch, and had a hue of blue on his skin. Eyes open, with a stunned look on his frozen expression, it appeared as if he froze to death during the night. It was far from winter time though, especially that far north, and there was another clue to his demise, the vampiric teeth marks on his right cheek.

Deep punctures through his skin, that turned his insides violet.

Examining all his vitals, the elf shook his head, and hung his head sadly. ‘He’s dead.’ he declared, all hope otherwise couldn’t be reasonably given, it was a dismal fate.

‘What happened to him?’ Javier felt like crying, he had grown attached to him during their travels, and saw him as worthy guide with a noble, yet troubled spirit.

‘Poison, maybe. It looks like all trace of life was torn from him, could’ve been some wild beast.’ the elf speculated.

‘Or a demon.’ Javier stated bluntly, with the tone of a pouting boy.

‘No, such things are for ghost stories and church preaching, this was a tragedy, nothing more.’ the elf didn’t want the only companion he had left to lose heart, not when they still had so much ground left to cover.

‘If it was a beast, where its tracks? I looked around this hill, and the only marks on the ground were left by us, even a snake leaves slither marks, right?’ Javier didn’t like the elf’s muted sorrow, and felt like striking him, believing he just wanted to continue on the hunt.

‘Like it or not Javier, we are losing time. The longer we stand here grieving the more Thrɇdmørɇ’s death will be in vain. It is as much as his blame that had him out here, as the whims of fate, either way, I am not going to stop, so steel yourself, because those two women you are doing this for, their ghosts are not at rest.’

His words were cruel, but honest, and Javier had no right to fight against it, in grim silence, he help Bārnillɇr bury the body in a shallow hole, then rolled a large rock over it, to cover the poor man’s grave.

Taking the supplies and tools that he left behind, Javier took the foodstuffs and bow, while Bārnillɇr took the fur bedroll. Departing the hill in silence, they remembered the directions and landmarks Thrɇdmørɇ said they were going to follow. Into the mountain pass, they climbed the moss covered stones, and while treading through a narrow valley, they felt a easement over their spirits as they distanced themselves from their fallen companion.

Javier took heart in knowing that in his prayers, he beseech the Lord, God to give his friend some peace in the afterlife, it not complete salvation. Bārnillɇr felt invigorated, as if he drank some mystics potion that healed his sores, and awakened his mind and body from the gloom of his thoughts.

Looking in the distance, he wasn’t sure, but he saw in the light of the son, what he believed to be the airship, no bigger than a flying insect. They were getting closer, and he would soon get his vengeance, that seemed to make his mouth water, and his heart beat with excitement.

Travelling by the valley road, they crossed leagues during much of the day, and by dusk, they reached the place that was supposedly a shortcut through the mountains, to the lake—Acropolis Of Giovanni. Despite telling them where to find it in the bends of rock, shaded by a large outstretched of stone, the hunter didn’t much speak of the place.

When he explained the trail, he claimed the abandoned underground realm, was once a domain of dwarf folk, who built is as a place of worship to their subterranean gods. Despite it being a once prosperous domain, they abandoned it, though Thrɇdmørɇ didn’t tell them why, though the moment they saw the cavernous complexes opening, they wished he had, if only to explain why the entrance appeared to be a demon’s face.

Eyes of glistening, yet tarnished polished stones of various dazzling colors, a entrance that appeared to be a gaping maw of stone, with stalactites as teeth, the rockface naturally formed a snarling evil visage. Whatever pagan gods that place was supposed to worship, it must’ve been a wicked deity.

Air inside the cave opening was polluted with a underground miasma, that made the air bitter to breathe, and made them gasp from near suffocation.

‘How are we going to tolerate being down there?’ Javier coughed out the terrible cave air.

Seeing no choice, Bārnillɇr took a deep breath, stuck out his chest, and without a torch, descended the darkness, where the only lit, filtered in through cracks in the ceiling.

After some doubts, Javier accepted it was the only way forward that will see their mission done, and followed suit after the elf, but with a feeling of dread in his mind. Both of them vanished in the darkness, as ghosts silently lamented damnation within the cavernous labyrinth.

***

If Thrɇdmørɇ had lived at least till they reached the Acropolis, he might’ve warned them of what taking the shortcut would mean, and upon giving the warning would ask if they’d proceed.

He’d tell them of a dwarf king, a avaricious creature who changed from his shifting of rock and stone. Lifting large boulders that sealed pits, he spread a inner darkness deep in the earth, a vacuous evil thing, that released evil spirits that drove off his people from their realm. Leaving him, unwilling to leave, he coveted his treasures, the metals and precious stones, that he turned into glorious monuments of his fortune.

However his people didn’t want to leave without their fair share, which he refused with the ire of a covetous depraved madman. Claiming it was all his own, he drew his sword on his people, cutting many of them down, but his people were many, and struck him down before his rage vanquished any more innocents.

Locking him in a deep crypt, they uncovered from a past civilization, they sealed it with a shiny, gold lock, and left with their treasures. Despite slaying him, the dwarf king didn’t stay dead, a horrible essence reanimated him, and made his lifeless husk roam his prison, slowly clawing his way through the unshifting stone prison.

On quiet moments, one may hear his ghostly echoes cry out from the depths.

‘Did you hear that?’ Javier spoke as if he heard something whisper right into his ear, but he saw no one was near him, or at least any he could see in the gloom.

‘Yes…’ the elf could hear the distant cries deep below, a wretched calling of the defeated and the damned. Pity would’ve welled in his heart, if it wasn’t a gilded, cast iron construct of his hardened resolve. Continuing across the long catwalk of stone, that stretched between pillars of stone, he lead the way, as there was enough light to see the path ahead, and avoid walking off the edge.

The smell that once overwhelmed them, had dissipated slightly, it was enough for them to breathe unhindered, but they could feel the density floating over their heads. Bārnillɇr being taller, could feel the differences in the air, the heavier miasma flowed through his scalp, and was thick enough to pull back his hood slightly as he moved forward.

There was a toxic quality in it, but he had little care to pay it any mind. Despite the melancholy underground path, he found the journey to be brisk, and without incident. Climbing a set of stairs, they reached a large cavern, where a archway was carved into the rock, with two statues standing guard on either end.

Blocky, works of stone cutting, they were too obscure and squarely built to resemble the former master of the domain. Rather they seem to be suits of stone armor, with no one inside them, as they drew closer to the arch, Bārnillɇr felt a shift in the air, something was moving between the shadows.

Trying to remain unseen in the light, it floated about, as if it were a living shadow fully blended with its own kind. Drawing his sword, the elf perked his ears, and listened for the quiet vibrations of his movements. Seeing this, Javier hung his head low, and stayed out of striking range of Bārnillɇr’s sword. While decided it was a good time to use Thrɇdmørɇ’s bow, notching an arrow he waited, kneeling on one knee.

Having learned some archery in his youth, him and some older kids in town used to make their own bows and practice in the woods. Eventually he stopped when he needed to earn his keep, but he remembered a few things about firing an arrow. Learning fast to regain competence in that dormant skill, Javier was caught by surprise by a frightful face flying at him from the darkness.

Following by a screech, he gasped, and pulled himself low to the ground, to avoid curved, razor sharp talons. Whatever it was wanted to hook Javier, and fly it off into the darkness, without hope of escape with his life.

Swiping his sword at the flying beast, the elf cursed in his native tongue, and cried out ‘be damned you sculpies!’

Having heard that name before, Javier recalled stories the women at the brothel used to tell him as a bedtime story, about creatures in the caves, with pale, yellow hairless human heads, but with the body of bats. Large man-eaters, they would snatch up children who played out late at night, carry them off to their nests, and slowly rip them apart, while consuming their blood.

Shivering the memories of nightmares about those cave dwelling beasts, made him swallow a hard lump in his neck.

‘Do you see it Bārnillɇr?’ he asked while stifling down a stutter.

‘No, but i can hear it, stay quiet, and I’ll get it when it flies back towards us.’ gripping the hilt of his sword in both hands, the moonthril sword shone as if it were in direct moonlight, a shimmering brilliance that captured the attention of the greedy flying predator.

Knowing sculpies are draw to shiny object of metal, they often make nests in abandoned dwarf caves, and old vaults, hidden underground. Using his sword as allure, he wavered it about, tempting the creature, almost playing with it, as if he were teasing a tom cat with a reed. Covering his head with his hands, Javier kept his head against a large stone, worried he might fall off into the black abyss below.

Shielding his face with his hands, he peeked through his fingers, and saw that terrible yellow face, flapping in the air, before swooping towards the alluring sword. Holding the sword ready, he swung it as soon as the beast was in range. A flash of moonlight mingled with the splash of slimy pus, and blackened crimson as the sculpy was cleaved in two, sending the severed pieces of its form to fall into the darkness.

Wiping the blood from his sword, Bārnillɇr looked about the shadows, his eyes trailed across the blackness, as if he could see an army of shadows looking back.

‘You see anything?’ Javier recovered from fear, and stood up, eager to leave the foreboding passage through the underworld.

‘Yes…but it isn’t anything you should worry about.’ Bārnillɇr spoke as if distant, then once he finished cleaning his sword, he returned it to its sheath, and led the way through the archway.

***

Lighting a fire in a old chamber of stone, Bārnillɇr and Javier found old wooden furniture belonging to the dwarf people. Using it as kindling, they had heat and light as night descended, with them still some leagues left to travel in the underground.

‘I don’t like this place.’ Javier spoke, as if what he said wasn’t aa shared opinion.

‘Nor should you, it is a evil place. Dwarfs often ruin such places of wonder, and distort it, before abandoning it for wicked things to use it as home.’ there was no restrained bitterness in his voice, Javier was always told dwarfs and elfs had a hatred for one another, and that only confirmed it, though he wondered why.

‘Why do you elf folk hate the dwarfs so much?’ Javier asked, wanting to know the answer, to a question he had since childhood.

‘You wouldn’t understand…’ the elf laid his bed across the stone floor, while preparing to lay back.

‘What makes you say that? You think men are not too clever or something?’ Javier took offense to what he perceived as a slight against his race.

‘No, mankind is quiet brilliant, their short lives allow them to make such wonders, and progress in many fields of study. The problem is must grudges are forgotten after a few generations, or become a tradition that no one alive knows the reason for. Our kind live for far longer, where you may call a lifetime, may just be less than a day compared to ours, with that come a long memory that is difficult to fade.’

Sighing out as he laid his head back, the elf continued to speak with a somewhat sad, but desensitized tone.

‘There are elfs who were alive when this schism happened, we were once one people you know. Elf and dwarfs, were the same as goblins, fairies, and other such beings, but we were separated by an interest in different things.

‘Dwarfs had their ears to the ground, and heard metals and gems stalking to them, calling for someone to make use of them, while us, we preferred the surface, living life, loving our soulmates, for us, love and pleasures of life became a reason to exist. A elf with a soulmate would find their lives completely, often they find them when they are older, near the halfway of their life…I found Sanwqüi in my youth.

‘We went together as well as things can that don’t mix. When he was…killed, I was looking at a long life without much joy…’

For a moment he forgot what he was talking about till he remembered he was telling him why dwarfs and elfs dislike each other.

‘Well dwarfs prepping a life devoted to building, craftsmanship, and building a treasure horde, had us living in different worlds. Them below, us above, so when it was time for our leaders to discuss the happenings of our realms, all they knew or cared about was below rock and dirty.

‘Our High King accused them of isolating themselves from the rest of them, and for taking up heathen practices of worshiping false gods. The dwarfs denied their gods were false, and renounced all old faiths. This angered the High King who was a religious, and in a fit of zealot anger, struck a dwarf for his blasphemy.

‘Being a proud people the dwarfs demanded an apology, the High King refused, and since then we have been at a distance, because the dwarfs won’t forsake their gods, and the High King won’t apologize.’

Looking over at Javier to see what he thought of the story, he was relieved to see he had fallen asleep, which was a comfort for him, as he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

***

Shattering into rubble, a ghostly light streamed in through the open cavity in the brick laid wall of the dwarf stonework. In the dying lights of the fire, Javier and Bārnillɇr with eyes startled to full wakefulness by the impact that crumbled the stone brickwork, saw a silhouette darken the supernatural light that blotted out the shadows beyond the wall.

Coming out of the blinding, haunting, pale, light was a figure dressed in stone armor, who was a few fee shorter than a man. Standing on the ground as if he was unmoored to the reality of the living, he removed his helmet revealed a skeleton face, with vacuous black orifices were his eyes should be, as the sound of his bones crinkled as he walked.

‘I am Fā-Lør, King Of the Sunless Sky, and I have risen from my crypt to deliver a missive from the ghost of Thrɇdmørɇ.’

Both the man and elf were fear struck silent, as they had no choice but abide their morbid curiosity to listen to the spectre’s warning, with silent mouths, but open ears.

‘Heed, for as he was taken to Hell, he passed by my crypt, and begged of me to warn thee, of the fate of this quest of vengeance. A demon possesses thou, elf swordmaster, it has entangled around thy’s soul, as the serpent did with the tree of knowledge, forsake vengeance, let the dead rest in theirest graves.’

Pointing a gauntleted hand at the elf, as if he was accusing him of murder, the dwarf ghost turned his finger at Javier, which made him tremble far greater than any terror he had before.

‘If thou stays with thine elf, thou shall join the hunter in Hell.’ those words sent a shock through Javier’s heart, which sent him sprawled out on his bedroll, stunned by the dire prophecy. Laid back his mind was a blur of flooded thoughts and emotions, that overpowered him as he fell into a fitful sleep.

The elf stayed away, not as dramatized as the human, as he watched the ghost return through the cavity in the wall, and once he was succumbed the a light, all ghostly effects vanished. Blinking his eyes, he saw the fire was nearly dead, and the wall looked undamaged, shrugging it off as a dream, or a delirious vision from the caves miasma, he laid back and closed his eyes, but he didn’t sleep the rest of the night.

***

Seemingly Javier forgot or was never awake for the ghostly vision, the elf began to wonder if it was all his delusion. Despite seeming well rested, the young man seemed distant from his companion, and refused to speak above a few words at a time.

Not wanting to speak with him about the ghostly apparition that was either a waking dream or a actual manifestation, Bārnillɇr began to led them out of the underground passages. Before leaving the hall they camped at once all was packed, he noticed Javier was pausing to look at the wall the ghost came through, worried at what it may mean he urged him on, in a far harsher tone than he meant.

‘Come on!’ we’re wasting time.

Following meekly, Javier seemed hurt by his companion’s words, and kept quiet, for much of their journey through the dwarf passages. The natural bent of the tunnels lead upwards, to fresher air, and brighter atmosphere, till suddenly, almost without their notice the ground underfoot became damp.

A shallow wetness at first, turned to a few puddles around the sole of their boots, and worked their way up to their ankles, till they were knee deep in water, that had flooded the caves.

Worry was on Javier’s face, as he never learned to swim, but Bārnillɇr beamed with exuberance, and revelry. ‘We must be by the lake.’ Climbing up the waterfall covered stairs, they saw a open gateway at the top, streaming in a shaded sunlight above, quickening his pace, Bārnillɇr left Javier behind, as he did back in the forest.

This time, Javier noticed something, looking back the darkness he came, he swore he saw something, a face, it looked as if it maybe a sculpy, but far uglier and whose countenance made him let out a groan of horror, that started quiet then grew into a wail.

Following with great speed, he almost tripped over himself, but eventually emerged into the daylight, he didn’t stop moving till he realized he was in a grotto, one with a opening overlooking the edge of Lake Glöm.

Narrow, isolated peaks of the mountain range were spaced out across the flooded shores of the lakebed. Looking to the sky, near exhausted from fear, he saw a black shape move across the sky, it had barely missed a rock pillar that was not much taller than most hills. After a brief moment he recognize it as the airship.

‘Bārnillɇr!’ he called out for his companion, ‘it’s the air—’ before he could finish speaking he was struck mute by a disheartening sight, his companion running off, leaving him behind, as he rushed towards the target of his revenge.

Pride wounded, he felt a twinge of boyish sorrow making his lower eye lids quiver, letting out a sniffling sigh, he chased after Bārnillɇr, as his mind began crying out with a forgotten warning. Something was imploring him to give up on the elf’s mission, a sort of premonition that had been implanted into his mind.

Climbing the rise of rocks, he soon joined the elf who was entirely focused on reaching the airship, which seemed to be lowering itself with each couple of feet it soared across.

‘Looks like there is tear in that, blimp thing.’ Javier pointed to a torn fabric the balloon was made of, flapping in the air. ‘Must’ve lost control and torn it on a peak.’

‘He is so close.’ the elf panted between breaths of effort. ‘His blood will coat my blade.’ those words didn’t sound as if they belonged to his companion, to Javier they sounded devilish.

Saying no more for the moment, they climbed a rise of rocks, that trailed the path of the airship, that started to steer towards the highlands of the mountains. Most likely to avoid crashing into the water, this turn of events, allowed the two of them to be less than twenty feet below the flying craft as they ran across a plateau of rock.

‘Just out of reach!’ the elf hissed, his voice becoming a mix of wolfish vulgarity, and serpent wantonness. Looking back at Javier, his one eye turned from a pitiful look of pain to a frightful possessiveness, as he noticed Javier held onto Thrɇdmørɇ’s bow. ‘Use that to shoot down the blimp!’ the order came out as a hoarse command from some mad dog.

‘No!’ Javier saw through the windows of the aircrafts compartment, that there were passengers still on the ship. ‘There are more than just that killer up there, innocent lives, who have done us no harm.’ Tugging the string that bounded the bow to him, Javier tried to placate the elf with reason, as that look in his eyes became more venomous. ‘We can catch up to it, in the mountains, we don’t need to—’

‘It’ll be to far gone by then! We’ll lose his tracks in the mountains, and he’ll be gone! Give me that bow!’ grabbing for the weapon, Javier tried to push the larger elf away, but he was handled as easily as a child, and thrown aside as if he meant as little to the elf as a dirty cloth, to used up to bother to wash.

Notching an arrow, Bārnillɇr aimed at the slowly retreating ship, and with a deft release, fired the pointed projectile leagues into the sky, that then punctured the blimp. Air visible escaped the blimp that sagged, and shriveled as a quicker pace.

‘I need another arrow!’ he demanded, expecting Javier to hand him one from the quiver. Instead the elf got a angry scowl from his companion, which he found infuriation, snatching the quiver away, he notched another air, and fired again. Hitting the blimp, he felt emboldened to quicken the descent, and continued to fire freely at the ship, swiftly depleting the quiver, as he struck not only the balloon of the craft but the mechanisms.

On the last arrow, he aimed at the propellers that still turned, providing the ship with momentum, and with one mighty draw, he released the arrow, but the strain he applied shattered the string and the frame of the bone.

Holding the fractured wood in his hand, the elf paid it no mind as he watched the arrow soar, and finally imbed itself into the turbine, causing a chain reaction that erupted in a blaze.

Crying out a shrill, victorious, scream, he tossed aside the bow revealing how little he cared for it, and raised his arms in victory, as he saw the rapid descent of the craft. Dipping out of the sky, it started to fall at greater speed, whether by direction of the captain’s wheel or the natural pull to the ground, the ship was pulled towards a valley below the plateau.

A stretch of rocks lay between the rise Bārnillɇr and Javier stood upon, and the body of water. Through the pillows of smoke and flame, the elf couldn’t see the crashing blimp, till it exploded in a ball of fire, and greater smoke filled the air.

Screams came then were silenced by the roar of the flames that utterly engulfed the airship. Climbing to his feet, Javier held the broken bow in his arms, and went to look at the wreckage below.

‘Was it worth it?’ he asked the elf, his voice unable to hide the bitterness of their victory.

Bārnillɇr delayed his response, till he wondered whether the man with black teeth could survive such a crash.

‘We’ll have to make certain.’

***

The fire had been reduced to cinders, by the time Bārnillɇr and Javier reached the crash site. Rocks were scorched, so were the bodies of the innocent passengers, whose charred, shriveled, skeleton bodies were difficult for the elf to look at directly.

Moving around the wreckage, it was hard to see distinguishing marks on the dead, anyone could easily have been the man he hunted, except for the smaller bodies, that were obviously children.

Searching for any signs that their task was over, soon as the day faded into the afternoon, that no matter how they looked through the carnage, they couldn’t be absolute.

Despite that uncertainty, Javier made a point to say his peace to Bārnillɇr while he still had the nerve to do so, ‘Bārnillɇr, I…I don’t know if he’s dead, the one who killed Madam Ørlea, Miss Viviyet, and your own Sanwqüi…however despite him being alive or not, I don’t care. If we continue on, and it turns out this man with black teeth still lives, more people, who have nothing to do with our grudge, are going to die, and I know that Thrɇdmørɇ’s death hasn’t bother you—’

‘It bother me.’ Bārnillɇr cut in softly, as he looked out at the lake.

‘—...perhaps so, but I know something happened to him, I don’t remember truly how I know, but something inside you is wrong. I don’t want that wrong in me, or end up dead, or killing anymore people.’ throwing the broken bow to the ground, Javier made sure he had everything before he finished speaking to Bārnillɇr, despite what he has done, didn’t wish to abandon him to such a tragic mission. ‘I am going now, regardless of what happened to him, if God is just, he’ll meet his end, but not from me…do you want to come back with me? Can you let go of, whatever it is that has you?’

Bārnillɇr said nothing at first, his body was rigid, proudly standing, and despite the shame for the death he caused, he couldn’t dissuade the feeling that his task was not yet done. Removing his mask, he turned to face Javier who recoiled at what he saw on the elf’s face, it was a familiar grimace he saw in the darkness of the cave, malformed and discolored by heat, the eye that was burned wasn’t missing, but had blackened on the whole and reddened around the iris.

‘I cannot be certain he is alive…but my life is not so precious, I cannot spend it in my pursuit of him, whether he dies me hounding him to his dying days, or impaled on my sword, I am compelled by a command I lack resolve to disobey.’ putting back on the mask, he looked sadly at Javier.

‘I bear no grudge against you friend, I wish I was kinder to you, and wish more so that you live a good life. Farewell Javier, I am sure Madam Ørlea, Miss Viviyet…and Thrɇdmørɇ, wherever they maybe, are at rest.’

Javier fought against the weepiness in his eyes. ‘And I am sure Sanwqüi waits for you.’

Both shared a silent moment, gauging one another.

‘Farewell.’ the elf said.

‘Goodbye.’ Javier said.

Bārnillɇr turned towards the northern mountains, he expected if the man with black teeth were to survive, he’d go into the domain of the Crimson Lords.

Javier waited till the elf nearly disappeared into the distance before he started back home, as the dusk settled into a orange, scarlet twilight.

***

Holding onto a piece of debris from the ship, Iscariøt floated with it across the lake, hiding between the large rocks that protruder over the water surface. Having learned much about traversing across water, he was able to grab hold of something floatable before the ship crashed, and jumped out the aircraft into the water. Swimming away with haste, he could feel the scrutinizing his hunters did upon the wreckage, nearly a league away.

Despite initially believing he had fooled them, he began to feel a paranoia grip him, something about the elf, the way he pursued him, made him believe that the pursuit wasn’t over. Originally he planned to go north, but that is likely the first place the elf would search for him, smiling wickedly, he figured he go further easy, but only to further elude the elf. Swimming across the lake, he chuckled to himself, priding himself to being an prey.