Fourth Target: The Dweller in the Dark

"No."

"Really? After I saved your life, you're going to say no? I should have let Warson kill you and then taken the sheath."

Godhand clenched his jaw and steadily advanced over to his wagon, the tart and tiny drow hot on his heels. She was trying to convince him to let her tag along. He'd been steadfastly refusing so far, though. As far as he could tell she didn't even like him, and so it made little sense that she'd want to travel with him. Well, it made a little sense. She'd pretty much just told him that she was after his enchanted sheath. Still, he felt he was well within his rights to deny someone who'd most likely stab him in the middle of the night and run off with every belonging of his that struck her fancy.

"You didn't save my life. You helped me out. Barely. And anyway, I saved you right back so as far as I'm concerned we're even. Why do you want to travel along with me anyway? You don't seem like the type to help a stranger out of the kindness of your heart. What's the matter? You got a thing for me or something?"

"I need more fame here before I can get what I need. So far, the only way I can see that happening is defeating those Liches, and giving them the eternal rest they fucking deserve. Since its quite clear they're after you, tagging along guarantees I get a crack at them."

Godhand paused, then turned to face her.

"So you DON'T have a thing for me?"

"Excuse me if the thought of fucking you makes me retch."

"Man, you got a foul mouth."

"You aren't exactly the cleanest either. I could name a few sailors who curse less than you," She replied simply as she leaned against the wagon, "So, are you going to force me to follow you, or are you going to let me hitch a ride?"

"Yeah, I know. I'm trying to work on that. I got this little jar I put a coin in every time I use the f word. I'm gonna have to dump a fucking fortune in it once I get back home. Oh, Goddamnit. I did it again." Godhand sighed, "Look, if you want to come along then I ain't gonna stop you."

The warrior hoisted himself up into the back of his wagon, then offered her his hand. Pulling her on board, he suddenly pointed an accusing finger at her.

"But don't you even fucking think of double-crossing me. I'm faster than you are and we both know it."

"If I was going to betray you, it would have been when Warsmith had you on your knees. I may dislike you, I may loathe the fact you have that sheath, but I'm not about to kill a man over it. I'll just wait till your bravado gets you killed and then reclaim it," the Huntress retorted as she sat down. Her bow, while still strung was left witting between her and the mercenary with a quiver. Her eyes were on the road before her as she shivered slightly feeling the necromantic magic she had managed to store react to the area about them.

The mercenary merely grunted as he snapped the reigns, the thoroughbreds moving forward at the command of their master. The Drow wasn't much for conversation however; she realized she had just signed up to be beside a man who she knew nothing about. The human while strong and fast was just as stubborn as her, and really he was right. The both of them were screwed in that situation. Neither of them could have made it out without the other.

Which concerned her, because if she couldn't stand up to one member, and he couldn't alone either, they were screwed. Perhaps she had finally bitten off more than she could chew, but the Drow was loathe to admit it. She wanted to go home, and the fact that she was blocked by an ornery old man with a penchant for violence meant that she was in for a long ride. The thought of having to please the man made her queasy, and if he began hitting on her, she was more than certain she would retch.

However, she had to endure if only for the sake of getting home again.

~*~

Silence had spread between them for a few days and as they continued down the road she looked up at the sky seeing how the sun had already begun to head for the twilight mountains. They had been traveling for most the day when she finally could not bear the quiet anymore. She would have gone insane waiting for something to happen, and with the rate the cart moved, she was looking at perhaps a few days before their next destination. Looking over at the human she sighed before she spoke, "So, why are you hunting them?"

The human scratched the back of his head and sighed. The trip had been peaceful so far. Quiet. They hadn't gotten attacked yet, at least, and it was one of those lazy misty mornings he liked so much. "It's my job."

"Sounds like the kind of job they don't expect to pay you for," Drusilia commented wryly as she stretched feeling a few joints in her spine pop from the strain of sitting up straight.

Godhand chuckled. "No, I guess not. But it beats punching a clock, nine to five, worrying about how you're going to afford to buy food to feed your kids who all drink a liter of milk a day...Ugh."

"You have kids?" She let a soft smirk light her face before she spoke, "I guess you could say I'm doing this to prove something, but then again, I doubt you care about me, especially after what happened in the town."

"No, I don't. Thank Christ." The man then let her continue. "Listen, don't get all morose on me. I hate that shit. This 'why me' generation makes me sick. Anyway, it's a long trip so you might as well start talking."

"Alright, where do you want to start? Other than my measurements of course," Another wry smile lit up her face.

"35-24-35."

She raised an eyebrow as she looked at the gunman before she said, "Wrong, but I don't know whether to be insulted or amused."

"Really? Damn. I'm usually spot on."

"So, what do I call you other than Human?"

"Godhand. Godhand Striker. What's your name?"

"Drusilia Liadon."

"That's way too overwrought. From now on I'm gonna call you Dru."

"If you wish, I refuse to call you God though."

"So, Dru...What are the odds of you and me getting together?"

"No."

"Those aren't odds."

"Oh, you want gambling odds? Well, what's the longest bet you've ever seen? Double it, and you still haven't scratched those odds."

"Hell, I'll take that bet. Wouldn't be the first hundred to one that's paid off."

"Are you even listening to me? Or are you just looking in my shirt hoping you'll see skin you haven't seen yet?"

"Oh Hell, I'm just looking to kill some time. Anyway, just you wait. I grow on people."

"Yes, only yesterday I wanted you dead. Now I'm just generally cold to you. Perhaps next week we'll arrange the wedding and you'll meet my parents."

"Wouldn't be the first time."

"I sincerely hope you're pulling my leg. Otherwise, please pull over..."

"Settle down. We're nearing the city. Shit..."

Anebrilith was under attack. Hordes of zombies were gathering at the gates and hammering at the walls, and it was all the besieged defenders could do to try and stave them off by firing arrows from the walls and kicking down whatever stray ladder was managed to get propped up. Godhand wasted no time, quickly drawing his blade and leaping from the wagon.

He'd come to Anebrilith to look for leads. The trail on the Necrosition had run cold; if that poisoner hadn't been looking for him then Godhand never would have found him. Given that the port town was the most heavily populated city in Raieara, it seemed inevitable that someone there would know something about the fiends. That is, if one of them themselves wasn't leading this attack. In any case, if this raid managed to succeed then all his leads would die and then come back to life as servants of Xem'Zund. He'd taken out half of the Necrosition and that was a start, but he knew there was no chance in Hell of him getting paid unless he vanquished the lot of them. He had to move quickly or else the entire Goddamn trip would be for nothing.

The warrior was a steely blur as he burst from the wagon and raced towards the marauding zombies, his Muramasa at his side. Before the first rank of the slow-witted undead could react, he'd already sliced them in half while running past them. The sound of metal blazingly slashing through bone and sinew reverberated through the battlefield as Godhand carried on, never ceasing or pausing as he cut a bloody swath through the Necromancer's ranks. There were a lot of them, but he knew that as long as he didn't stand still their addled brains wouldn't be able to register his presence long enough for them to swarm him. Still, he knew he couldn't do it forever. Eventually he was going to get tired, and then they'd stampede all over him like the ravenous swine they were. He knew he couldn't count on the elves to help him out either, beyond the occasional stray arrow taking one of the undead down. They were far too afraid to let themselves become vulnerable by sending out troops. His only hope was to shock and awe the raiders enough to scare them away.

"Never gets easier does it?" The huntress muttered as she lifted up her bow and shouldered her quiver. Immediately she was off firing arrows until her quiver was empty, each one picking off one of the zombies close enough to actually harm Godhand, and while he was making a valiant effort of swinging through the cluster of zombies. Still it wasn't enough to cleave through the army, more had to happen, and soon, or the city would be lost.

Immediately her eyes took on the familiar blue tinge as she casually brushed a stray strand of black hair from her face. Her eyes scanned the army as she began to prioritize targets. She would have to work fast or it would all be for nothing. Spotting the densest concentration of magical force she immediately dropped her bow and rushed into the fray. She couldn’t reach that group of robed sorcerers on her own, but she knew someone who could.

Her only good sword was drawn she went in cleaving as she sought to bash the undead out of her path. It took her awhile to actually reach the titan of a man, but as she fought to get back to back with him she found her work load lighten considerably. Making her way beside Godhand she grumbled before she spoke up, "I need your help, this isn't accomplishing anything but being annoying. We need to get over another fifty feet to the right..."

Godhand nodded slowly as she took a brief second to point. She could potentially break him free to start heading in that direction, but the option she would be left with wouldn't be good for the rest of the day. She had her stone charged with anti-magic so she could survive for a few moments alone, but then Godhand would be gone, and she'd be swarmed. The only hope however, was taking out that cluster of necromancers, before they overwhelmed this portion of the wall. Figuring it was something she would have to do, she took a brief moment to pull out a stone before she said, "When this goes off, run for that cluster fuck of robes and hit it for all you got."

Holding the stone tightly against the pommel of her sword she began to swing it about in an arc before she cut a brief amount of breathing room for herself. Immediately she focused her will towards the stone, which in turn poked the rather volatile mixture of energies. Immediately a wash of white light flew across the field around them, causing the zombies in the immediate area to fall tot he ground lifeless and useless to the cause. She quickly turned and pointed once more at the men before she hissed, "Make your break for it!"

Godhand was busy swatting away the slavering maws of the undead when his drow partner finally managed to reach him. She had a rather useful ability; to see whatever person was using magic in the near vicinity. Normally it wouldn't amount to much, but given that practically everyone in Xem'Zund's army was either a zombie, general or lesser necromancer it came in pretty handy. She knew right away who was pulling the strings. Godhand dove forward and grabbed a zombie by the legs, quickly using him as a makeshift club to clear some room for himself. Now he had to watch out for her, too. He was tough enough that merely tensing up was enough to send a couple of undead reeling backwards, but if just one of the creatures managed to latch on to her throat then it was over. And as rough as she was, he wasn't sure how he'd feel about having that on his conscience.

The ligaments in the abomination's ankles finally gave away under the stress exerted and everything but his feet was sent spiraling into the ravenous undead horde. Just as the swordsman was about to grab another one, however, Drusilia pointed towards the direction of the necromancers. They were all huddled together; it was an old technique that allowed them to pool their magic and thereby increase the range and strength of their spells, but the tradeoff was that it left them extremely vulnerable to someone like Godhand. The mercenary smiled and charged towards their location, intent on slaying the miserable swine. He knew he had to be quick about it, too. The drow's anti-magic had cleared him a path but it had exhausted her and left her vulnerable to the fast approaching undead. He had to reach them before they reached her.

When he gaged his distance to be about right, he leapt off the ground and soared through their air towards the necromancers. His arms were stretched out to his sides and his head was pointed forward like a battering ram; he was a cannonball in a trenchcoat. He hit them at breakneck speeds, noticeably so since his arms practically decapitated the mages they made contact with. His head impacted with one of their chest's and the man practically burst apart at the seams thanks to the strength of the blow. Their bodies couldn't halt him, however, and when he made contact with the ground at the speed he was going the sky shook and the earth split. A huge plume of debris shot up into the air, and in the confusion the swordsman quickly got back to his feet and vivisected the remaining necromancers with a single swing of his deadly blade. They were all dead before the dust even cleared.

As soon as their puppetmasters were slain the remaining undead quickly seized up and fell to the ground, dying for the second and final time. Godhand breezily walked over to Drusilia and offered his hand, helping her up to her feet. Then, straightening out his coat and patting down his shirt to dissipate the more obvious wrinkles, he walked over to the port city's tightly sealed gates and knocked.

It was funny watching how an undead army operated. One second everything was fine, the next a surgical strike that hit one of the nerves, collapsed an entire flank. As the section of the city saw relief in the form of a sudden drop of the attack, its resources were deftly rerouted to the weakening portions elsewhere, and the resurgence of defense saw the General of the undead forces pull back, rather than commit troops into one of the worst meat grinders possible, one in which all the meat was from his own side.

Drusilia graciously accepted the hand from the mercenary before she too dusted herself off. Picking up her sword she quickly wiped it off on the uniforms of the dead, now a ragged parody of their former glory. Her eyes still carried that twinge of blue light as she observed the army leave, and began to walk towards the gates after the white haired man muttering, "If you were all dead, I might be happy for once..."

The knock on the gates was rather comical, until the booming that rang through the wall echoed the rather strong knock. The Huntress had come to expect such grandiose things out of the mercenary. Still it seemed to rattle a few guards who even then appeared on the parapets of the wall, aiming bows down on the two. Drusilia raised an eyebrow before she shouted up, "Really? You're going to threaten to kill us with those? If we were undead it wouldn't matter anyways, and if we were alive you'd only be adding more cannon fodder to Xem'zund's army."

"What are your names and what is your purpose here?" One of the guards shouted. Drusilia could tell he was perhaps the highest ranking among them, since he had a rather ornate armor. From what she could tell it glowed stronger than most, perhaps a contingency in the event of his eventual death. She sighed before rubbing the bridge of her nose irritably.

"Fucking elves and their distrust," She muttered, then rose her eyes up to meet him, "I am Drusilia Liadon, former member of the Mage Hunters of Ettermire under Queen Valsharess may she rest in peace! I do not speak for my compatriot, but I come for a restocking of basic supplies and perhaps rest for a night or two before moving along."

She then turned to Godhand before she said, “Well, your turn.”

The warrior waited patiently, arms crossed behind his back, for the gate to open. Instead, they were greeted by the suspicious shout of an elven commander and the sound of several dozen bowstrings being pulled back. Godhand looked at his drow companion, then up at the guards, then at Drusilia again. Jesus, they'd just saved their ungrateful aryan asses and now they were looking down the business end of about a hundred crossbows. He let out a short breath before quickly leaping high into the air and landing easily on the parapets. The soldiers guarding the wall scrambled backwards and leveled their weapons at him, occasionally sending hesitant sidelong glances at their commanding officer to confirm wether or not they should attack. His blade was sheathed, after all. The man in charge identified himself by raising his hand to keep his men from shooting, sending a wary glare to the silver-haired before resuming his interrogation.

"That's very impressive, but it doesn't quite answer my question."

Godhand sucked in a chilly Raiearean breath shortly before buttoning up his trenchcoat. Afterwards he gave a quick sniff to clear his sinuses and smiled at the elf. He was wearing ridiculous suit of armor; it looked liked it had been lined with gold and beared a ridiculously overwrought mural on the chestplate. It looked like some sort of God giving the sun to a pointy-eared figure as he kneeled squarely on top of the back of a human, who himself was being held up by a pyramid of doubtlessly 'lesser' races. All in all, it was just a tacky depiction of where elves thought they stood in the world. The master race. It would have been much more imposing had Godhand not just finished fighting their battle for them.

"I'm here to find what's left of the Necrosition."

There was a quiet murmur among the ranks and the general spun backwards and hissed to shut them up. After that display, he turned back to their guest and limited himself to raising an eyebrow in suspicion. Godhand chuckled.

"Unclench your asses, fellas'. I already took out half of them."

Talk erupted among the soldiers, and even though the commander hissed again it was to no avail. Finally, he stomped his foot and yelled for silence. He measured up the mercenary before asking one final question.

"Are you him?"

"Apparently."

"...I thought you'd be taller."

The commander looked over to his second-in-command and nodded. The lieutenant pushed himself a path through the assembled crowd and yelled for them to open the gate. Cheers erupted from the crowd and this time the general didn't try to stop them. Godhand flipped off the parapet and landed in a crouch next the the mage hunter.

"Let's get the wagon."

It had taken them an hour to get the wagon and put it somewhere safe in the city. While they had walked through the situation looked far worse than normal. It seemed every able man and woman had been forced into armor and given some kind of weapon. Some had swords and shields, others had bows, but all were wearing a look that spoke volumes. They were as green as the Alerian grass. These people were conscripts fighting before they could leave on one of the highly overpriced boats.

The looks that followed her and Godhand as they marched through the streets were desperate. They saw two warriors, evident from the weaponry they carried in a nonchalant fashion. Surely these two would take the place of the conscripts and allow them a chance to say their prayers to the gods in the hopes they would end the threat once and for all. Of course, Drusilia didn't have the heart to actually tell them she didn't care. Or perhaps it was the fact that her incensed anger at the treatment they got for collapsing a flank had resulted in her nearly becoming a quiver for arrows.

They moved about the town as she deftly flicked a bit of hair from her eyes and looked at the old man, "I guess we sleep with the wagon, I wouldn't trust any of the inns, probably gouge our wallets and leaves us bone dry. That money might come in handy later..."

It was at that time the guards approached them and the leader, a woman in a more conservative armor. Her hair was a bright auburn that flowed down to her shoulders. It looked slightly mussed from the battle and she seemed to not particularly care about it as she steeled her courage. Her ice blue eyes looked upon the two travelers before she spoke, "I am Sergeant Arith of the guard; I was assigned as your personal liaison from the Elvin guard of Anebrilith. If you require anything just ask-"

"I require you to shut your mouth before you compound my headache," Drusilia snapped as she rubbed her temple. The encounter outside had left a rather foul taste in her mouth, and she still had not properly recovered from the fight against Darren Warson and Aegon Warsmith. The magic was almost overwhelming in the area, and the result was a minor migraine that made Drusilia begin to snap when she heard the falsely cheerful voice of the elf.

She gave the woman a rather dirty glare before she shouldered her pack slightly higher on her shoulder and continued to move through the crowd muttering about how she hated elves. Perhaps it was the emotional outburst from the Drow, and perhaps it was the rather hostile vibe she gave off, but people parted before her, not risking a strike from her barbed tongue. While she moved off the young Sergeant sighed before she looked at the weathered mercenary, "Is she always like this?"

"Not at all. I think she likes you."

Godhand reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a cigarette, waving away the sergeant's offer to light it.

"It's just a mental thing. I'm actually trying to cut back. So, what's going on in the city?"

The sergeant rubbed her eyes with her thumb and forefinger, releasing an exasperated sigh. She was a pretty little thing. Long red hair, mesmerizingly blue eyes and all the delicate, perfect features you'd expect from a high blooded elf. He was sure that must have annoyed the other races that had to deal with them when trading. Whoever heard of an ugly elf? Godhand had been in the country for barely a week and already he was sporting new lines on his face, meanwhile this broad had been weathering constant assaults for the better part of a year and all she had to show for it was slightly ruffled hair and a bit of red under her eyes.

"It's...It's not looking good. We're the last truly free city in Raieaera, and thus Xem'Zund's focusing his attack on us. The evacuation is going about as well as we could hope, but there just aren't enough ships. Refugees are pouring in from all corners of the country faster than we can ship them out. Add on top of that that most of the new refugees are crippled or hapless aristocrats, and we don't even have enough people to guard the city. We were dangerously close to being breached before you rendered your assistance. Thank you, by the way."

"Don't worry about it. I had to get into the city anyway."

The elf smirked. The mercenary smirked right back. Maybe she had been moved by his immense selflessness and was about to profess her undying loved for him.

"I've heard stories about you, you know."

"Oh?"

"Indeed. They say you might even be a match for Derris Warson."

"Oh, he's dead."

"Wh-...What?"

"Yeah, he caught up with me about one town ago. He and the Necrosition's poisoner. They had to go."

Her lower lip trembled, and then all of a sudden she fell to her knees and clasped the swordsman's hands with her own, refusing to meet his gaze and pressing her forehead to the top of his hands. Her underlings quickly followed suit and fell to one knee in deference to Godhand, though not without sending some unsure glances towards each other. They were beginning to cause a scene, and Godhand wasn't quite sure what to think. Maybe she was going to confess her love?

"I...I never truly believed the stories until now. Please, sir knight! You must remain here and help us fight off the horde!"

"Knight? What? Listen, miss..."

"Call me Verryna."

"Verryna. I'm only here looking for leads; I'm not doing this out of the goodness of my heart. Your country took out a contract on the Necrosition and now I'm taking care of it. I have a list."

The elf raised her head, her smoldering blue eyes gazing intently into the swordsman's own. Jesus, she was intense.

"I know for a fact that Warson wasn't on your list!"

"He got in the way. He had to go."

The sergeant seemed like she was about to make a rebuttal, but her mouth didn't produce the words. Instead, she clenched her jaw intently and got back to her feet.

"If this is your wish, fine. But before you make a decision, please...Let me show you this city."

Godhand sighed, hesitating for a moment before finally nodding.

She eventually found herself in the market area of this accursed town. It was obvious that it had mostly been converted into some kind of supply outpost. People moved about quickly, and where before stalls might have held foodstuffs or wares that had no militaristic use, in their wake of leaving, was replaced by arms and armor. Shaking her head to try and clear it of the headache that assaulted her poor mind she moved through the area, until she finally saw what she was looking for.

There was a stall that held leather armor, which she quickly moved up to. The fighting outside and the fact she had been forced to leave the leather armor back in the last town had cemented her need for such things. Moving up to the small stand she sighed, before moving slowly through it. The shop keeper seemed to raise an eyebrow as she moved deliberately. When the man attempted to talk to her she gave him a harsh stare, silencing any protest or attempt to make a sale.

Moving through the wares slowly yet deliberately she once more pulled upon her ability to see the winds of magic about her. More than a few leather armors had an enchantment, and she was more than certain it was merely some kind of status charm. Clucking her tongue in distaste she was about to leave before she looked upon one last set of armor. The first thing that made it desirable was that it was actually made for a woman. While a necessity she had seen other such armors, and had dismissed them just as quickly.

What truly made it desirable was it was naturally dark leather, which allowed for her to move about in low light conditions better than most. Straps crossed over a few areas of the armor which allowed it to remain tight against the skin, and in turn allow her arms and legs to move fluidly. It would only cover her chest and back, which meant her legs and arms were still in danger, but it was preferable to getting gutted by a hungry ghoul.

Looking at the shop keep she lifted the chest plate from its resting place before she asked bluntly, "How much?"

"That? Six hundred gold and not a copper less," The keep said his tone spartan and clipped.

"I'm sorry I thought I heard you say six hundred for a piece of leather not even enchanted with some charm meant to fool someone into thinking its worth the price," The Huntress snapped as she dropped it down on the counter before the man. He raised an eyebrow as she met the gaze coolly before he sat in the chair.

"So you know a little magic, okay. Six hundred was for the ability for a commander to tell the status of his troops, but that one obviously isn't enchanted as such. How about three hundred?"

"For dark leather? It better be made of something other than cowhide," She replied sternly.

"Drive a hard bargain there Miss. Let me tell you, that's actually not cow hide, it’s more of an Arctic beast hide. We tanned it, so it’s lost the hair, but the dying and chemical processes made it darker. It’s great for scouting, but I can't let it go for less than two hundred."

Drusilia gritted her teeth as she sighed looking down upon the plates. She figured it would be at least worth a good amount less, after all she was from a land who got Salvarian goods cheap, but this was a war zone, and he had to make a living somehow. In the end she fished out her coin purse before she said rather venomously, "I swear, if this turns out to be lest than Artic Beast hide, I will hunt you down and take every gold coin you screwed me out of from your hide."

The merchant gave her a lazy smile before he said, "Pleasure doing business with you ma'am."