Wandering Shadow

[Seralcard]

Completed!

Tears of the Sky

Dark rain fell in drenching sheets, cooling the cracked stone streets and slamming into the doors of every crumbling home, all closed to hold back the storm. All but one. What survived of the battered door were merely bits of wood that managed to cling to its mangled hinges. Ragged shards of glass remained in the windows, giving the house a haunted eyeless gaze. Frightened cries seeped out onto the road but the steady drone of the rain worked to swallow every other sound. Thunder ruled the night, its roar rolling over the land, the cries falling silent as if cowed in its wake.

Rain splashed through the shattered window and cast a mist into the darkness of the room, venturing into the chamber’s depths to dance among the shadows. A simple table lay overturned in the middle of the room, encircled by chairs smashed to kindling. Broken white porcelain plates were strewn across the wooden floor, the last remnants of dinner. A man was sprawled out on the ground, the upper half of his body hidden from view by the table, a dark pool spreading beneath him. In the far corner was a pretty blonde haired girl, no more than twenty, lying back against the wall. Her throat glistened darkly. Her eyes closed, the front of her torn pale green dress was stained with scarlet.

Clad all in black with a red sash at his waist Seralcard watched over the scene. His jeweled eyes of ruby and sapphire gleamed softly in the gloom as he peered out from beneath his hood, a crimson veil masking the lower half of his face. Red droplets fell from the obsidian claws of his gauntlets to mingle with the water soaking into the wood beneath his feet. Booted footsteps from the hall took his attention away from his victims and he centered on the familiar man who framed the empty doorway. A youthful fair skinned elf with angular features and slightly pointed ears. He had shoulder length hair that was white with hints of grey, a red bandana across his forehead, and dark patches under his eyes as though he didn’t get much sleep. He wore a tight grey armor-like shirt and matching loose fitting pants, with two dark belts and a very long black coat. Altair flashed an amused smile, “If you’re done having fun here we should get going.”

[Seralcard]

In this world there was one truth, one law held to man and beast, whether from the passage of time, the edge of a blade, or from him… Death comes to everyone, eventually. Seralcard opened his eyes and caught a glimpse of the clear starlit sky through the forest canopy above, lying upon a bed of soft emerald grass within a small grove, hidden from view of the road. He stood slowly, the last of his dream fading away as he woke. The dark steel plate guards that protected his forearms and shins caught the faint light trickling through the forest as he moved. Raising his hand, he reached out to the tree whose wide lush branches he had slept beneath, raking his claws across the bark as a proof that he had lived another day. Then he turned to peer out of the tree line.

Off in the distance, beyond the gently sloping green hills, scattered lights glistened over a wall that rose from the earth. The city of Scara Brae, that was what he heard it called, a place of light and of laws. He was hesitant to leave the forest at all, where there were laws there would be men to uphold them, and he was a stranger in this land yet. He did not know the guises of his enemies or dens that would offer him safety, but what other choice was there? He would never enter the city unseen after sunrise. His stomach growled to him insistently, ending the internal debate with a commanding finality. He was out of coin and the forest perils were more than what a decent meal was worth.

Breaking from his woodland cover Seralcard dashed across the rolling plains between him and the city, his soft boots barely whispering against the grass underfoot. He ran low and moved swiftly, his path guided by the starlight flowing down from the heavens, crouching as he reached the base of the stone wall. Leaping up, taking two running steps across the wall’s surface, he gained the height to catch the ledge above and smoothly pulled himself up.

Perching at the very edge he studied the narrow cobble stone road below. A torch burned brightly in an ironwork brazier off to his right as he sat just beyond the very edge of the pool of light it cast. There were many such torches, spaced at regular points along the rampart, illuminating the night but leaving deep shadows in the spaces between them. The stonework buildings he saw across the road, simple yet elegant in their design, almost reminded him of his home. Scara Brae and its people slept, the windows before him all darkened, save those on a two story structure at the end of the street to his left. Murmurs of music crept out from the first floor to the foreigner’s ears as if in invitation.

A tavern? He hopped down and landed on his feet softly. The street was empty save for him, but the shadows were always safer. From where he stood he couldn’t see the entrance to the building; that lay around the corner out of sight. However he did see an alley that passed behind it. This was where he headed.

So narrow that barely two men could walk through abreast the alley was darker still than the street itself. Seralcard picked his way through carefully as his eyes slowly adjusted to the aphotic path. There were no windows on the wall to his right but to his left the tavern boasted several shaded glass portals. One among them open to let in the cool night breeze. Using the metal claws at his fingertips he found small clefts at the seams of the stones and used them to scale his way to the second story. A faint clink sounded each time he grasped a higher block. He moved with great caution and little speed so as not to wake whoever slept above. As he reached the sill he pulled himself up to peer into the ebon room.

Sparsely furnished, there was a single bed resting against the wall opposite him, its coverings folded neatly, a small wooden writing desk and chair in the right corner. With a fluid move he vaulted into the modest bedchamber and took note of the door to his left, just at the foot of the bed. As he turned to the desk he heard someone walking in the hall behind him, a man humming merrily as he drew ever closer. Seralcard retreated quickly, pressing his back flush against the wall beside the door, hearing a key fumbling at the lock. His heart began to race as the door opened, those few inches of aged wood now the only things that separated him from the man entering on the other side. The man tossed a small pouch onto the bed, the coins held within clinking together, before he closed the door. He never bothered to look into the corner where Seralcard hid.

A middle aged man with short sandy brown hair dressed in the brown woolens of a traveler, the stranger laughed lightly and shook his head, “Two hundred coins, this was one lucky night.”

Not anymore. The assassin rushed the man’s back while his guard was still down, placing his left gauntlet over the startled victim’s mouth and pulling the man’s head back, bringing his other claws around to tear into the exposed flesh of the stranger’s neck and savagely ripping away his throat to spray blood over the bed and wall before them. The man’s cries were muffled terrified gasps for air mixed with pained whimpering as Seralcard wrapped his right arm around his bloodied neck. He pulled hard, lifting the victim up slightly so his thrashing feet did not touch the ground. He held the man for several long moments of frantic silent tension, soaking his black sleeve in crimson, until his prey struggled no more.

[Seralcard]

Patrons packed the tables at the Golden Lark tavern, eating and drinking as they enjoyed the song of a beautiful elvin minstrel. She wore a blue dress, her raven hair running down her back, her eyes a lustrous green. Her slender fingers deftly plucked the strings of her silver harp and she sang in the graceful lilting language of her home. Her voice was something everyone could enjoy, even if half of them didn’t understand any of the words, “Are you going to ogle the lass all night or are you going to cast the damn dice?”

Patrick, a young traveler in a well made brown tunic with short blonde hair, laughed as he turned to the gruff annoyed man seated at his left, “You’re just mad that Stephen cleaned you out.”

“Damn right I’m mad.” The larger man scratched at his dark scraggly beard with a frown, his elbow nudging against the hilt of his broadsword where it rested in the sheath at his hip. The man’s white linen shirt was open at the collar, showing off the hair on his barrel chest. An off duty watchmen, he was a towering muscular figure in contrast to Patrick’s leanness, though none of that fearsome demeanor helped his luck in dice, and his frustration was beginning to shine through, “Taking a man’s hard earned money and then ‘calling it a night’ before he’s had a chance to win it back, it’s not right I tell you.”

The other two men seated at the table joined in the laughter. They were friends of Temault, but Patrick had never met either of them before. As all their eyes went to the tavern door Patrick turned to see what grabbed their attention. Wearing a green vest over his white shirt with matching deep green slacks, a red haired man with an ornate silver long sword strode over to the table with a confident smile. His perfectly trimmed beard and neat clothes provided the perfect counterpoint to Temault’s unkempt look. As he reached the group he looked down to his big comrade and arched an eyebrow, “What happened here?”

Temault shook his head tight lipped, the big man looking hilariously sullen from where Patrick sat. The traveler smiled, “My brother happened Avery; we’re going to have a nice night on the town tomorrow thanks to Temault here.”

The seated watchman shot a sidelong glare to the young man, muttering under his breath, and Avery just shook his head in amusement as he patted his friend on the shoulder, “Don’t worry about it Tem, drinks are on me tonight.” He gave Patrick a wry smile, “And you, don’t think you and Stephen are going to get off easy here.” He snatched the dice away with a laugh, “Tell your thieving brother to get his ass back down here, Avery’s come to take his money like he did last night.”

“We’ll just have to see about that.” Patrick grinned as he stood while Avery took a seat. He headed away from the table to the stairs at the back of the room, the sound of the conversation lost in the din of the tavern. He turned right at the landing, heading to his brother’s room at the end of the hall. Putting a hand to the knob he turned it, but the door didn’t give at all. Locked from the inside. He rolled his eyes as he rapped his knuckles against the wood, “Stephen, I know you haven’t gone to sleep already, you’re not that old yet.” He snickered to himself, “Well not quite. Come on Avery just got off his shift and he’s asking for you. You should see the look on Temault’s face too.”

Back towards the stairs one of the doors opened, an attractive blonde in a white dress leaving her room. As she caught him looking her over she smiled shyly while she closed the door behind her and suddenly the urge to stand around waiting for his brother to wipe the sleep from his eyes lost all of its appeal. He knocked harder, leaning into the door so his voice could be heard better on the other side, “Oh come on now, Stephen let’s go, I’m not going to—“ with a loud crack an onyx hand erupted from the door, blasting splinters of wood out into the hall. Its claws pierced Patrick’s chest with a wet snap, ripping through his sternum and into his lungs. He gasped as he was overwhelmed by the searing pain. He wanted to cry out, but only a stream of blood escaped his lips as the claws abruptly pulled away and disappeared into the shadows beyond the door. His vision blurred, the world turning as he felt a rush of motion. From a great distance he heard a frightened shriek, and then he heard no more.

**

Avery leaned back in his chair with a rueful grin, “My shifts are getting later and later, honestly I might start looking for another line of work soon.”

Taking a long pull of his ale Temault wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked across the table, “That’d be the day, you’ll never be leaving the watchmen; it’s in your blood man.”

A blood curdling scream came from the stairs at the back of the room. The shocked silence that immediately fell over the crowd was broken by a loud thump as something heavy hit the ground on the floor above. The two watchmen were on their feet before the surprise had even settled in for most of the patrons. Avery led the way at a dead run, storming up the stairs as he drew his blade. A woman in white at the head of the steps was covering her mouth with both hands, face ghostly pale with fear as she stared down the hall. He followed her eyes to a grisly discovery. A deep breathless voice gasped behind him, “Patrick?!” Temault rushed to the side of the young man who now lay flat on his back, convulsing weakly in a widening scarlet pool before the broken door to his brother’s room.

Avery made his way to the door, silver blade in hand, and tested the knob to no avail. He looked back to Patrick but the boy’s body was perfectly still, the angry look on Temault’s face telling him what he already knew. The massive man growled under his breath, standing to the full seven feet of his height as he drew his broadsword. He smashed his boot against the door, ripping the lock bolt out of the wall as the passage flew open. Both men rushed in, prepared to deal death to whom or whatever was responsible, but all they found was another friend and victim lying face down on the cold floor boards.

Feeling the cool breeze coming in from outside Avery rushed to the window and looked down to the alley below. He could see nothing there in the darkness, but claw marks ran straight down the side of the wall as the only clue to the murderer’s escape. He turned back to his partner, steeling himself against the sadness he felt in his heart. As he left the room with Temault in tow he raised his voice to be heard downstairs, “We can't let this monster escape, sound the alarm!”

[Seralcard]

A shadow raced from one narrow alley to another, crossing the sleeping city in a mad dash, a specter that flitted through the torchlight of the street for only a few brief moments at a time. Seralcard’s soft boots whispered over the cobblestones as he ran from one shadowed path to the next, unsure of where to go. Every door he saw was locked, every window closed. He could try to hide in one of the homes but then he could easily trap himself or shed more blood and fuel the anger of his hunters.

Loud clangs rang out behind him, urging his steps ever faster. They dared him to slow down as everyone who could hear was warned of his presence. He stopped at the mouth of a backstreet that opened into a torch lit square, dominated by a fountain sculpture of some hero long past. A man wearing plate armor, holding his blade to the sky in triumph, it mocked the assassin’s plight. By day merchants and commoners would gather in such a place, but tonight it would be a death trap if he could think of nothing quickly.

He stopped at the edge of the light for a respite to catch his breath and gather his thoughts. The gates would be closing now, the alarms flying across the city faster than he could ever hope to run. He was lost in this strange town, pursued by tenacious warriors. He could have gone the other way, climbed back over the wall to flee into the trees. He could have just taken his chances in the harsh wilderness. Perhaps he should have, but that point was mute now.

A howl rose into the night, somewhere not far behind, joined swiftly by another. Hounds?! Eyes widening he ran out into the stark light of the yard. Stealth forgotten he simply moved as fast as he could to reach the safety of the shadows beyond. His few options began to steadily bleed away. All he knew was that he headed roughly east, but there was little such knowledge would do for him now. Behind him the two howls grew louder, more insistent. They had caught his scent on the wind; his clothes and weapons stained with too much blood to try to mask it.

The back paths tapered off, homes built flush together or too far apart to afford him a semblance of protection, and soon he stood alone in a well lit street. He had to move on, to stay ahead. His eyes searched frantically for something that could help until finally an alley presented itself and he bolted into its shadow. A wall greeted him at the end of the narrow path, dashing his short lived relief like the tide against a sheer cliff face. It was a dead end, one with no doors to escape to, no windows that he could see, and three stories of wall too smooth for him to climb.

As he sighed a rhythmic beat of padded steps grew louder and picked up its pace behind him. Whipping around he saw a dog almost as large as a grown man bounding after him, growling viciously. He swung with his right as the beast pounced, catching the animal across the neck and face, ripping away flesh and dark fur, but before it had even hit the ground a second hound leapt over it. He raised his arms to defend himself but was still tackled to the ground roughly. Feral yellow eyes looked down to him in anger, glistening with fangs clamping shut onto the plates protecting his forearm as it shook him, trying to tear away his armor. The snarling beast’s saliva trailed rivulets through the dried blood on Seralcard’s gauntlet.

He could barely move with the creature’s whole weight laid upon his chest, his left arm trapped against him awkwardly, and pull as he might the dog’s jaws were an iron vice. He shifted beneath its crushing burden, pushing the animal back just enough to snake his arm free. Bringing up left hand he grabbed it by the face, mercilessly driving two of his claws through its eyes and deep into its skull. The dog convulsed briefly in pain, giving a strangled yelp, before falling still. Seralcard pulled his gore drenched fingers from the creature and rolled it off. Even in its death he still needed to pry its jaws open to free his arm.

His breathing labored, sweat upon his brow, Seralcard entered the street and began his escape anew. The heavy metallic footfalls of armored men could be heard not far behind and ahead were the sounds of other groups giving chase. He leaned his back against a wall. The fight leaving him in his exhaustion he wondered whether he would prefer a lonely quick death in the street to one that came after years of imprisonment.

The assassin tensed as a hushed call came from the doorway of a small unassuming house across the street, “Hey!” looking up he saw a balding man in a black tunic waving him over impatiently, “Come on damnit, they’re almost right on top of us.” Seralcard pushed his surprise down, doing as he was told, and followed the man into a dark room. As the door was closed behind him he looked about the small area. A couch against the wall at the far side, a large table at the center of the room whose details were obscured in shadow, nothing of interest at all… The man tapped him on the shoulder, shaking his head, “It’s not safe up here.” The stranger brushed past, pushing the table aside a few feet and then kneeling on the ground. His fingers quickly found a seam in the floorboards Seralcard didn’t catch, pulling up the trap door to reveal stairs leading below. The man gestured for him to hurry, the sounds of the watchmen coming from almost right outside. Wordlessly, the assassin complied.

**

Heavy black lacquered armor glared in the shifting firelight, his great brown beard braided with black silken cords bearing orange scrollwork, the helmless dwarf Neruuk led a squad of torch baring watchmen storming down the empty street. He and the five steel armored humans who followed passed quiet homes as tired denizens peered from shaded windows. Worried citizens, they tried to learn the source of the noise that had broken their slumber at this late hour. Gaze shifting from one shadow to the next, his eyes gleamed like burnished gold under his thick eyebrows, wary of the slightest sudden movement. But it never came.

Uneasiness settled over him. Terlon and Falor, loyal hounds they were, were silent for too long. The half-wolves should have caught up to the murderer by now… He raised his left hand and slowed to a cautious walk, his gruff voice hushed as he spoke, “Easy lads, hold your weapons fast, this monster be lurking close by.”

His grip tightened upon Strafalgar, an ebony war hammer passed down from his father and his father before him, its dark surface worked masterfully with proud silver runes. On one side was a cruel spike, on the other there was a circular indent that left a raised point at each of the four corners. It was a weapon he had used to crush man and monster alike in the past. Now, whatever it was he chased this night, would be no different.

Coming around the next bend he stepped onto the street where he had last heard the howls of his companions. At the other end a group of seven guardsmen in suits of iron warily marched his way. He cursed under his breath in his native tongue as the leader of the other unit shook his head, bemused. It hadn’t passed this way. Fresh dark stains on the stones ahead caught his eye, leading into a shadowed alley.

Neruuk took a torch from one of his men and headed in to the narrow path between buildings, the only place he saw to hide. Holding the fiery rod out to light the way he entered cautiously. A trail of blood led further and further in as he stepped forward with his weapon at the ready, one of his men filing in behind him. And soon he began to hear a faint whimpering.

Neruuk hurried forward, the blaze revealing two black furred creatures lying only feet from a dead end, the walls splattered with scarlet, “No…” Dropping his hammer to the ground with a loud clang the dwarf rushed over, kneeling in the growing pool with a heavy heart and worry filled eyes. Terlon lay perfectly still, blood oozing from his eyes. Falor moaned weakly, her fur matted around a wound across the side of her neck and face, it was bad but at least it was not fatal.

“…Sir?” Samuel called hesitantly.

Visibly calming himself the dwarf looked about the alley, the walls around him sheer and high, “Must’ve cornered it here.” He said quietly before shaking his head and speaking in a firmer tone, “Tell the others to spread out. We be looking for open doors or broken windows.” He gritted his teeth, “This beast did no just vanish.”

[Seralcard]

Descending steep grey steps into the hidden lower level, Seralcard was greeted at the bottom by a muscular man. Head and shoulders taller than himself, the guardian stood before a heavy reinforced door. He wore a mix of leather and iron armor, wielding a double edged steel battle axe in one hand. Dark of hair and eye, the enforcer looked the assassin up and down for a silent moment, his stoic expression never changing he pushed the door open to let Seralcard through. The assassin merely stood where he was, his hands almost trembled with the effort it took not to attack the other man. But he let it go for now and walked through.

He entered a small but lavish room, various weapons and pieces of armor lined ordered racks against the walls; books, potions, and curios, all very neatly assembled along their own racks. A fiery phoenix was painted into the smooth floor, directly ahead of a polished oak desk that sat at the end of the room across from Seralcard. At either side was a strong arm in armor, though these men bore full-plate suits of fine steel, with matching sheathed blades at their sides. Everything within this chamber was of far higher quality than anything found on the level above… or maybe that floor was only so downtrodden to mask the presence of this one. It was a clever ruse.

Behind the desk was a man in fine blue garments worked in white lace, the kind of thing that a minor lord might wear. The man’s long silver hair was held in a tail that reached to the small of his back, swaying as he finally turned to see the assassin. He was dark of skin with gaunt angular features, a trimmed silver mustache and beard, stark red eyes, and pointed ears. The man was surely an elf, but one unlike any Seralcard had ever seen.

The elf smiled, inclining his head slightly. His voice was coarse in its sound but smoothly charismatic in its tone, laced with an accent he couldn’t quite place, “You are either an Outlander or a bumbling idiot. I’d like to think better of you, and call you an idiot, but chances are you just are not from Scara Brae. I’ll have to assume that was the reason you were running on a direct path for one of the biggest guard houses in the city.” He chuckled, “I have to say I am slightly impressed, you would have thought there was a surprise goblin raid for all the commotion you caused. However,” He sighed, shaking his head, “I had business to conduct tonight and your little stunt has stirred the watch into a frenzy. Now my client won’t be coming, and that is going to cost me quite a lot of gold.” He stroked his beard pensively, “I suppose I could just have you pay me that money, but something tells me you are lacking in those kinds of funds. What to do with you indeed?” the door behind locked with a heavy metallic click, the armored men at either side easing their blades from their scabbards.

Slowly looking back over his shoulder Seralcard could see the other guard hefting his axe, waiting for one false move so he could cleave the assassin in two. He turned back to the dark elf, “What do you want?”

The man’s eyes widened in mock surprise, “He speaks! And here I thought you were a mute. You are right, there is something I would like, and if you complete this one simple task I will call our little debt settled. Why, I might even grant you a bit extra. How does that sound to you so far?” Seralcard glanced to the warriors flanking him before his eyes returned to the elf and he nodded his assent. The man grinned, “Splendid. You may call me Drakar, if the freak urge to break your silence ever occurs again. I am a… procurer of rare items, some of which are not looked upon well by the more rigid members of our fine land. Recently a wealthy human merchant by the name of Isaac Syla expressed interest in obtaining a cuirass made of Haidian Demonhide. As you can imagine it was quite difficult to obtain, but I am not without connections. I even offered to sell the piece for a mere fifty thousand gold.” His tone darkened, “Isaac was not satisfied with my offer. He is threatening to go to the authorities if I do not offer him the hide free of charge by week's end. I want to be very clear here stranger; no one threatens me and lives, not once, not ever. And that is where you come in. Kill this man for me and your debt is erased, his life for yours. I think that’s a fair trade, would you not agree?” Seralcard nodded. The strange land he had traveled to suddenly made a little more sense as he settled back into the familiar treacherous territory that had been his all his life, “Wonderful. The details will be provided for you tomorrow, for now you should eat and rest, you have a big night coming.”

With the soft whisper of steel sliding against leather the guards eased their swords back into their scabbards. The axeman lowered his weapon with a bare trace of disappointment on his features, but that could have been a trick of the light. Between a set of racks a piece of the wall slid to the side and the man in black who first lured him to this den stood on the other side, “Let’s go, I’ll show you the way.” With a last look to Drakar the assassin turned and followed the other man out of the room.

**

Kartoc watched the quiet man follow Lerras out, letting the blades of his axe rest on the floor and leaning with his hand atop the hilt, “Sure this is a good idea sir?” his voice was a deep rumble, “there’s something wrong with that one.”

Drakar smiled as he took his seat, propping his feet up on the desk, “It is perfect. If he succeeds I get to claim the victory as my own and if he fails he is not one of my men so he will not be traced back to me. It is poetry in action Kartoc, just sit back and listen for the next verse.”

[Seralcard]

The next day

No music played within the Golden Lark tavern, a somber shroud replacing its usual merriment. Most tables were empty even with the midday sun high in the sky, and those that weren’t held soldiers who spoke quietly of the ongoing investigation. In full scarlet mythril chainmail, a green cape flowing out behind him and his silver blade at his hip, Avery entered his favorite tavern in an official capacity for the first time. His eyes immediately fell to a young woman in white sitting alone at a table in the back corner. She stared listlessly at nothing at all, looking as though she hadn’t slept a wink.

Temault was already there waiting, decked out in platemail the same color as Avery’s, the hilt of his massive claymore rising above his left shoulder, replacing the broadsword that usually rested at his hip. His expression bleak he looked back to the girl, “Says she saw was a demon rip through the door and tear out Patrick’s heart.” He shook his head slowly, “It’s giving her nightmares I think. I feel for the girl, but in the state she’s in she can’t help us find this thing.”

The man nodded, placing a hand on his friend’s shoulder with a sigh, “I understand; it’s rough on everyone. I have to write letters to Patrick and Stephen’s family. No telling how long it will take to reach them in Salvar, what with the war.” He gave a small nod, “I’m going to head upstairs.” Walking across the room he climbed the back stairway, vividly remembering the night before.

Patrick’s body was gone now but the floor was still stained red. Small bits of wood remained scattered across the hall. It was an uncomfortable reminder, but one necessary to complete the initial investigation. He was greeted with a surprise at the door to Stephen’s room. A hooded woman in a pale grey cloak crouched low near the dried pool of blood within. Her vibrant green hair framed her fair features as she frowned in concentration. Mysera was a half breed, part human and part elf, one possessing a keen intellect. She was well versed in the schools of white and black magic, a gray mage as she called herself, and she was adept at detective work. Avery liked to ask for her help in solving some of his more difficult cases, but he hadn’t called her in for this. At least he hadn’t yet.

Violet eyes looked up to meet his with genuine sympathy, standing as he entered, “I’m so sorry about your friends. When word reached me I came as quickly as I could, Temault showed me up here this morning and I have been studying the scene since.”

“Can you tell me what you’ve learned?”

She bowed her head, taking on a pensive look for a moment before she decided to speak, “I cannot tell you what this creature is, but I can tell you what it is not. A demon, or any other kind of summon or mystical creature, would have left behind at least a faint trace of magic. There is none. The claw marks and the ferocity of the attacks suggest an animal but, while they do appear bestial to say the least, they are like nothing I have ever seen.” She bit her lower lip, “Temault suggested that it could have been a thief targeting your friend since he had won a good bit of gold pieces minutes before, and because that money was not found in the room after you discovered the brothers, but… I do not believe this is likely either, how could anyone have known ahead of time that Stephen would have a lucky game of dice?”

Avery frowned, “Well if it wasn’t a mystical creature or a thief, then what?”

Mysera shook her head, “I did not say this was not a thief; only that it was not going after Stephen specifically. When I had a look through the alley I noticed some strange markings on many of the stones leading up the wall, very small cuts at the top of each slab as if it climbed them to reach the window. The room would have been dark at the time, and it would have at least appeared vacant. I think who or whatever came here was looking to loot what it could, not to kill.” She grimaced, “But that is what most disturbs me.”

The man arched an eyebrow, “Care to explain?”

“Killing was completely unnecessary.” She gestured about the room, “There was no sign of a struggle, Stephen never cried for help that anyone could hear, and his worst bruising is around his mouth and throat, as though he were grabbed from behind. His attacker caught him completely by surprise and probably could have simply disabled him. Instead it chose the most vicious course of action. It gets even worse with Patrick I am afraid. While Stephen could have potentially saw it and he had money to steal Patrick posed no threat or reward, the creature gained absolutely nothing from killing him, it could have slipped away unnoticed. Essentially it alerted everyone, including the city guards, to its presence.”

“Are you saying this is some amateur?”

She shook her head, a chill warning in her tone, “No Avery. I am saying that it is unpredictable, dangerous, and I have no idea as to where or when it will strike next. However, I can tell you it will kill again; I can tell you this with absolute certainty.”

[Seralcard]

The moonlight cast its shimmering reflection over the surface of the ocean, a pearly stairway leading to the stars on the horizon. In the opposite direction was the dark form of a foreign land called Scara Brae, steadily growing larger as the ship crept ever closer. Waves lapped against the wooden hull, gently rocking the craft back and forth as the ocean breeze caught the sails and sang a peaceful lullaby, but the dozen men lying across the tenebrous deck would never wake again.

Seralcard’s breath was labored, he could barely stand and he held a hand to his right thigh, trying to stop the bleeding from a deep slash. Nearly glowing, Altair’s silver hair shone in the radiance of the starlight, his face obscured by shadow. Seralcard’s childhood friend clutched a black blade-barreled pistol in his right hand, raising the weapon to point at the assassin. He smiled, the white of his teeth the only feature that Seralcard could see, “Sorry brother. Nothing lasts forever.” He pulled the trigger.

[Seralcard]

Seralcard’s eyes crept open, focusing on the grey stone ceiling above him. He laid on a thin stiff mat in a small room that was little more than a cell in a bleak dungeon. Very little. He rose quietly to his feet, his chest and legs bare, save for a loin cloth and a black gauntlet he wore on his right hand. He clawed a set of groves on the wall beside him, marking his passage in the stone.

A small candle rested on a desk at the other side of the room, a little flame dancing upon the wick and casting a very soft light. The faint orange glow played across the man’s tanned hairless form as he crossed the room, detailing faded scars that crisscrossed his rippling muscles, a discolored circle on his chest just to the right of his heart. His clothes were draped over a wooden chair, set next to a now extinguished brazier so that they might dry. The rest of his armor was arrayed neatly on the floor around that same tiny furnace. In the corner sat a wash basin, its water tinted red, dotted with small dark bits of flesh.

As he pulled his chain armor on, the fine small links of cool iron fitting snugly over his frame, he looked to the door. Sturdy and thick and locked from the outside. He gave a lot of thought to the offer made in the night before. It would be easy to ignore Drakar and flee after he was set free. But then what? He rested his right hand lightly on his chest, over his freshest scar. He had nowhere else to go. First grabbing a piece of crimson cloth he carefully wrapped it around the lower part of his face, hiding his handsome youthful features once more. He took the rest of his clothes from the chair and finished dressing quickly, making a fist as he secured his left gauntlet last.

A key turned in the lock to his door with a resounding click, a knife edge of light cutting into the room from the well lit hall. Lerras waited on the other side, once again dressed in black, “It’s time to go. You ready?” the assassin offered a curt nod, though the other man turned away, unconvinced, “You’d better be, this ain’t gunna be easy.”

**

The night was clouded, the stars above hidden by a dark billowing blanket, an angry sky that threatened the earth with rain and thunder as if to boast of its own might. In this part of the city the homes were grand things, walled off from one another, defended by gates of wrought iron. Their aged ornate construction spoke of power and prosperity. Seralcard stood at the corner of an empty street, draped in shadow after he extinguished the nearest torches.

Beside him Lerras cleared his throat, “Remember, this is the manor district, some of Drakar’s best clients live here. No detours, no sightseeing.” He raised his hand and used his fingers to count off steps, “You go to Isaac’s home. You complete your mission. And then you get the hell out of here. Nothing more than that damnit, no one is supposed to see you here and if you get caught by the watch you’re on your own.” He looked over the assassin once more, perhaps weighing his chances, “Don’t go back to the hideout, Drakar keeps moving to keep the heat off. You live through this and we’ll find you. Good luck Outlander.” With that the other man walked away, fading into the night in the distance.

**

Rows upon rows of books filled the tall shelves of Isaac Syla’s library. Ancient texts and beautiful works of more modern literature, all arrayed neatly within the vast collection. Fresh logs of wood burned brightly in the fireplace, filling the room with their warmth and radiance, dancing across the single arching painted window and causing its blues, reds, and greens to shine.

It was a pleasing sight, or at least it would have been were the merchant looking. Sitting in a high backed cushioned chair, wearing a soft white cotton robe, and reading his favorite tome where it rested open in his lap. The Ruins of Faith. His face was clean shaven and his hair a steel grey. He readjusted his reading glasses with one hand, calling to his personal servant without looking up from the book, “Serran.”

A man in fine black livery, older than Isaac himself, stepped through the wide double doors behind his master’s chair and onto the plush blue carpet that filled the center of the room, “Your wish sir?”

The merchant lightly flipped to the next page, “I believe I would like a glass white wine from the cellar.”

Serran bowed, “Very good choice sir, I will return shortly. Is there anything else you would like?”

Isaac shook his head slowly, “No that will be all, thank you.” Turning on his heel Serran exited the room, leaving the merchant with only the company of his fine novel.

**

And another quiet night slowly ticked by. One like every night before. In a sleeveless leather cuirass, with bracers, leggings, and boots to match, Jona twirled his yew shortbow absently and looked up to the clouds. His dark hair was short, a small golden earring in his right ear. Boredom or bad weather? One of the two was the greatest hazard of his job, but sometimes he really couldn’t say which. Walking across the soft grass of the manor grounds, passing tall evergreens cropped neatly all around the square property, he patrolled the wall wishing to the gods that at least some thief would try to jump the barrier, “I wouldn’t even kick him out right away, I could use the conversation.” He grumbled aloud, frowning as he did. Talking to yourself was another symptom of extreme boredom, he’d never been through a storm that could do that. Boredom one, bad weather zero.

Then again, the mounting storm looked pretty bad. He glanced over at the three floored home to his left. Tall painted glass windows and elegant balconies adorned its second floor. Only the top guards got to spend most of their time inside, safe from whatever nature might throw their way, able to do as they pleased whenever they weren’t specifically needed. At least, that was what they liked to gloat to him. He shook his head, if Syla didn’t pay so well…

Something cold and hard grasped him by the back of the head painfully, “What?!” It drove him forward and off his feet as he called out in surprise, his face forced into the grass and dirt as he fell. This can’t be happening! he struggled under the strength of his attacker, unable to lift his head and barely able to breath. Daggers shredded into his back, digging deep into his flesh, and he cried out in agony, a scream muffled by the grass. He could feel fingers wrapping around his spine, sending bolts of electric torment through his entire body, and as the grip jerked viciously he felt a horrible snap, instantly losing all feeling below his waist. The tears streaking down his face were drank by the soft earth beneath him and he pleaded with the gods for mercy, but the nightmare only continued.

**

His left hand firmly on the back of the guard’s head, the ends of his claws cut into the man’s scalp. Seralcard held him down, continuing to stab into him for nearly a minute until the man’s movements and breathing stopped completely. Standing he took hold of the guard’s legs and dragged him out of view, hiding him behind a thick bush, beneath the shade of a tree. The grass glistened in the sparse light of the yard, but the rain would come soon to wash it away.

Only two doors led into the house, one at the front and one at the back, but each was guarded. It would be much harder to catch a man unaware at places lit so well. Every window along the side of the building was barred with iron, at least on the first floor. His eyes lighted upon the balconies only one level above, open and inviting.

**

Reclining in his chair Isaac lost himself in the fantasy that came alive in the words he read, oblivious to everything until a shadow passed over him, “That was quick Serr—“ a bestial black gauntlet roughly took hold of his collar and yanked him to his feet, his book clattering to the floor. Piercing eyes of red and blue, the likes of which he had never seen, locked onto his as he came face to face with a hooded stranger. He cringed under that dreadful stare, “I-if it’s gold you want—“ his attacker shook him sharply, silencing his words. The merchant trembled in the dark figure’s grasp.

“Isaac Syla?” the words were quiet, their harrowing tone making him break into a cold sweat. It was a few moments before he realized that it was a question, rather than an accusation, but his throat was dry and words just wouldn’t come. In the end he merely nodded weakly. Without warning the warrior threw Isaac to the ground hard.

His face hitting the rug the merchant’s glasses cracked, his nose breaking and his vision further blurring from the pain. Turning over frantically he held out an arm to stave off his attacker, “Please wait, I’ll give you anything you want!” the assassin knocked his hand away, mounting the man and drawing back his claws, “NO!” the talons excruciatingly carved through his skin, bringing his screams to new heights. The warrior tore into him relentlessly, a mad beast that splattered blood throughout the room.

**

Seralcard ripped his hand free of his target’s mangled chest with his gauntlet dripping gore. The merchant’s face was a contorted mask of horror and pain. Isaac’s broken ribcage was visible through his raggedly torn flesh, his once pristine white robes now a chaotic blend of wet pinks and reds. “Murder!” a man’s voice yelled from the doorway behind, his boots landing heavily as he ran into the room. Seralcard rolled to his right, a blade just missing him as it sang over his head, and he came to his feet with the room’s lavish chair between him and his attacker.

The man, middling in his years, wore a white shirt and brown slacks with no armor to speak of. His blade gleamed like polished silver in the firelight and he held the weapon with an air of great skill. But he held back, obviously waiting for others to come to his aid. As the man stepped in cautiously Seralcard rushed forward, launching a spinning kick. The man was fast, dodging back nimbly so the attack swept through air before crashing against the cushioned seat. The swordsman moved in and slashed across Seralcard’s back, the fine blade slicing through his robes and iron chainmail with ease, stitching a line of blazing pain across his back and causing him to stumble.

Falling over beside them the chair slammed into the fireplace in a shower of orange sparks, burning logs rolling out onto the floor. The assassin turned to face his opponent as the guard pressed his advantage, the sword a shimmering orange blur as the fire spread to the book shelves. Steel rang against silver as Seralcard blocked another slash with his gauntlet. As he tried to come into the swordsman’s open guard the man leapt back out of range, charging forward immediately with a flurry of strikes that put the assassin back on the defensive.

Sparks flew as the two warriors danced before the steadily growing flames, another cut raking across Seralcard’s gauntlet when he blocked the silver blade, the swordsman snaking away from him when he moved to counter. Always one step ahead. The guard lunged, blade thrusting for Seralcard’s middle, but the attack was off center. Seeing a hole in his opponent’s defense the assassin dodged to the side and took a vicious swipe for the swordsman's throat, but the man ducked beneath the attack, whipping his blade back around in a crescent. The sword slashed down from Seralcard’s right shoulder to his left hip, spraying blood and causing him to fall.

The iron links of his chainmail cuirass were sliced cleanly in two, no better to him now than scrap metal. Blood seeped from the long gash across his chest with an almost blinding pain. Seralcard tensed as the warrior strode over to seal his victory, the guard raising his blade high overhead. As the sword came down the assassin lashed out with a savage kick, his dark steel greaves crashing into the guard’s left knee with a snap. The leg bent awkwardly as a jagged fractured bone ripped out of the side, the sword falling from the man’s hand as he fell to the floor, howling in tortuous agony.

Seralcard forced his way through the pain, his own blood trickling down to soak into the blue carpet as he stood. His eyes fell to the gleaming sword. Taking the weapon up by its hilt he turned to the wounded guard, looking down into the man’s pained eyes with the pure chill of indifference. The man tried to get up but Seralcard slammed a boot into his chest, pounding him into the ground and knocking all the air from his lungs. Without a word he turned the sword over in his hands blade down, stabbing through the guard’s right shoulder. He ignored the man’s cries as he forced the weapon through to the hilt and nailed him to the ground.

Over the growing roar of the flames behind him Seralcard could here the rapid footfalls of a group of men barreling down the hall. Striding forward he absently stomped onto the swordsman’s right ankle to break the bone and illicit another cry of pain. The assassin crossed the room and shut the heavy double doors. With the key still in its lock he turned it with a light click and snapped it off, dropping the other half to the floor. As he turned around the swordsman glared at him through a sheen of tears, “Finish it then…” Seralcard looked to the chair, now almost completely engulfed in flames, and the thick rug beneath that was beginning to catch. The same rug the swordsman was now pinned to. Following his gaze the man’s eyes widened, “…No. You can’t do this!”

Ignoring the pathetic cries the assassin glanced over to the great stained glass window at the far wall. He looked back to meet the trapped man’s eyes, the hungering flames creeping ever closer, “Burn.” Yelling came from outside the room, men banging upon the door as the fire quickly spread. Seralcard sprinted off, bringing up his arms to shield himself as he leapt into the window, the wall of glass shattering into a rainbow of countless shards. He soared through the air, tiny knives slashing at his robes, weightless for a brief moment before cruel gravity tore him down to the earth.

He hit the ground in a painful heap. He landed on grass and soft soil, but that was of little consolation to his body. Standing, he could hear the agonized screams that came from above. A poor fool lamented to the heavens as his body fed a growing inferno. With the merchant’s guards distracted so Seralcard did not bother with stealth. Running to the nearest wall he dug in with his claws and climbed as fast as he could. As he vaulted over the other side and landed on the street jarring waves of pain shot up his legs, courtesy of his earlier fall. He looked up to see five other men in the street all wearing the full red armor of watchmen he realized that pain was the least of his worries.

He could tell none of them apart, all armed the same way and wearing closed faced helms. All except their leader, a huge man wearing a battle axe slung across his back. The man strode forward alone, simply shaking his head as he made a fist with one of his massive hands. Seralcard tried to raise his arms as the blow came, but the punch smashed right through his severely weakened guard. Everything went black.

[Seralcard]

The next day

A light but steady haze of rain draped Scara Brae in a pale gray shroud at he tail end of a great deluge. The sky growled ominously, a bright flash hidden away by dark clouds. A dozen watchmen walked the grounds, questioning servants and guards, tendrils of smoke rising lazily from the manner of the late merchant Isaac Syla. Much of the upper floors were consumed in the blaze before it could be stopped, more of the watch could be seen inside, picking through the debris. The charred bodies of the merchant and a personal guard were already found, Isaac having died gruesomely before the fire while his man had been burned alive. Shaking his head, the soft ground squelching and giving slightly under his boots with every step, Avery strode across the muddy grass and headed for a familiar figure.

Mysera stood silently studying part of the stone wall that enclosed the yard, using her yellow feathered quill to scribble a few words onto the page of a small book she held. Where Avery’s green cloak was dark and heavy, soaked by the persistent rain, the mage was totally dry, a spell forcing the rain to veer away and slide around her almost as though she stood in a glass jar, “I got your message, came as soon as I could.” He hesitated for a moment, “Was it the killer?”

“Aye, that it was.” Avery turned to see a dwarf in black armor trudging across the grass, a great hammer across his back.

Mysera bowed respectfully as the newcomer approached, “Neruuk, this is Avery, the man I spoke to you about. Avery, this is my good friend Neruuk, he informed me after he learned what happened here and then I reached out to you.”

The dwarf offered his hand and Avery accepted, shaking firmly, “I’ll do what I can to help you bring this monster down. I be sorry I did no catch him before.”

Mysera shook her head, “No one is blaming you, half the watch was looking for him.” Neruuk murmured thanks, though he didn’t look convinced.

Avery arched an eyebrow, “Did anyone get a good look at him?”

“No, he escaped.” the mage frowned, “The guard’s never saw him and the watchmen did not know to look. I can understand, the fire would have grabbed attention.”

“But then how do we know this was our guy?”

She looked down to her book, reading silently for a moment before she replied, “Three more men brutally killed and the same few clues as the first scene. Only this time the motive had to be different. He went through a lot of trouble to get in here and kill Isaac. He climbed the outer wall on the side of the manor opposite us, killed a guard and hid the body, scaled to the second floor, killed the merchant and a guard, then he fled through this window,” she pointed to the smoldering hole on the second floor, “and over the wall behind me. There was nothing stolen though, not a thing unaccounted for in the house, unless he killed three men over a book in the merchant’s library.” She shook her head, worry in her eyes, “There’s more to this than we can see. Five men in two days, this is the work of a skilled killer, not some trained beast, but… but I do not know what to do.”

Avery looked out passed the wall to his beloved city. Somewhere out there was a monster, lurking in the shadows, “We keep looking. It’s the only thing we can do right now,” He gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, “and we hope the bastard makes a mistake.”

[Seralcard]

“…should have just killed him, tied up the loose ends.” The words came to Seralcard through a haze of confusion. Where? His head ached, his body felt sore, “Wait, I think he’s waking up.”

Seralcard opened his eyes slowly, blinking as his sight adjusted to the soft light of the room. Slowly, everything began to come into focus. He was on his knees on a cold stone floor, bare save for a black loin cloth, the red veil that hid his face, and bandages that were wrapped tightly over his wounds. His wrists were bound behind his back by thick metal shackles he could not see. The room was empty of any furnishings, only a torch on the walls to his right and left, but he was not alone. A large man in crimson armor stood before an open door leading out into the hall beyond. He looked down on the assassin in disdain, his axe held loosely in his right hand. Without his helm to complete the disguise Seralcard recognized him immediately.

A loud, slow clapping drew his eyes. Drakar entered the room wearing a fine white suit and a broad smile, “Word of Syla’s death will be all over the city by the day’s end, and I predict that I will have no issues with my other clients for quite some time. Very well done indeed.” The assassin gently tested his restraints, but they didn’t give in the slightest, it was a gesture Drakar caught quickly, “Oh, where are my manners? Kartoc unchain him.”

The warrior looked to his master, But sir—“ the words died in his throat as the elf fixed him with a cool glare that made the blood drain from his face. He moved immediately to follow his orders with no further protest. The elf's dark look vanished as soon as it appeared.

As the cuffs clattered to the ground beside him Seralcard again weighed the risks against attacking the larger man, but Drakar cut through his train of thought, “I hope you do not mind that I took the liberty of having your clothing and armor repaired. Consider it part of your payment for a job well done. The chainmail was not salvageable I am afraid, but if you like I can melt it down to a set of mugs for you, that is about the worth of iron anyway.” He flashed a grin, “You will find all of your equipment in a room down the hall, and afterwards you may leave if you like, I am ever a man of my word after all. However,” he stroked his beard pensively, “I could use a man of your very particular talents. If you would wish to work for me on a more permanent basis I assure you I could make it worth your while.”

Seralcard merely nodded, it was the only decision he could really make, and Drakar plainly knew this. He brushed passed the armored warrior as he left, locking eyes with the man for a moment and making a silent promise. Death comes to everyone, eventually.

[Seralcard]

Note to Judges

This story is written to be the first in an episodic series of threads. This is why certain plot lines are left unresolved and why Seralcard’s past leading up to his appearance in Scara Brae is left a mystery.

Spoils
The two hundred gold Seralcard steals from Stephen is not a spoil; it is my explanation for the two hundred pieces of gold the character is supposed to start with. If you wish to award him gold as a spoil then it can be said to have been added by Drakar to the coin purse after the mission.

Aside from this I have no notes to add, I sincerely hope you enjoyed the read.

:)

[AdventWings]

Phew. Sorry for the lateness. However, it is now done!

I'm running a bit tight on time, but I'll comment with as much details as I can point out. ^_^

Story

Continuity - 6

I couldn't quite place when and how this relates to your Big Picture, but I guess this could be said as your character's starting point on Althanas. The flashback and reminiscing in posts 1 and 7 were a bit awkward, since I couldn't link it into the other eight posts. Otherwise, well done.

Setting - 7

Nicely described and interaction was superb. Not quite as dramatic as I hoped it would, though, especially in the library battle. Where's the heat, the blasts of smoke? The heart-crushing drama? Nonetheless, it was very well done.

Pacing - 6

The initial scurry into Scara Brae and running through the streets dragged a bit before the action finally commensed, taking some of the build-up suspense with it. The build-up to Syla's murder was broken by the inserting of the Detectives and the Watchmen, turning it into a half-Murder Mystery, half-Murder Thriller. It didn't quite work as you might intended. My suggestion is to break the solo or quest into two segments and add clear Headers to each.

The first Arc could be the Mystery Arc where the murderer's motives and actual attack is left to the readers and the detectives. That part would equate to the Investigation portion of this solo.

The second Arc would then be Seralcard's actual actions as well as the aftermath, becoming the "Truth" of the entire situation.

That is one suggestion you could benefit from, seeing as there are a lot of murder mystery flavors thrown in. Mingling it too much with the action/drama scenes watered down the suspense (because the readers know what actually happened before the mystery was ever mentioned) and could cause the readers to grow a bit bored.

Writing Style

Mechanics - 8

Nothing bad, nothing greatly wrong with it. I'll have to say it's very stylish and well-played. I don't have a lot to comment here... Well, then again you might want to watch your words of choice a bit. Sometimes, awkward placements can trip or slow the reading or odd sound repetitions in a single sentence. I can't remember where one occurance happened... Just keep an eye out next time just in case.

Technique - 7

Basic for the most parts with a good mix of advanced compositions. Some of the metaphors were a bit awkward, but I really can't place my finger on it. It could be the pacing coupled with the choice of literary devices used, the timeframe and transition of scenes, or both.

Clarity - 7

No trouble understanding the situation and the story for the most parts, but the inclusion of Altair at the start of the story seemed a bit awkward in relation to the overall theme. I couldn't draw any connection from Altair to the rest of the story except for the fact that the elf was once Seralcard's friend and that Sera got shot by him earlier on. If you were trying to reference or juxtapose it with Drakar, it was not explicitly made clear in the narration.

Character

Dialogue - 8

I love the air of silence in most of Sera's parts. Other characters were played out through their dialogues very good and indicative of their train of thought. Not stellar, yet. But you're on the right track.

Action - 7

Nothing stellar, but no bad acts either. Some of the narration in this field is a bit too straight-forward, which didn't work well for suspense, but you're on the right track. Integrate surrounding debris or interactions with different atmosphere where possible and I'm sure you'll feel what I mean.

Persona - 6

Sera's uncomplicated needs and wants simplified his motivations a bit and that could become a bit of a routine. Try playing around with some emotion or changeover of motivation a bit. That might help with creating new conflicts within an otherwise straight-forward story.

Miscellaneous

Wild Card - 7

I love the way it's headed. It's nothing complicated or eye-catching, storywise, yet. It is on the right track - and for that, you're not too far off from catching some major eyes.

FINAL SCORE – 69!

((Rewards + Spoils))

Seralcard manages to keep hold of the 200 GP he took from Stephen (becoming his 200 GP Starting Gold) as well as being given 250 more by Drakar. Of course, given that his iron chainmail is now scrap, be could use a new one. Oh, yeah. And you might want to do a bit of laundry.

Seralcard also receives 1000 EXP! Only half-way left to get there!

[Witchblade]

EXP and GP added!