View Full Version : Bandit Beatdown! There will be blood!
Calamity Jane
Requirements: None, although combat potential is advised; a group is acceptable.
Synopsis: Some gung-ho bandit leader by the name of Jane is skirting ‘round Underwood and stealing from the caravans without leaving a trail, the only way the Sheriff knows is the letters she sends to the town hall gloating. Somebody, some brave adventurer, needs to take her and her boys down. Be careful though, she’s a sharp-shooter with a longbow, and her wit is even more piercing.
Reward: Calamity Jane’s bow, and the odd trinket you can salvage from her men.
A mirror was a treasure. A rarity that showed the world for what it was in every way that mattered. The superficial and the obvious. Everything else was simply a matter of details. It captured the obvious indeed, the surface image moving in reversed tandem to reflect something that was like a man, but fundamentally not. It caught the way Lawrence Spades’ golden eyes searched his face, reflected back at him his own curiosity, and then matched the way his face moved as the muscles went slack and the bones began to break. It was like wet branches snapping. The eyes watered, the teeth made the attempt to grind, but failed as the jaw refused to obey. By will Lawrence began to work on himself. He was used to it, he did not cry anymore.
‘What does he look like? Who is he?’
The shape shifter was creating someone new searching his mind for features to piece together the man he wanted to become. He sat in front of the desk and stared at himself. Cartilage flowed as the nose grew and shrank to several lengths. The skin moved across the spectrum of flesh moving through entire worlds of pink and brown. Trembling hands went up to the eyes, and with nails formed light trenches there, laugh lines. Meanwhile the nose had settled on a Greek style and thumbs pressed along the sides to ensure Cesarian perfection as it sloped to meet his brow. Lawrence continued to work on himself, treating his body like clay to create a face of architecture. The hair atop his head and the hair of his chin receded.
In the end, Lawrence had faded. What remained of him could not be seen, even the eyes had changed to a bright brown, what remained was that part of Lawrence that was not yet comfortable in this skin. He would adjust and that too would soon be gone. The face that smiled back from the glass was some years younger, just peaking twenty or twenty three. The dark red and very short hair made him look older, the freckles and grin marked the contrast between soft and strong. The skin looked like it was no stranger to the sun with an almost golden complexion. ‘The face people could fall for. The face people WILL fall for.’ Law- no, Ace thought to himself. Here, in this tiny little town, he hoped to give himself a home, a fresh start.
Chuckling to himself he began reshape the rest of his body. When he was done, his total shape matched. With creative license Ace made himself in his own image. He became five foot, six inches, and gained a body that was lean. Removing the oversized shirt Ace stared at himself with bright eyes, posed and, edited where he pleased adding what he considered to be endearing faults. It was not enough to look perfect, he needed to look real.
People can see through perfection, people hate perfection.
After all, the surest sign of fraud was something that looked too good to be true.
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‘Thieving, banditry, which was like thieving, but on a horse, and murder, these were things watchmen handled. Trained to protect and serve, they were the guardians of the city.
'So why is it so hard to find a good one?’
The vaguely masculine features of an elf were drawn together in the center of his face in a very un-elfin expression, his chin propped up on a gauntleted fist as he stared at the rest tavern. A smiling sun earring grinned balefully as it caught the winter rays of light. The townspeople were a mob of semi-drunken noise, foolery, and nervous glances toward the elf those few hoped to serve under. Today, Captain Jaliss Evenkeel was conducting interviews. Captain Evenkeel had been doing his job longer than most human men had lived. This was his home, and he kept his home relatively clean. There were things he could not throw out, and now the vast majority of these things were looking to him for a job.
“Captain, I think it’s about time we got started again.” Roy Carnie whispered across the table. Roy was the first-class lieutenant a seat over to the left. A watchman who had been on the force for a year too long by virtue of personality alone. He had managed a promotion, but failed consistently to shine his armor or, cut his weedy brown hair, among other things. Evenkeel had expectations; Carnie was determined not to meet them.
The bar had been chosen mainly because it was available, and because there were perhaps two feet of snow on the ground outside. He regretted it, at least in the cold only those serious would actually show.
Officially, they had been on break for the last hour when the strain of sifting through people to find decent men and women was getting to be too much. The armor about Captain Evenkeel’s chest rattled, chainmail expanding as the Captain took in a deep breath. Given his expression, it seemed he was about to let loose some all too human choice of words. Instead he resigned himself wrapping a knuckle on the table and calling, “Next.”
Jaliss Evenkeel had standards, and, if he had to pick from this bunch, he was going to find someone who met them.
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Ace hurt all over, he hurt in his face, he hurt in his eyes, and he hurt in his bones. However, that was all part of the healing process. Smiling, he walked into the bar. Now, while those last words have been a staple in a vast multitude of jokes, there was very little funny that was actually going on. There was banter. There was prattle. There was a great amount of drinking. Ace did not know if he liked drinking, later on he would have to try it.
In the corner six men in uniform and light armor sat facing the room. Three of them looked intensely bored lounging uncomfortably on wooden stools. Two looked jealous of the largely inebriated crowd, sipping water and cursing in their minds the fact that they were on the job. The last was radiating either palpable irritation, or an aura of darkness. Either way, Ace felt it was best not to look at him; he did not want much of that elf’s attention at the moment.
Pulling up to a table Ace paid the lip service of a hello, and delivered the icebreaker to the three men at his table. “So what’s he so sour about?” He said jabbing a thumb over his shoulder.
“Be damned if I know. I came here lookin’ for a job, an’ he’s been sittin’ on his bum makin’ eyes at every one of us.” He said, in the typical Coronian vernacular, stressing As and dropping Gs. He was a shorter man with a deeper voice than most, his head hooded for obvious fear of the cold.
Interest piqued Ace went on. “So they’re offering what? A chance to shine some boots or a chance to get into some armored action?” Whatever outfit they were with seemed like a good outfit to be in.
“You got it on the last one. Spanky armor from helm to boot, though you would never know looking at some of them.” He said nodding toward the table.
”Say, Lad, I don’t think I recognize that accent. Where are you coming from?”
At the first personal question Ace fell back into Lawrence’s favored method of telling the truth. Not telling the truth. “Scara Brae. Nice little town on the cost, but nothing there but sun and fish. Figured I’d take a swim and see what life is like nearer the mainland.”
“Ha, don’t ‘et your hopes up. I’ve ‘ot family all over the world, and y’know what they all say in every letter I 'et from them?” The man paused using his silence to almost force a ‘what’ out of Ace. What followed was a forty minute conversation about nothing. It finally ended with a solid echoing noise from the back which silenced the room.
“Next.”
A line formed, a procession of needy greedy beavers, getting up to go Ace paused to ask his new friends name.
“Marlow, Marlow Bienvedos.” The man said, likewise rising to his feet as the mob rushed forward. Extending a hand he gave amiable, but terse, “You?”
“Ace Mandelo.” They shook, they parted, and they both entered the race for a job.
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“Next”
Captain Evenkeel muscled out the words now. Elves were expected to be serene, wise beyond their years, and every time someone came forward drunk he wanted to abuse them. He had had enough human friends over the years to abuse the average man to tears. However, he did realize that not all of his problems stemmed from the stuttering idiot across the table before him. He knew that what bothered him most was that there were more bandits than watchmen and no one besides himself and the mayor really understood that fact.
Another one stepped forward, and extended a hand. It was a young one, dressed in brown and reds with wide eyes and best of all a sober smile. This was in itself pleasing, but Captain Evankeel was in such a rut that a smile alone meant little more than nothing. Taking the hand however was an attention getter. He felt a strong grip, a tiny shock, and then nothing. The elf’s hand had gone numb. Without his expression changing the Captain withdrew his hand, and let the man sit down.
“Tell me, why do you want to be a watchman?”
It was insanity, the coachman thought. Huddled in his coat at the ripe age of forty-three. He was ancient by Coronian standards, and by his own reckoning too old to be doing this. The snow gathering in his hair, frosting the shining dome, and layering the fading blond halo with white. For Ambrose, the cold was a tireless concern, but these were dark times weather and night aside.
Two caravans had been wiped out, and looted. The bandits had stolen everything; they had picked the bodies like vultures. When the wreckage was found anything of value, and anything that would burn, had been taken. Fingers had been cut off for rings when cold fists would not for love of life concede them. More than forty dead, and nothing but a few extra gunmen riding shotgun. Ambrose’s blood shot and weary eyes searched the woods.
The old man's expression was almost owlish with paranoia and fear. His chattering yellow teeth visible, his head turning as the sun began to set in the gray sky. Behind their wagon, several others followed, some laden with passengers, others with food, but the majority held pyramids of wood pilled high. Some caravans had made it, certainly most, but every second spent in the dark was a horror. All he could think of was cold steel.
“Cut that out.” Grumbled Jason Todd, a younger, stronger, meaner man than any Ambrose had ever seen. Todd did not appreciate fear when it was not directly centered on himself. “ You've done nothing, but twist, turn and bob your head since we left town.” Refusing to let go of his weapon Todd hugged the revolving shotgun to his chest and slid his hands into each other’s sleeves. The coat drawn up past his chin did what it could to protect his face. “You take this thing off the road and you won’t be getting’ a choice between buckshot and a boot up your ass.”
“I have myself a pistol too, boy; fear alone never renders a man a coward.” Wide eyes stared at Todd; there was terror there. The fear of death itself clearly visible, as it had been for years. “And the day you try your luck at drawing a gun like that on me is the day you’ve lost your mind.”
In the fading rays of day a figure stood in the distance. It was thin, at its back a sea of white and on its sides the iced over walls of the forest. Ambrose stared at it, feeling safe by the sum of seven hundred yards alone in distance. It was holding something however and his old eyes could only make out odd gestures, they were quick motions. Perhaps someone was hailing them down the road. Ambrose slid his hand into his black coat and readied his weapon. Prudence saved more often than not. However, it did not save them here.
A bolt of force shoved the old owl back against the cart, pinning him there by the meat between his neck and shoulder. The feathers of the arrow tickled his skin beneath his coat, then pain hit him radiating across his chest into his gut. More arrows fell. Then the horses jerked, fought their restraints, and thrashed all the way to the ground toppling the carts and blocking the road for all those who would come after them. The world spun in agony and ended in darkness for Ambrose. Between waking and dreaming, he saw men and women falling from branches all about him like ill fruit, and when he came to, he found himself witness to a standoff.
Jason had killed before. It was obvious by the way he stood over the bodies to claim them as his own. Like an animal eternally alone he turned as Ambrose had, surrounded, so preoccupied with saving his own life that he never considered aiding any of his companions as they ran and fought.
Each blast shocked the air and sent a corpse back spinning into the snow. Anyone who had gotten too near paid for it. “See this.” He said planting his boot on chest of a nearby body, “This one didn’t get lucky!" Then pointing to a nearby corpse. "This one is missing most of his face!" He did a double take seeing the partly mangled chest rising and falling with bloody gasps. "This poor bastard is still alive!” He seemed to be enjoying himself, bloodlust or bravado, it was hard to tell.
The sounds of fighting and screaming carried on out of view. The sounds of fighting soon came to an end, and the screams soon followed them to the grave.
***
“Why do you want to be a watchmen?”
Ace watched him, gazed at his expression and realized that he had succeeded in getting the elf’s attention. However, that simply meant he was being watched, in no way did the elf approve. Drawing on experiences he felt less and less were his own, Ace gave his reply. “Sir, everyone should want to be a watchman. I’ve just arrived from Scara Brae, and I want to stay here. I’m not going to stand around for thieves to take what's mine.” Simple, Ace had to be simple, and he needed to avoid lying when he did not have too.
“You have only just arrived and you are here volunteering? What caused you to leave Scara Brae?” Captain Evankeel asked, clearly unbelieving. Most of the town had failed to attend something that might literally save their lives. By cynicism alone he was about to reject Ace here and now.
Ace beamed, it was intense, calculated to be piercing. The effect was somewhat ruined by crooked teeth. “There was no good to be done there. I’ve guided people in the mountains; I’ve fished aboard ships on the seas. It was either travel or take up farming. I have the patience to watch grass grow, but I don’t think I could sell anything.”
Evankeel stared at him. Clasping his hands he leaned back in his chair visibly conflicted. “What is wrong with you?” There was no humor or outright distrust. So far as he could see this was simply an impulsive idealist. That was one fault, but where were the others? ‘He seems like an upstanding citizen. Except all of them are too old to get out of bed or are already buried in the ground.’ Evenkeel thought to himself.
“Uh, can you say that again?” Ace did his not to look worried, inside he was. Did this man see through him?
“Nothing. Just a few more questions, please. What is blue and smells like red paint?” He paused for silence and before leaning forward and staring Ace in the eyes. 'Maybe he's a suck up.'
“Uh, what?” Even the shadow of Lawrence just stared dumbstruck at the elf.
“Blue paint.” The first time Captain Evenkeel had heard the joke, he had felt a wrenching sensation in both his head and his stomach. The joke itself was safely in the range of stupid and childish, so when Ace seemed to genuinely laugh, Captain Evankeel gained an idea of what he was dealing with. ‘I can live with idiocy; I’ve done it for years.’ He assured himself before moving on to other credentials. “Can you handle a sword or a club?”
“I can handle myself. But just the same, steel should never be the answer to any argument.” Ace responded with all the naivety Lawrence could muster in the back of his mind. Echoes of laughter bounced around Ace’s skull.
“Yes. That is why we have clubs.” Captain Evankeel blinked for a second, surprised that he still had a sense of humor. He then continued. “Now, while you will be a watchman for a time, understand that you are not a member of Corone’s Military. Merely a deputized agent, and that I can and will remove you if stand in the way of due process. Come to the barracks tomorrow at nine to receive your uniform and training. Next.” At no point in that sentence was justice mentioned.
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Ace walked out of his interview a new man. Talking to people really helped to cement who he was, and separated him from who he was not. He was Ace Mandelo, watchmen, and soon he would be Ace Mandelo, hero. That was his purpose, and soon he would have this town eating from his hand, and the people going where he told them too. ’Wait… no, that was more a Lawrence thought.’ Ace was fairly certain he was not supposed to relish the idea of what he ultimately existed to do, but until the end he was a good guy, so he considered what to do with the rest of his day, like finding Marl-
A wave of noise hit Ace as the news broke out all over town. even as the sunset waned and darkness prevailed. It was loud, disjointed, terrified, and enraged. It was a sudden bursting with the chatter of hundreds of people. The noise had the full range of sounds and emotion coursing through it. Shouts of obvious resentment, whispers of underhanded joy. There was crying…
“Dad was on that trail heading to Gisela.” “My wood! My fucking wood!” “They were supposed to arrive with the food.” ”How the hell am I supposed to explain this to her?” “If we didn’t need that damn lumber we could just set fire to the forest…” ”They couldn’t have killed them all, could they?” “Ah….. aaaaaaaah!” “Calamity Jane strikes again. Coffins are just fly off the rack. Heheh.” “Gunshots like thunder I tell you!” “I’ll join the watchmen, and get them, every last one.” “Were there any survivors?” “Humph, more humans dead? It matters not, that is our fate.” “Deep breaths, deep breaths, deep breaths.” ”It’s not too late, maybe we can get to them in time!”
So much noise, Ace’s ears were not ringing, they were simply full. Standing still in the snow covered street he pinched the bridge of his nose, and tried to pull his senses away from the overwhelming chatter. He could barely hear his own thoughts. Soon above the roaring crowd he heard Captain Evenkeel. “No one is allowed to go traipsing into the forest. Anyone caught attempting to do so will be jailed, and fined four thousand gold pieces.” On so many levels the captain still cared, there was the serious possibility of prison and jail time ringing in his voice. He maintained order. He would have satisfaction.
As Ace recovered from the sudden burst of gossip and misery he felt himself pushed aside in his skin.
Lawrence returned to himself, keeping the face and relatively diminutive stature. Unlike Ace he had caught a bit of what had been said, it was time for him to go through with the rest of his plans. Turning on his heels he walked through the crowd, ignoring the chatter, ignoring the faces, and focusing on getting back to his room to wait the majority of it out. Returning to the Plainview Inn he entered his room, slammed the door and sank back against it dripping slush.
By word of mouth there was another attack on the caravan. No word on survivors, but definitely a lead on where to start his search for trouble. Calamity Jane seemed like a good problem to solve. One that would help endear 'Ace' to this tiny little town. Laying out his clothing he began to change out of his human façade.
Bones began to melt; his limbs grew out of proportion racing each other to attain the desired size. When he was done he was back to his standard towering height, onyx skin catching the light from the lamp. Dressing in all black, he faded his every detail with a trick of the mind as well as the light. His shape lost all definition and color. Opening a window he was gone into the night, for all purposes invisible.
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Marlow Bienvedos watched the creature vanish into the darkness between the trees, blinking several times, unsure of just what the hell it was he had just seen. Looking this way and that, and seeing no one, he followed.
If hell had frozen, then this would be the first circle. Some shapeless thing moved through the void. It kept a hard pace pushing on through the brush along the road. What leaves and grasses there were beneath the snow shattered as massive feet pounded them flat. Bushes quaked, shedding their tears as it passed. In every direction, no animal stirred, no bird took flight, but every eye was upon it. This thing arrived in their presence and left just as quickly as it came. It wore the mantel ambiguity well, unidentifiable. it loped between trees. Lawrence Spades made good time crossing those many miles between home and the site of destruction.
From the forest the darkman came, a giant dressed for travel. Snow had continued to fall on the place, piling atop the few horses that remained, the broken carts, and the people. Sensitive eyes saw puddles of red snow everywhere. Everything had been stripped of its value. Anything that shined, anything that would burn, anything that had lived and loved was gone. Lawrence had come for clues, traces of his competitors so that he could find them, and wipe them out. There were none.
He searched the carnage carefully and turned up nothing. They had cleaned up their prints and faded into history, their signs everywhere, but no trail. Lawrence bent to inspect the withered face of an old woman, bereft of her coat she lay face down in the road.
“A shame that they are so wasteful.” He said in unfeeling tones. Arrows stuck out of grandma's back. This was not the average level of cruelty, they had robbed her first for profit, and the rest had been for sport.
A voice rasped out to the stranger, “What are you?”
Lawrence stood and turned like an iceberg, like nothing could harm him, even as fear tickled the roof of his mouth and the taste of metal became evident. He had thought everyone dead; it appeared that one survivor remained, mangled as he was. The man was tied to a large tree by the neck. Too tight to escape, almost too tight to breath. By the rope, he was forced to stand. His clothes had been stolen; all except his pants, which was a rare kindness tonight. Ice sealed cuts ran up his legs and chest. Greasy hair hung in a wild mess about his face, which was little better than the rest of him. Still with all his strength the wretch called out to the darkman, “Are you a devil, a god?” Above him, tree branches extended in every direction, and icicles hung down like teeth.
“Neither. I am something that should not have a name, but does by cruel theft alone. A thing which gods are powerless to find, and will soon be powerless to destroy.” There was pride in those words as Lawrence grew poetic. Just because he was a monster did not mean Lawrence had no self-respect, he was his own biggest fan.
Even forced to stand on the tips of his blackened toes the battered and bloodied man could only look up into golden eyes. A crisp voice sounded again from the place where its mouth should have been. “What of you? Are you alive, or dead?”
“Just the same as yourself, Sir, not quite either, but more one than the other… and honest about it too.” Dull laughter caused him to shudder and his chest to heave. A hand reached for his throat to pull at the cord so he might wheeze in peace. “I prayed, you know, I put my soul up and out for all the divine and wretched to see… Am I so poor a man that you are the only taker? Sir, will you help me?”
”No.” Lawrence answered stepping forward to examine what he felt was dying man. The cold killed, and the hours since the attack should have frozen the man dead on his feet, it was a matter of time; this wretch did not have much left. “I have not come to help anyone.”
The cuts were not all serious, only painful; the bandits had toyed with him. By the dirt that filled some wounds and the rocks that littered the forest floor nearby, it seemed that the man had received a stoning as well. “Where did they come from, where did they go… and why did they do this to you?” The level of viciousness here was surprising. Humans usually proved too weak hearted, and elves thought themselves too good to go this far.
Todd turned his head up the branches, and wished for the sky. “They went from whence they came, the trees, Sir. Wood elves by look and trade, they dealt arrows better than twenty men throw lead. As for why: a capar apréndese cortando colons …they did this to me so that they could do worse to the next of us. I got myself a few just the sa-“ Todd went silent as the darkman turned to leave. “You-you’re not going to me here are you?”
It appeared that morbid acceptance had not completely killed his will to live. Desperation made his voice both pathetic and strong, “Please! Cut me down; take me with you, wherever you’re going! I was not kidding, I will worship you! I will pray to you. Do your bidding and all! Just don’t let me die here!” Fresh tears fell over iced tracks down Todd’s pale cheeks.
Lawrence stopped, and stood still, the offer of sycophancy striking a cord deep within him. Lawrence Spades had never been worshiped before. “And you shall do as I command?” He said under his breath, listening to the man’s pleading. “ Yes, I can use you, but should you survive the night or not, if you fail to do as instructed, this shall not be the worst day of your life, and you will look back on it fondly by comparison.“
“Thank you!” Todd gasped and then shrieked when the sword slammed into the wood nearest his his neck. He could feel it; feel it through his frozen skin; he could feel its warmth, it was disgusting! As the rope fell away so did Todd fall too, unable to catch himself. The position had forced him to stand for so long and push himself so high his legs had cramped and then mercifully gone numb. Todd turned his head and watched his savior stalk away to the other trees where others had been strung up as Todd had been. Finding no one else alive to question, Lawrence returned. “Your name.” He demanded.
“Jason Todd, Sir… and what am I to call you?” He said at his savior’s feet.
“No one shall ever know who I am.” The darkman instructed, lifting Todd with relative ease and proceeding back toward Underwood. “Listen well, when you arrive in town you will tell them-”
***
Captain Evenkeel stared at the door he had just entered through over clasped and shaking hands. It had been all he could do to prevent a panic driven riot. They needed food to come in and lumber to go out, the town of Underwood was part of the Coronian body. Without a steady flow of commerce every town suffered. These bandits were “…like cancer, giving nothing and just taking it all.” Evenkeel was beginning to burn a hole in the wood as the rage built up and tried to burst through his eyes and mouth. The wood elves were no help at all, Underwood needed the military, not even a full regiment, just ten or twenty fighting men even one sorcerer, and they would have the forest clear of all of the damned parasites.
The baron on the other hand was taking his sweet time, and it seemed the elf would have to clean this mess up. Today he had recruited a dozen men to add to his sixty, if he had a week he could train them into proper watchmen. The Elf’s head sank to his desk and his hands buried themselves in his short graying blond hair. “Do I have even a week before this place goes mad?” He asked himself in exasperation.
After the last attack, the population of Underwood had been incensed, outraged, they wanted to fight. They wanted to march to their deaths in winter’s night. They were no watchmen, certainly not soldiers, if they found the bandits they would be the ones who would be shown a thing or two. When he had told them not to go they had insulted him for trying to save their lives. They had called him a fairy. He did not wear glitter, glow in the dark, or flutter about in tights.
He was not a fairy.
A knock at the door signaled a wary arrival. The captain debated with himself on whether or not he should answer it. On one hand it could only be bad news. On the other hand he might do something wrong, like set someone on fire. The first option captivated his sense of duty; this was his job. Even in the hours before midnight. The second option was two sided, he was tired, and the idea of opening the door and blasting the first person he saw would be a mildly cathartic experience. It was almost fun to speculate what he would do with the body, but he gave up on the idea. “What is it?” He groaned dragging every word up to answer.
The door opened and another elf stepped inside, she wore he armor well, kept her hair short, and refused to talk to him like a normal elf even when he was off duty. Ordinarily, she never once looked at him. “News, a survivor has been found on the edge of the forest. He is being treated at Dr. Keeter’s hom-” The Captain stood violently and his expression frightened Adiadne. She had heard stories of what Captain Evankeel had done six hundred years ago. She knew what he could do and he had no idea. Captain Evenkeel was a living legend, a monster, and the government had hidden him here. He was a soldier first, and an elf last among so many other things to her.
“Lieutenant?” She stared at him, face unmoving and classically impassive due to her Elvin upbringing in the capital. Even as he came to stand not a foot away from her she could not bring herself to step back out of terror. These days had slowly been making him madder, and he very well might kill them all. “I appreciate that you are finally looking directly at me, however, I would appreciate it more if you would move and follow me.” When she moved and went to follow she had to run. When they met with the crowd Ariadne followed in the Captain’s wake as he pushed through. And when the captain found the door was locked, he twisted the knob until it reconsidered and turned. Casting a look at the crowd that literally terrified the lot of them, he shut the door.
The house was dark and silent for all, but the dim light from the dining room and the muffled screams. Entering, Captain Evenkeel was greeted by the sight of the good doctor sowing stitches in his pajamas at the table the doctor normally had breakfast. On the table was a naked man with a towel laid over his groin, and belts tying his arms to the table’s legs. On the chair beside the the doctor, a pan sat. Blackened fingers, toes, and skin lay there. Where they had once been was a collection of bandages, poultices, and medicine. Keeter was a cheapskate, but he knew that this was important.
“Keeter, I need to talk with him.” The captain moved to the side of table and looked at the man’s fresh stitched face. He had been gagged so he would not bite his tongue, and by the look in his eyes he was already heavily sedated.
The good doctor never stopped stitching the wounds closed. Old and nasal the Alex Keeter said as so, “Don’t bother. He’s said as much as he could before they even brought him to me.” Finally finished with the upper thigh Dr. Keeter cut the thread and moved on.
“What did he tell them?”
“The worst things he could have told them.” The doctor said, yawning as he dug into the skin again. “He mentioned that they raped and killed the night away. He said that they took everything, nailed down or not. But the two things that this idiot had to say was that the elfin bandits are going to do this to us all, and that they knew all about the caravan to begin with.”
The doctor cut the thread again. “So what’s this mean to you? What’s this mean for us?”
“It means that we are going to have a problem.” Jaliss Evenkeel replied eyeing the semi-naked man before him. ‘What an ill messenger this is.’ The captain thought, never letting himself regret Jason's arrival. Still, if he had not arrived like this then the result would not have been so terrible. Instead he had bled and dragged his way into town spreading his story for all to hear and plainly see. “Thank you for your time, Doctor. I believe there is a meeting to attend.” Detached he sounded far away as he turned to leave.
“A meeting? At this hour?” The doctor never looked up, and said nothing as the leader of the watchmen ignored him.
Before the people of Underwood had been incensed and afraid, now there was terror and a violent wrath. Captain Evenkeel had hoped to have a week, he would be lucky to have an hour before mobs began to form. In times of crisis there was only one thing to do. After thirty years it was almost protocol, there was only one person who did not understand it yet and probably never would. “Lieutenant, I need you to go to the druid’s compound and get Nathan Smith. Send him to the Mayor's home.” Captain Evenkeel was already on his way missing the sneer of disgust.
Adiadne stared after him, the look was not for the watchman, it was for the man she was about to meet. Nathan Smith was not a bad man, but his mannerism, attitudes, personality… yes, he was a bad man. “Nasty, perverted stump.” She muttered, her skin crawling at the thought rather than the cold. On her rounds about town she had caught him ‘checking out’ her ears numerous times, and once caught him ogling the captain’s. Druids were often celibate, only leaving their monasteries for supplies. This one was not, and, regrettably, he came down from Dansdel often.
Lately he had been trying to impersonate being an elf to get a date.
***
The mayor’s manor was one of the finer ones for miles, but by no means the best. It was simple, and elegant, and possessed of that quality some houses hold to appear perfectly haunting, orhaunted. It rose up abruptly from the stone foundations. Its porch was a number of steps surrounded on both sides by pillars of stone. Numerous, every window had eyes, every branch was a grasping limb, and spikes jutted from the five spires, appearing to be a crown of pitch forks. It was quite beautiful in the summer, however, and this was how anyone could actually suffer to live here.
Coming up the driveway Captain Evenkeel was every bit the dark elf tonight. Officially, it had been more than six hours since he was off the job; unofficially the job was who he was and he would not have peace until it was done. So rather than kick down the door as his boiling blood told him to, he knocked. On the first wrap the door swung open and the captain was ushered inside by servants who had been expecting him. The mayor had been in office for thirty years, effectively he could hear the grass grow, and see around corners.
“This way, Sir.” The butler said with manners normally reserved for gentry.
They ascended stairs and traveled halls. On all sides paintings of former leaders, generals and barons covered the walls, and black carpet layered the floor. They came with the house, and were themselves not above being nightmarish in their own right. Coming to the last door they entered the study of Benjamin Aldebrand, and there he was sitting at the coffee table with Terech Bodorson. Both dwarf and man were dressed for bed, apparently everyone who was not a certain watchmen had managed a few hours of sleep before the world had gone and lost its mind.
“Ah, Jaliss! Good to see you. You remember our friend from the academy.” The mayor greeted Jaliss as he greeted everyone these days, as quickly and politely as he could. He was getting older and didn’t have much time to waste. "Coffee, tea?
“No, thank you, Benjamin, and good to see you, Terech.” The elf said taking up a chair beside the dwarf, who made several vague grunts, still not quite awake. Forgoing the option of something warm to cure his chills, or something hot to cure his hunger he got straight down to business. “Given that we are here, then you all have heard about our latest problem?”
“I was awakened by screaming childr-I mean teachers. And you’d be dead wrong if you think I ‘haven’t been paying attention to that mess in the forest up ‘till now.” The dwarf muttered falling back into his seat; beard going graying, and by size it obscured his bare chest. It seemed he had not had much time to put on a shirt.
“Yes, I know what has happened. It is no trick of skill to see the Sun.”Benjamin said with all the energy an old man could have at three in the morning. Benjamin sipped at the steaming mug in his hand, the scent of herbs and spices promising a horrid taste. “Skipping the obvious, once we pool our resources, how do we go about solving this issue? Finding the bandits will be a task in itself. ”
“These are not bandits.” Jaliss stated hotly. “They are not elves, humans, dwarves or any other creature we need concern our sympathies with.” Jaliss began to remove his armor undoing the buckle at the shoulder to take off the breastplate. He was staying the night, they all were. “I can’t put my approval in any means of lynching, but I’d sooner have Underwood at peace than wandering in the dark and lost in the wilds.”
“Our boy has the right idea.” Awakened by the sound of anger the dwarf leaned forward into the conversation referring to the oldest of them all as ‘boy.’ When he spoke it was with years of experience and fire. “I’ve got enough trained students to strike them from the earth. It’ll be good training for them!” It is a rare sight to see dwarven teeth, this was the smile of one who had seen many blood spattered feats, and had just thought of several more worth doing. “Of course, between the three of us together, we’d need not one man more!“ Though he was retired, Terech would be the last of them to back down from criminal threats.
Whether Benjamin was surprised by their willingness, and possible enthusiasm, he did not show it. ‘Anger has no place in old men’s hearts.’ He thought watching as the highest town officials were about to draw up battles plans and make oaths for the enemies swift destruction. It was an exaggeration in his mind, but not a large one.
A knocking announced the last of their elderly crew, a man who was not so much as thirty. The door swung open and what walked in was a wraith. It moved seamlessly, no sway of the body, no sound of the feet, its brown robes flowing and underneath the hood pitch-black space. Ormeath Zhainguinthhad, or Nathan Smith, had entered the room, and all had gone silent as the old men regarded him. “A bit late, but I hope I haven’t missed much.” The druid said, a yawn issuing from the depthless hood. The others wondered why he had his hood on, but chalked it up to him still being ashamed of his ‘hideously human’ ears and moved on.
“No, just pleasantries. “ Terech remarked crossing his arms, “The business starts now.” He, Jaliss, and Ormeath all turned to the mayor to lead them in the discussion. Not because his position qualified him for leadership, but because his leadership qualified him for his position.
‘Deep breaths, deep breaths, deep breaths.’ Ben thought to himself watching as every eye was on him. Setting his cup on the table he addressed the druid beside him. ”Finding them has been a chief concern since they began stealing and killing. Every group sent in to the forest never returned. We need to end this now, with caution and at all costs.” There was no relish at the thought of punishing criminals, just tired resignation. “I will hold a town hall meeting tomorrow, and will do what I can to calm our people. Can we manage two days of preparation before we attack? Can we find them and drive them out in three days time?”
Each gave his answer around the room.
“I can have fifty of the watchmen’s finest search the forest.” Jaliss offered, his words almost apologizing for the state of their militia. “I will go with them.”
“And you’ll have twenty trained students of Raven Academy with you, Boy,” Terech clapped laid his hand on Jaliss shoulder,” Along with your choice of weapons from the academy’s armory. More weapons than anyone could wish for, and certainly more than any wretch can handle.”
“We druids will have our beasts redouble their efforts to find their trail in the snow,” The druid whispered, his words straining to reach a level of melodrama that simply did not exist. “When we make our attack, there shall be no worries. I will be there.” He said, missing the stifled laughter of his peers.
The mayor considered these words and agreed with a nod. “Very well, I have more rooms here in this house than I could ever fill. Take them, it has been a long night, and it will be a long day tomorrow.”
Getting up to go the druid stumbled on his robe and the cowl fell backward. There were a number of bruises all across his face and the imprint of a hand emblazoned on his cheek. These things were hidden again when Nathan snatched at the cowl and drew it forward quickly. Jaliss Evenkeel would not laugh, but he would sleep well tonight.
When one desires change, one quickly realizes the best time for change is a combination of order and chaos; the winners are always the ones who know where to be when the dust settles.
While a captain stood powerless to stop his town’s fall into panic, bandits infested the trees more than a dozen miles away. For no lack of foresight they had long since taken to residing in frost riddled branches, only descending to plunder and punish any who caught there interest. At night they stood and sat facing in various directions, wrapped tightly in stolen sheets to escape the cold. It had been said that they were wood elves, but on inspection they were more akin to drow, and in their eyes something infernal and dead smoldered. They were waiting for orders; orders to move; orders to burn; and orders to destroy.
Approaching from the south, another member of their type and temperament returned, creeping along branches of golden sequoia, green spruce, and gray ash. Releasing the hold its bare feet and fingers had on the wood it fell to the lower tiers of one of the larger trees below. Against the bark one of the few tents in the camp had been set up. Poles had been driven deep into the bark, and tarps hung over them barring the cold from entering the pavilion. The elf approached head bowed, body shaking, aware of its position.
“Do come in,” Light and airy the voice promised many things, the stuff of nightmares, the stuff of dreams. “While you might enjoy freezing, I’d prefer it if your teeth were not chattering while you tell me what I want to hear.”
Pushing aside the flap the frozen elf entered. It was dimly lit by candles scattered about the bark floor. Aside from them there was only a mat, a blanket, a bow in the corner, and a woman.
The sight before him was not what this ‘elf’ had been used to. When the transformation had been done she had declared it a disfiguration, and forced the mages to do it again until they had it right. Calamity Jane was supposed to be an elf, but while her choice was beautiful, elves did simply not come in these proportions. She lay under the covers, propping herself and resting her head in her hands.
Jane Abon’ Xabijem watched the raccoon gnawing on the bone between its tiny paws. She supposed it was cute, except that the bone did not exist. By illusion she kept it docile, friendly, and lost frolicking in fields of summer. It gnawed all the harder wondering why the ox it had eaten had done nothing for its hunger. “I really should feed the poor thing.” She said out, loud scratching it unawares behind the ear. Jane’s eyes never left the creature as she addressed her visitor like a beloved slave. “Ah, it’s good to see you, tell me, what have you found?”
Standing in the warmth the servant breathed hard and fast to fill his lungs with it before speaking. “The fire due south was vacant. Whoever it was snuffed out the flame and ran.” The elf never saw Jane’s eyes move, but was aware that she would burn him soon if he did not say something, anything worth hearing. “I chased it, I was sure it couldn’t have been more than one or two of the humans, but whatever it was it was fast and-”
“And?” She cut him off. Instantly the raccoon’s dreams turned nightmares so horrible it rolled onto its back froth flecking its lips. “The next words that come out of your mouth had best be that you killed it.” She said in what were very uncertain terms for demonesses, they were creative as they were capricious, and she had proven that it did not matter what body they were in.
“I slaughtered it!” The former demon nearly screamed bowing to new and incredible lows. “I caught it. Broke it down to its limbs. Scattered it across the forest. Even now birds eat the debris found in any place between the rivers Bradbury and Firewiner!” Lies, all of it, but rather than face terror on his feet he preferred to grasp at life groveling.
Poking the comatose raccoon before her, Jane considered what she had just heard. Then she pretended to consider it. She liked watching her servants squirm; she had never had so many minions. Finally, after sweat began to run down the demon elf’s face, chest, and legs she waved him away. “I won’t be the one to punish you. Go and see Om’adin, tell him what you told me.” She granted him the gift of life for a few extra minutes.
Pathetic sobbing sounded in the elf’s throat as he left. Obedience was a non-issue.
Jane flicked her furry friend’s snout trying to wake it from its own nightmares when she had retracted her own. “Wake up, Pet, time to play.” She coaxed it onto its belly, but it did not rise.
Behind her the tree spoke. “Interesting.”
It was said in one word, but there was no clear meaning, partly it was just to get her attention, partly it was just to scare her. True to her previous species Jane did not start. The demon elf merely turned quickly reaching for her bow and an arrow. What she found was something that looked like it had melded with the bark. By appearance it looked as though it had attempted to breach the gap and break into the world, but had settled for merely coming halfway. Uncertain of whether she was equipped to kill it, Jane did not shoot.
“And who might you be?” Calamity Jane asked pushing back her lengthy white hair and shrugging away the last blanket that clung to her. In Haida, there were invisible things that ran about causing trouble and sucking souls. These were the closest things she could relate to it. Some ghost that wandered the earth.
“No one. Just a passerby with some news you might like to hear.” What looked to be a head shifted, and a limb was extended. “Just a passerby with some news you might like to hear, I have more to tell you than you’re ser-” A light shined through the thick material of the tent, blazing through from every corner followed by a nightmarish shriek. Whatever that glow was, for two seconds it lit the night.
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH
Whatever that glow was, for two seconds it lit the night, and for eight seconds the screams continued.
“Previous servant did.” The shapeless thing finished distracted by thoughts on just what that horrible event outside had been. It had been clearly disturbed by it.
“I have never been one to talk to people who aren’t there.” She said, not particularly caring what it had to say. ’It barges in here all mysterious, and then gets scared of a little damnation.’ She thought, rather disappointed. Jane had imagined her attacker to be some dark fearless soul that would attack her. Perhaps out of some misguided hatred for what Jane had done, or perhaps out of lust. Impression lost, and opportunity missed, she took aim. She’d never know if it could bleed unless she tried.
“Call me, Belfast, if you must. It said, unconcerned by the arrow aimed at the center of its body. “I assume this is something you’d like hear. I come all the way here for this? I’m speech-”
“You are still talking, so I’m sure you’re feelings haven’t been hurt all that much by a less than warm reception.” She cut it off; she wished it would just attack her. Then she could at least have an interesting fight with an invisible beast of some sort. ‘Nooooo, all he wants to do is talk.’ She mused in mocking thought. “Now, I’m sure you think what you have to say is important, so go ahead and speak your mind.”
“Underwood is about to send as many men as it can to wipe you from the forest.” Its shifting form stood towering over Jane, not to attack, but to leave. “They are terrified; terrified because they think you have a spy among them. They will most likely start in the direction the last caravan was destroyed.”
“How do they know that?” Calamity Jane asked, when she caught her mistake she ignored it hoping this thing had not noticed. “How do you know that? Don’t just give me your name, what are you doing here? Show yourself.” Irritation burned in her voice, irritation that she had given something away, irritation because she could not readily dismiss this invisible abomination.
“If a name is not enough then you may think of me as an instigator, a trouble maker.” It said shambling past her toward the tent and its exit. The arrow missed it passing through the tents wall leaving little more than a tiny hole.
“Show yourself, I want to see your face.”
Color emerged from empty space spreading to give it form and dimensions. He was tall and thin, and dressed all in black. Having appeared at her request she noted its shoulders heaving as he held back laughter, and then it showed he showed his face. The neck turned abruptly, the head swiveled and she stared into avian eyes. A yellow beak clicked, brown feathers rustled, and large brown owl eyes stared back at Calamity Jane. “Names and faces are meaningless to some, when they are all important to others.” It issued from the darkness of its beak, and then it was gone, out into the darkness.
When Lawrence was a safe distance away he thought about that short conversation, how she had cut him off twice. Cheek was fine with friends. It was expected toward servants. It was going to get her killed, though. Lawrence had once been an actor, he did not like when people interrupted his lines.
***
The shape shifter returned to his home before the first hints of day crept over the horizon, skirting corners, climbing walls, and avoiding the night watch. The shape shifter’s heart was pounding as he pushed himself onward. He was tired, he had not slept yet, and he had run, jumped and deceived throughout the night from dusk to dawn. Forgoing the window Lawrence used the door, creeping through the darkness of the inn to his room and the few minutes of peace he could scrounge together.
Lawrence passed his mirror, pausing to take a brush from the stand and return every hair on his head, brow, and chin to its proper place. “The watch will be raiding the woods soon.” He said between yawns while swaying on his feet. “Just a matter of time.” He spent thirteen minutes doing this occupying his mind with dazed plans while his hands moved on their own. He was tired, and he did not have the energy to fight the urge that controlled him. It was pointless, but his body refused to obey him and his will was elsewhere.
“I must have a horse, all this running is for humans and beasts.” He grumbled.
He barely had the energy to stand. When he was certain that his hair was once again in order he began to change out of his clothes, assembling an array of hangers for everything. When removed, the coat, pants, and all of his apparel looked quite ridiculous as they hung from rung to the floor. They were massive, and would have looked clownish on anyone else regardless of their dour colors.
Forcing his body to break itself down and rearrange itself Lawrence resumed his act, this time it was easier. It still hurt, but it was easier. Bones became mush he lost nearly three feet in height, his skin lightened and freckles began to appear. Finally the hair lost all order receding and changing from black to red. Ace was once again in his room, staring with closed eyes at the room around him. His body ached, his extremities were cold, it was not ten seconds before he threw himself under the sheets snuggling with a pillow.
In the night Lawrence had added new facets to Ace’s character. He emphasized Ace’s simplicity, added a sense of duty, and gave him a bloodlust that would prove useful in the coming days. Ace’s dreams reflected these things; it was a chaos of fighting. He faced ninjas, large lizards, and a host of the above rendered undead once he had killed them all. There was never any constant cohesion, merely a stream of actions for one person or another. He sailed seas at the sea beast Egr’msatchek’s behest, running ahead of her even as she blotted out the sun and killed the stars. In short, it was awesome. There were no goals for him yet, all Ace had to think about was being in the right place at the right time.
Even while dreaming, he never actually slept, the scenarios eternally playing in his imagination.
Within two hours the rays of dawn struck Ace where he lay, and the shape shifter nearly screamed. The light punctured his dreams with its radiance and brought him flailing back down to reality. Rolling to escape, to salvation, Ace fell from his bed and remained where he had fallen. The sun rising higher pursued him, rays traveling on over sheets and pillows to find Ace at ground zero where he lay. Clawing at the mattress, Ace rose to his knees. What followed was the usual morning routine. Bathing, dressing, wasting time, getting ready, wasting time, and finally he was out the door and on his way to becoming a watchman.
“Ah, now there is a face I haven’t forgotten.” To Ace’s ears it was not a pleasant sound, like bones being ground to dust. It still managed to be friendly, however, and was accompanied by the sound of rushing feet.
It was a man Ace had never had a good look at, Ace turned left to see where the voice had come from. What he saw was an arm as it was set heavily on his shoulders, Marlow Bienvedos on the other side. Dressed much the same as the previous day he wore his hood up and his eyes hidden. The smile he wore was a large one that made full use of his long chin and high cheeks.
“Marlow! Did you make it? Are you in? Are we watchmen, you and I?” Ace asked, his sincerity in every word. It was good to have friends on two counts for the man jack. On the one hand he, Ace, liked Marlow’s company, on the other hand he, Lawrence, liked to have people he could use. At a nod they continued swapping stories of goblins and chicanery.
***
The Watch House resided on a street of heavy commerce with traffic heading to and fro between businesses of work and pleasure, exactly where a Watch Station belonged. Placed in between a weapons store and a coffin dealer, with a liquor store on the corner, it proved once and for all that the key to good business was position, and little else. Entering this fine establishment of law and incarceration both Ace and Marlow were greeted by the indifference of the front desk in a long wooden hall. Battling the cold was a small flame in the firfurnace nearby.
She was as if a painting of an elf had come to life, perfect complexion, blue eyes, and what humans perceived to be a “wiser-than-thou” expression worked into her face as a sculptor worked marble. It was like she was dealing with children, but considering elves lived longer than any creature really had a right to, that was not so far from the truth. The truth, however, was just a bit different.
Adiadne originally came from a district of the capital heavily populated by elves. Now Adiadne served her country in a place where one of the few elves around terrified her. If ever there was such a thing as culture shock, this was it. This was a town of pigs, where weapons were cheap, and coffins came readymade. Every iniquity of this morally bankrupt society was highlighted in her mind. They disemboweled, preserved, and buried their dead, for example.
“If you are here to deliver a complaint, do so now.” The elf recited to the two with stoicism to shame a block of ice. “If you are here to post bail, please have a seat. If you are a new recruit please go to back and speak with First –Lieutenant Carnegie.” The embers of a dying flame dimmed in the fireplace.
The men proceeded past her looking to either side for the person who might be whom they were looking for. On each side were windows and doors to offices and store rooms. Each was packed with papers and confiscated contraband no one had stumbled in to reclaim. Finally they found a room occupied by one man sleeping at his desk in full uniform and light armor.
“Ace, go wake him up, I think this is the man we need to see.” Marlow said stepping out of the doorway and leaning against the wall, conveniently out of the officer possible sight. When Ace shook his head no, Marlow reasoned with him. “It’s well past dawn, he’ll be the one who gets in trouble.” He said officiously jabbing a thumb around the corner. “If you don’t step up, and give him the helping hand that all human decency implies, of course.”
Sighing, Ace entered. It was not a particularly big office and he had to skirt the desk to get around it. Using his left arm as a pillow the man’s disheveled hair obscured his face. Ace pushed at him politely, which equated more to a pat or brush on the shoulder than anything else. It earned him a snort, several mumbled insults, and a turn of the man’s head in the other direction. Ace having been unsuccessful gave the man a jab, shake, and mild shout of “Are you alive or dead?” All of which seemed to have failed. Ace shrugging left the man to his peace.
“Qui dormit non peccat.” Marlow said, shrugging at the shoulder, when Ace stepped back into the doorway. “If that’s any hint, I do believe I’ll like this job.”There were a number of other rooms to explore, but before they could head off-
“You might have the job now, but who says you’ll be keeping it.” A voice behind them joked.
Standing over Ace at nearly six feet two inches was the man Ace had been trying to wake. He looked wild and dead at the same time with pale skin, unkempt hair, and the medium range between stubble and beard. The eyes however were wide open. “The best answer right now is: I do.” He said shaking their hands in turn. “Let’s keep the introductions short; we’ll get plenty of time to get know each other and get all feely later.” Pointing down the hall way he showed them the path to their armor. “Down there on your left. We’ll start training today! And from the looks of it, in a few minutes.”
Ushering them along, the watchman confirmed himself to be the man they were looking for. “That’s right, Roy Carnie, part-time druid, part-time watchman, all around Coronian mover and shaker, boys.”
City Hall was burning, and there was a line for the door.
The city hall was one of the largest buildings in Underwood, one of the largest in Concordia and the surrounding lands. Born of oaken daring it was built to last, battling the elements, the savagery of time, and every catastrophe that had occurred in the last thirty years. Semantics aside it, covered more than one hundred yards, and stood more than thirty feet in height. Today it was full, and it shook, alive with people moving, shouting, and screaming. The air vibrated with noise as people quickly discarded a good deal of courtesy due to the stress of a promised genocide.
Under the snow covered steeples, the combined heat, and panic, filled the air with a sharp heat that made any attempt at a fire unwanted and unnecessary. Just underneath their voices, their hearts pounded with frenzied unison. On the other hand, perhaps that was just Benjamin Alderbrand’s old ticker winding itself up before it finally stopped all together.
Ben’s mouth stretched into a flat line, the well shaven contours of his face attaining a stately arrangement as he readied himself to weigh into those seething waters. He was worried, and this was good, a politician who was not worried either had the answer, or simply did not care.
Beside him was the red-eyed elf, Captain Evenkeel in full watchman uniform/armor. They sat on the left side of the stage largely out of view of the crowd, but still able to observe these dear people. Perhaps they were justified in their panic, there was a real threat lurking in the forest, hiding in the shadows. However, their approach had to be careful, planned, in short, nothing that involved torches or a wild mob.
Citizens had been coming for the last hour, filling seats they refused to sit in, and Benjamin waited all the while patiently. If he shouted, they would turn away from him, if he waited too long they would give in to the hysteria masses are so prone. When a lull fell across the crowd, as the effort wax ones self into a frothing frenzy is a great strain, Benjamin stepped briskly up to the lectern atop the stage. Given that there was now only one pressing matter this would be a short meeting of many minds. Ben would have to thank one of the gods when he had the chance.
“Friend and neighbors, we’ll not be getting much done if we can’t hear each other.” He said with the practiced voice of a skilled orator. Ben knew how to magnify his voice, bend his words, hurl them across the room, and strike strong arguments dead. The crowd lost much of its rumble as he gained their attention. “We are here to discuss the problem. Now I know that this has weighed heavily on us all, we‘ve lost friends and family. The world is a poorer place with the loss of so many, and the afterlife will be a fond destination to meet with those we have lost, however, we will go on our own time when we are good and ready.”
Marco Belfast stood apart from the crowd, a blond man of less than thirty years, he had exited youth with his health. The tools of his trade in carpentry hung from the belt around his waist, hammers, chisels, and knives all used often if not daily. He was not in tears, but he was close, his face red as he strained to hold them back. “I’ve lost everything I’ve sent down the road to Gisela! My mother! My wood! It’s been too long that these bastards have been allowed to go unpunished, now its talk of us or them, well I’ll say lets find them where they sleep, and hang them there.”
The first argument was often the most prevalent. A wave of approvals swept around the auditorium, these people were good in the generic sense of the word, they loved their country, prayed to whatever god struck their fancy, and worked hard at what they did, town drunk aside. Thing is, when you think someone wants to skin you, and hang you from a tree or anything like that, you start getting defensive, and that leads to a murderous offensive, someone had to go.
Benjamin was well aware of this, and knew where to strike. “Do you think that they will give up? Could you do what they did, and punish them with their own kind of cruelty? Are you that strong that you could subdue them, by numbers or alone?” He struck at the soft underbelly of strong emotions, reality. “I’ve been your mayor for thirty years, and it would sadden me to think that excellent men and women would throw away their decency so easily.” Benjamin’s look of absolute disapproval was legendary, he always expected everyone to be at their best, and now his furrowed bushy brows and deep frown displayed his disappointment.
The crowd lost some steam. Some of the assembly even turned their eyes away from the mayor’s expression. They were not done yet though.
Up front, Avella Todd gave a shrill combative reply. “And what the hell are we supposed to do?” She, her husband, and their children had only recently moved into town from whatever forsaken place spawned such… frank, people. Undoubtedly, she had done little else beyond checking on her husband, keeping tabs on her kids, and raising a fiery hell. Even on good days, there were many words for this sort of person. Bone thin, she pointed a skeletal finger at old Ben. “My husbands lost damn near half his hands. From head to however many toes he has left, my man is covered in stitches!“ She held back the thought that he was never very handsome, and she raised her voice with all the disrespect that was natural to her and her roots. “Now you are telling us not to go to their level? Bull! Sun dried bull! Jay drags himself miles through the snow, bleeding from however many cuts they made, he tells us that this is what we can look forward too, and you aren’t willing to do anything? Fine, I will, I’ll burn the forest to the ground if I hav-” One of the older women tried to get her attention, first grabbing her arm, and giving her a glare to restore some civility. Avilla told her to eat a dick without missing a beat, she then turned back to the mayor. “Sitting around won’t get us a damn thing, anything that can bleed can’t go beyond the law, anything that can die can’t go beyond justice. What the hell are we doing, these are the daylight hours, we have more than enough time before dark to flatten the forest and these damn faeries.”
“I‘d like you to understand that this forest is the entire foundation of our town.” Ben interjected, as Mrs. Todd took no more than a breath before she could continue her roll. “Justice, and the law, is what we here in Corone uphold, you won’t find us sparing either, but how would you suggest we cover more than one thousand acres wandering blind in the brush and snow.” Avilla opened her mouth, sharp tongue coiled. None other than the mayor thankfully, cut her off again. “You can’t. Every convoy of watchmen we have dispatched to find clues in those forests has ever returned in any good condition. It would be death to spread ourselves out, and together they would simply pick us off.” Reason was as good a weapon as any other. It was like a shovel.
Near the front, a heavy voice rumbled up from a larger man. Another of the carpenters, this was not the same sort of man as Marco. Though they often worked together, Maize Fortuna was also a mason, and he was most often the one who handled coffins. “Listen to him, he knows as well as I what comes back from the forest. I’ve buried too many young people, and sat through too many funerals.” Maize stroked his black beard, golden rings gleaming in what light there was. “However long it takes, we have to wait for militia and the Baron.” He called, voicing his approval.
“Yes, but until then, what?” Damain Santeria asked, sitting in the front row, front seat before the mayor. A wood elf he dressed the part in browns and subtle greens, camouflage wear. Sometimes elves did not want to be seen. ”Now there is talk of these bandits in our forests being wood elves. Judging by the attitudes, and rumors, I don’t suppose there is much thought to the contrary in your little village, is there?” Damain spoke for the trees, the elves beyond Underwood’s borders, and the industry of logging itself. He was by no means a powerful elf, just the messenger, which made him powerful enough. Rather than speak aloud for all to hear, Damain spoke directly to Ben.
“We have only a few sightings, but to say that these things are human would be an honest stretch, it is rare for any man among us to move so quickly, or hide so well, as I am sure you’re aware.” Ben replied over the lectern, his voice continuing to carry over the crowd. Ben’s white shirt and suspenders heaved, and fatigue was beginning to show across his face in a sheen of sweat. “That is merely our view of the matter, perhaps you could enlighten us?”
“As best I can, of course.” He said leaning back in his chair, his face like porcelain as he gazed up at the mayor. “Whatever they are, they are faster than elves, and we’ve lost many among us in these past few weeks. Not so much as you, as we have taken the precaution of avoiding the southern forestlands. We elves live long lives, and we prefer it.”
“You elves are cowards.” The captain said, eyeing the young elf three hundred years his junior.
While Ben, and indeed most humans, found it hard to distinguish elves in their immaculate expressions and near uniform eyes, hair, and skin, elves could very well see the difference.
Damain rolled his head and eyes, to what he had long guessed to be a distant relative. Evenkeel and he were similar among their people; Damain could even pass for Evankeel’s son if he cut his hair, and changed his clothes. That did not mean that they were in any way friendly with one another, in fact their similarities grated on their nerves when contrasted with their personalities. They talked under the murmur of the crowd.
“Frank as usual, Evenkeel, but who has lost more lives? We of the forest have cut our loses, you have nearly lost everything between here and there. While we were building new homes, how many graves did you have to dig?” Damain smirked up at the stage, the closest he would come to laughter, and the cruelest he could be in public. “Intelligence is one of the things you seem to have lost in your years among these ‘people.’”
“And when they drive you from those homes, drive you through the forest, and mountains then what?” Evenkeel asked, reigning in his characteristic aggravation for the first time in years. Perhaps years among humanity had taken from him more than he thought. “You wood elves enjoy swinging between trees, is swimming more to your liking? Or do you think you could grow wings and fly-”
“Enough.” Ben said looking down on the wood elves’ ambassador to their little town with all the authority, he had. It was too damn early for elves to be squabbling like children. “Is there anything else you have to say, will you give us your help, or may we move on?”
“Fine. I have nothing left to say, I’m only a witness here in any case, I’ll be sure to relay your question.” Damain said tossing the blond ponytail over his shoulder.
Returning to the crowd the mayor, Benjamin Aldebrand gave his proposition. “Captain Evenkeel has proposed a raid of the forest with the near full force of the watch; I would like to hear your opinions.”
Avella was quick to voice her mind yet again after she had silenced her nearby competition.
Chaos, Calamity, and Mayhem met in Chaos’ tent, sitting around a hollowed hole in the wooden floor illuminated by fire.
Always comfortable, ever lounging, Calamity Jane lay on her side by the fire, paying equal attention between her coworkers and the tiny pops of searing wood. The embers, however, were good competition, and seemed to be far more interesting.
Colored in hues of crimson flame and orange light an image of the assembly glowed. The visions revealed the faces, the people, and the fear within a relatively large hall. Benjamin Aldebrand was speaking, explaining the course of action he would take to the crowd Jane had been trying to rile up for so long now. Regardless of how he pleaded for reason, Jane just drew her dark red lips into a smile, amused, but not enough to laugh.
The other two were running a commentary on the situation. It was a sport; they blew it out of proportion, and then picked it apart. Om’adin thought nothing of the situation, beyond annoyance. Ha-Eke, now the bigger of the two, but still physically the weaker, remained silent.
“This coot needs to be buried deep. Look at him talking, and reasoning. He should know there‘s no reasoning with chickens and fowl.” Om’adin said, looking around with all familiarity. He was among good company if not good friends. Once having been rather large and imposing, he had settled with effeminate elfin features. It was often interesting to see an elf’s face twist with hatred even as it laughed. “Silly fool thinks he can put a monkey in our plans.”
“It’s ‘a monkey wrench,’ or just ‘a wrench,’ a monkey just sounds-“ Ha-eke began to correct on impulse only to be cut off by Om’adin’s snarl of irritation. Eyes met, disdain found its match in arrogance, both sneered. Then they looked away, well aware that any jockeying for dominance would get them the eye of authority’s attention.
Ha-eke returned to the sorcerous image and the dull little voices that carried across the burning ether. The audio crackled as he added another stick to the flame. “You must admit, this is may not turn out to be the best of all possible worlds.” He said, stating what he felt was obvious, and the others called cowardice. Was it so unreasonable to be cautious? No, only voicing your concerns was grounds for laughter.
“Traitor-to-ya-kind, you afraid?” Om’adin’s short jab barked, the reference biting more than insinuations of fear.
Ha-eke bristled for the sake of appearances. Those who knew no fear were those who were buried early or mounted on walls too late, Ha-eke had seen too many die, and killed too many to think fear held demons back. Fear gave demons their wings. Certain as he was, the next jab however would hit harder, strike him where his mind’s stone faced armor did not extend, right below the belt.
Unnecessarily sultry, Jane struck when no one was paying her any attention. “Oh, don’t tell me they forgot you were a man when they gave you that pretty face.” Jane called across the flame, her bow not ready, but an arrow alone would do. Good company this was, it was rare to find a group like them on Althanas’ surface.
“No, it’s all there.” Ha-eke the Chaos said, leaning in over the fire, his features mixing with the image of the town hall. “You’re quite the looker now though, the dragon you used to be is gone. I hardly recognize you without the flab and scales.” A weak barb, but he knew how to attack with the truth.
They all regarded one another, glances shared that implied violence and asked just where each stood. Vying for power, always wanting to be certain of their position, they were a company without any proper bindings. There was just a social tie between them that kept them together above their natural infighting. Om’adin lost interest in the tension first. Goal oriented, he swept them back onto their path.
“Seriously, though, I’d like to get back into my old skin sometime soon, and this bastard is putting a monkey,” his gaze flickered, and dared Ha-eke to speak,“ in the way things are supposed to go down.” He punched his palm, flexed his now elegant muscles, “If anyone has to go, it’s this old guy.” The transformation had not stolen Om’adin’s voice, which hit new lows that were more felt than heard, clearly seen shaking in the rising trails of smoke. Among demons, this was a voice prized for singing. Wasted as it was on Om’adin, it was a shame.
Ha-eke initially remained silent, though every fiber of his being demanded he try to correct his compatriot again. Instead of beating the dead horse, he thought on the subject, and then when he had chosen his words, he thought aloud. “They are talking, spreading messages, devising a plan. If we’re party to this as well,” He shifted his eyes from the fire to Jane, “ then this concerns us a swell, and I‘m sure these little people would love to hear our thoughts on the matter.”
“So you aren’t a waste of space and air.” Jane said, grabbing her bow and rising, the fur of wolves worn on her shoulders. “Still, you’re only half-useless, the act is left to me.” She turned her back on the rapacious glare, felt it scathe across her back, but for all she cared Ha-eke could kiss her ass. She took her prompt and worked with it.
Exiting the tent, she stood on the massive tree branch, and all around her, lesser elves of darker origins stared wide-eyed and waiting. They were immune to the cold, sentient enough to follow orders and feel pain. They were meticulous and thoughtful. They were spineless. They were perfect. “I know a few of you can write in common!” She shouted, unsettling snow and scaring what winter fauna there were from their burrows. “We have paper in our supplies, take this message and make as many copies as you can!”
A demonstration was in order.
Ace stood in his armor, and he stood in the loosest of terms, swaying under gradually increasing weight of armor and fatigue. The result of six hours of work with a billyclub, his breastplate, a muscled bronze front, heaved. Roy, a proven slacker, had told them there rules that they would abide by. His jocular tone forcing those beneath him to repeat what he had said long after he was done, each line worked into the routine.
“The Citizens of Underwood are my highest priority!” A resounding crack rang out as the clubs gave multiple trees fresh new wounds. Clouds of white issued from burning lungs, “I will not hesitate to protect them!” Ankle deep in the snow, standing under the shining sun, every junior watchmen had worked out a method to beating the bark into paste. “Even if I must protect them from themselves!” Only in training did anyone actually hear the last part. While Ace had initially found it funny, he could care less now as he worked his way through massive fatigue.
Behind them, bundled in the shawl he had recently rescued, Roy was enjoying himself watching the clouds from the watch houses stoop. The ragged man, sat with complete ease as his students learned to fell men as they would trees. “No point in teaching anything, but procedure…” He had said, scratching his beard and looking away with a yawn. “We’ll teach you tact in less trying times.” Much to Ace’s chagrin there did not appear to be much to the training so far.
Slacking however simply was not possible. There were a number of swollen ears, and red marks from where stones had pelted them. They came flying through the air, a low whoosh, a sudden smack, wild cries… somehow, without being seen, Roy could aim for the most sensitive points. That’s not to say the man was not playful, and many of the cadets had still not had the time to remove the rocks and dirt that had found gaps in their clothing. One such cadet was visibly red all over, and seething every time she looked at her senior officer.
Under the branches, Ace had left an array of crossing imprints scattered across its from, the majority of it from the singular instant in which he had started with an unending enthusiasm, hitting the tree hard enough to gain attention… While the effort had been mighty enough to uproot it, the tree still stood. In the face of Ace’s waning interest, it was actually looking sturdier… and smug. The vast amount of snow that that now lay all about it simply irrelevant to the case.
“Gather around children, daddy’s going to tell you stories the likes of which daddy’s daddy never did.” Roy called, gathering cadets from the task he had set them too, the trees silently grateful that their beatings had ended. Waiting until they had all taken a knee before his stoop, Roy began with a joke. “What do you call a gaggle of hens, a female dog, and raw sewage?” Silence… narrow-eyed silence, “You’ll know it when you hear it, that’s the kind of job this is.” He said, smiling, not bothering to join in the laughter that his flock delivered.
“Now, you all know of our situation.” He said, thumbing in the direction of City Hall, which was just tall enough, and loud enough, to be seen over the ten-foot wall, and heard from a distance of sixty meters. “What you don’t know is what I know, and didn’t tell you.” Here he laughed a rye chuckle in the face of their annoyance. “Evenkeel, our illustrious chief, has made plans to placate the standing army, headless buffoons they be, and take the greater force of us trained militia men out into the wilds.”
A wave of cheers rang out, proving once again that men, women, and dwarves with a badge could be just as bad as men, women, and dwarves without them. The cries went out, and then were drawn back in as Roy lifted a hand.
“Not you, not you, not you…” He paused on Ace; having noted the man’s furious pummeling of the tree, broad shoulders, and ridiculously can do attitude, “certainly not you.” He continued down the ranks, singling out and putting down every bright face he saw. “And lastly, not me!” He said, quite pleased with himself, almost willing to shake his arms if not for his huddling beneath his brown shawl. “We here are going to be managing the home front… we’d do no better to send untrained watchmen out there than our own people. That said we’ll be moving on to the next phase of our training!” He called the last word over his shoulder… then called it again expectantly. Finally, it opened.
Adiadne stared at the crowd with an empty expression, watching the races of Althanas shift underneath her gaze. She was more than one hundred years old, and while they carried themselves with composure, the simple fact was that many of them would not reach the maturity of ages. ‘Why do they always look like children?’ She thought, the disdain natural, no matter how much she would in theory like to relate to them.
“Our beautiful cadet from the Elvin provinces has just the talents we need… and once she’s loosened up some, we can see what else she’s good at and good for.” Roy’s jokes turned acidic halfway through his lines, burning someone he knew simply did not have a tongue fast enough to keep up with him. Roy easily disarmed her wilting gaze by never so much as looking at her. Ace could see a very unsportsmanlike relation ship from her sat in the crowd. “In truth, forsooth, we have a master of the hand to hand combative techniques, a real leg breaker with the looks to do the same to your heart.”
Adiadne passed the fool as he laughed and shook in the snow. “I am Adiadne Svelline; I will be your instructor.” She said, eyeing the crowd with minimal interest, sizing them up for the one who looked like a promising demonstration. “You will assist me.” She said, pointing to her left, fingers aiming directly at Ace. “I teach by example, if you are not willing to stand, then say so.” No soul to her words, no visible muscle beneath her long sleeved tunic, or suitable leather pants. She blinked when she saw his roaming, certain he was either gauging her… or just another pervert who was hot for pointed ears.
“Who am I to say no?” Ace said, standing. “I’ll leave the club behind; don’t think I want to know what you’ll do to me”
“Shut up; get to the center of the yard.” She said, her cold tone burning even though she did not know specifically why.
As they went, the crowd followed Adiadne and Ace, both of them looking rather confident, if in two very different ways. Adiadne was militant, almost Spartan in her stride, marching forward stiff as a board and just as flat in personality and features. Ace was damn near skippy, sparing glances between them, the man he had arrived with, and Roy, who he seemed intent on impressing. Surrounded in a circle, they faced off, their armor their only protection.
Ace looked unready; Ace looked unperturbed as if the face of maybe two or three hundred years of life was little more than a mild head start. “Are there any rules he asked?” Turning his chest slightly, and spacing his legs into a stance.
“No.” Adiadne began. Her stance more formal, her body a wire frame of angles that looked more suited to ballet. “If there is, it is simply do not let your feet leave the ground.” She took a step toward him, the snow crushed.
It was on!
They approached each other cautiously, Ace well aware that he was not being taught nothing by nobody, and that it would likely end in pain. If he was lucky he could at least escape the worst of it — besides, there were points to be scored for stepping up for things like this. Deciding to play it safe, Ace led with a quick jab, just testing the air between them for the endless traps he suspected in his mind. This would be his first mistake. The arm retreated, and Adiadne came with it. Less than two feet separating them, Ace turned to use his right fight, pivoting on his heels to avoid giving Adiadne a chance at his back. Second mistake. Adiadne stopped, ducked right fist, and reversing directions wrapped both of her arms around Ace’s stomach. There would be no more mistakes. Adiadne thrust her hips forward, threw her shoulders back, and Ace was lifted into the sky. ‘Oh…’ Ace thought, as the clouds moved, and the sun blinded him.
Adiadne then brought the full sum of their combined weights down on Ace’s shoulders and neck. Thus demonstrating a move stolen decades ago. Thus demonstrating what was now called, the Elven Supplex.
It was over...
The cold seals all wounds, and although the wounds of power bombs, and drivers were internal, Ace lay battered, scratches marring his face, and new quirk to his nose. “Okay!” He shouted, rising for the fourth time from a clothesline that had left him breathless under half a foot of snow. His hands felt for his spine, checking to make sure the vertebrae were still in place. Never quite losing his smile or his laugh, winded as they were, he did not appear too badly beaten. “I’m good for a few more!” In all honesty, he swore he would be dead if she was trying to kill him, but of course, honesty was not par for this course.
“If you’ve paid attention, you’ll notice our fine cadet has not been able to lay a hand on our lithe lieutenant!” Roy called, having shoved his way through the crowd for a ringside seat. Abusing his authority, he had appointed himself official commentator on just what exactly was being done to his young trainee. “We’ve seen the Elven Supplex, the Valley of Ashes and the Valley of Ashes: Submission Roll, and lastly a head over heels back spinning clothesline.” The part-time druid said, narrating the order in which Ace had suffered.
Ace Mandelo breathed in small gasps that grew less severe, and farther apart, as he received a reprieve, managing to look ready even when Adiadne had shifted her stance from combat to ease. Ace watched her with a casual eye, a quirk to his brow and expression designed to make her laugh. She glanced at him passively, immaculate features unchanging. Ace could hear her heart beating… it was pounding so hard in need of oxygen, and she denied it with perfect poise. 'Seems I am not the only one putting on airs.' She did not give any signs away.
“I hope you were all paying attention!” Roy shouted, walking into the living arena’s center to stand between Adiadne and Ace as if he was about to grab their hands declare the winner. Perhaps knowing better, he did not reach for Adiadne’s tightened fist. “As watchmen we must avoid spilling the blood of the townspeople. Everything else is fine," he looked to the side, "within the confines moderation, of course." A crooked smile to a crooked watchman.
“If it weren‘t for such fine padding I think Ace might have had a nice hospital stay.” He spared Ace a glance, “Don’t worry; I’ve heard plenty of men scream like that.” He spared Adiadne a glance, “And you…” He gave her a questioning tilt to his head, “You shouldn’t have enjoyed that so much.” There was a touch of seriousness, and a touch of juvenile concern, interested in the shallowest way, he looked like he wanted to ask questions, but instead moved on. “Either way,” Roy shrugged, “The demonstrations done, pair up, and I’ll instruct you children in how to defend your selves with utter submission.” Most of the crowd laughed nervously having seen what utter submission looked like. “Ace, you can sit this one out, I think you’ve had your lesson.”
Ace looked back, staring at the angelic crater that he had made. The force of impact seemed to have melted the snow entirely; he could see the frozen blades of grass forming a secondary outline of his form. ’ He’s… not kidding.’ Ace’s gut churned at just how closely he had come to dying, a dull panic clawing at his insides and kicking his gut. With a nervous chuckle, Ace’s hand went from his back to his armored stomach. He stood tall against himself for himself. He knew the elf had not been trying.
Forcing the step into his walk, correcting the sprain of his ankle with a few pained strides, Ace welcomed his rest with a gladly suicidal, “I’ll be back when you need me.” Lying, always lying… but impressing while he did so, which was all that mattered. ’I can do this all day…’ He lied to himself, welcoming his own poison to numb him to reality. Snow impacting under his feet, Ace made his way inside, an energetic lurch picking up, as he felt better for having escaped the beating through persistence. Going inside, he entered the locker room, and took up on poorly made bench, everything was stone or wood, and splinters threatened his ass on the way down. ’ It’s a work of love.’ He told himself, constantly thinking of new ways to consummate his new persona.
Ears perking, he heard the instructions, and leaning back, raised his head and peered through the frosted window. ’ All day?’ He questioned the idea for the insanity it was seeing the heaps of struggling… screaming bodies on the ground… ’No thank you, I think I’ve had enough of that.’ Sanity said in that familiar, cold tone. Still, Ace watched, trying to pick up most of what he was seeing… most of which looked like legs and wrists would snap at any instant. Just under the sound of pain, he could make out a few other noises. They came from the sky, the sound of wind ruffling feathers without the beating of wings… One of the victorious watchmen, a rather tall Dwarf—or very short man, sometimes it was hard to tell—shouted his victory in the melodious war cry of his people. He fell at such a violent speed that his head was launched to the ground, and hit long before his feet had the chance to catch up.
Something exploded the snow to the far right.
“Get inside!” Roy shouted, screaming as he grabbed two of his cadets under one lanky arm, and manhandled a third, who like many of the others stopped to stare. One of the scrambling figures grabbed a cadet that had fallen. Three more fell, nailed to the ground through their torsos and brains, exploded skin, and flailing limbs staining the snow red. Two more fell as they ran for the door, red-feathered arrows killed them then four more. As they made it inside, and Adiadne slammed the door the moment she looked back, the roof rumbled with a dull drone like rain. Wide eyed, visibly disturbed, Ace stared at the bodies that writhed under the fire, and then watched the shower move seamlessly from watch house across yards and homes toward the city hall.
“There’s something tied to it.” The familiar deep voice of a little man brought Ace back to present company as they held down their single surviving wounded. The woman’s thigh having managed to hold onto one of the arrows that had pierced the others. With comforting words, they snapped the shaft, and ripped it free, Marlow taking the letter first, only to have it snatched away by Roy. The man looked visibly bothered by the article, and finally he let out a sigh of complete exasperation. “You know, this would normally be something we try to hide.” He broke the twined leafy cords, and unrolled the bloodstained message. “But it seems that everyone will be getting these, no sense in being behind on the times.”
“Dear residents of Underwood," He read, the text's strange font and italics almost forcing him to raise his voice.
It has come to my attention that you are having a little gathering that concerns myself and my dear, dear people, who are more important to me than any I have ever laid eyes on. I was having quite a wonderful morning, bathing in the river that runs through your town, and enjoying the fruits of your plentiful produce—I must thank you; they burn so nicely, and make a wonderful fire—yet, when I heard this morning that you wanted to parlay with my group and I, I knew I had to reply with greatest of speed. Wherever you are, I want you to know I will be waiting.
All ways watching, your fondest friends, the air in your lungs, the end of your days, Calamity Jane and Co." The pink stain of the heart reached through the blood to the other side of the parchment for all to see.
XO♥XO
Silence ended the sickly sweet letter, and everyone in the room stared at Roy for answers. The highest-ranking officer did what was only natural. He took a seat on the floor, and stared at the paper, his thumbs stroking the sheet ponderously…soon worrying a hole in it. Never above lightening the mood, he looked up without so much as half the darkness this situation implied. “…” His mouth opened, but he could say nothing.
Underwood seemed to be surrounded by evil minds, and with this last attack, their enemies went beyond salting wounds, they set them ablaze.
In the realm of intelligent communication what does one do to transmit their message? There are barriers between people, lines of reasons not to be crossed. However, if something is important, does one whisper, shout, impart through the mind into the soul… or carpet bomb?
Several dull thumps came from above, dust fell from the rafters, and only two or three dozen Underwood inhabitants looked up. Despite the growing din, no one was greatly amazed, hail being the effect of the season. The roof of city hall shook and rumbled, dust knocked from rafters, no one looking until arrow-fall entered the building. An upper window bursting, two men fell sagging beneath the human tides, vanishing into the crowd even as the first screams rang.
Blood in drops, where there could have been deluges, soaked the oaken floor, and families were not given the time to grieve. Old thoughts led into a dissonant epitaph. For so long as man is finite in his dealings we know that he must pass. Moreover, where were he to choose—Thayne and Fate—providing, his dying place, in the presence of surprise all choice is indefinitely suspended… excepting the undead. We can only hope that the anti-firmament, the place without space or time, is more forgiving than the ultimate and material reality. Benjamin Alderbryne looked out over his lectern, silenced, and shocked, already plotting a eulogy for a man he did not yet know.
A light body covered the old man in a dive as the elfin captain moved to save the mayor of the town. The captain was surprisingly gentle, years of experience at play as he shielded his friend to best of his ability. Moreover, that ability met the test as his body periodically shook. It was no more than thrice, but height gave these arrows the speed of both entry of building and piercing of flesh.
The rain ended, and sunlight breached the city hall through tiny holes that shed rays of illumination on pain. Bodies, very few for the blessing of a roof, were surrounded by the grieving. Those dear people slowly raising their heads as the last arrow was succeeded by a wailing more dreadful than anything bolts of stone-tipped missiles could provide. While placed within the edges of town their enemy had still reached across all borders and distances to touch their lives. Was this beast, this bitch, this demon so hungry for attention and annihilation?
The elf raised him with shallow breaths, and with outstretched hand, he pulled his Benjamin to his feet. “I think you’ve said all you can.” The elder said to the older, “Leave this to me.” He turned, and Benjamin watched one of his best people go, and watched him with worry even as he brushed the filth from his legs and side. He watched the feathers of those arrows bob, and watched Evankeel, rather than stagger or trip, stand tall.
He took no lectern, but instead stared down at the people, red eyes flashing with a light less Fae, and far more intimidating. Above humanity, and yet more deeply entrenched than any sane being could be. There he stood, with that heart of his pounding, a stern concern setting the crowd back, or at least those few who looked at him. Through his shoulder, he wore an arrow, and he looked unconcerned by it… The few elves present, the singular elf of the forest in particular, found they had no claim to him as a member of their race. There was too much emotion in him, too much rage.
“This is why we go alone!” He said, his words burning, his lips tightly controlled like the lid of any smith’s furnace. “We have been cut off, and if were not for this badge I wear,” he wore the Coronerian Armies signet well, “I would suspect we had been abandoned, but I am not that sort of man, I will not bow to suspicion, prostrate myself to fear, or allow good people to waste their lives. I’ve walked among you for years, bought your wares, and shared your humor, but I am the one who is charged with your safety!” He looked at the foreigner, silencing her with the power of his seething devotion, “Just as surely as I took these arrows for your mayor, I will do the same for you. Everyone beneath me will do the same, before and now, against these shadows. “
“These enemies have robbed our graves after killing our people. They send back lies to taunt us.” He broke off from his comfortable common to utter words of import to every elf who had ever served, “Oci’tovend to onc’tyutro—neve rof n’reteal elsvi! Everyday I have woken to that oath in my mind, not an officer alive does not. I stake my life on an oath! Gather those injured, live your lives without thirst for war. I can ask for nothing more than your trust. This will end in the morning.” With utter finality, arrows sealing his wounds. The captain descended, and waded through the crowd with care.
Words read aloud narrated the letters tied to each of the arrows, and while his face darkened, Captain Evankeel gave no response. He simply looked annoyed, a static expression he held with and for the world at large… the levels of his anger simply did not allow his face to look anything but sour, else his eyes would bulged, and his every vein exploded.
***
The rain that had killed only so many passed quickly. Plain language cannot confer the silence that fell on the town. Throughout Underwood, no respectable soul was found sleeping, not one. Beset by the terror, as humanity is won’t to do, they emptied into the streets, a fumbling discord of questions, answers, and more questions. Those who observed from the distant trees watched, and retreated to continue watching. The danger silently receded without ever telling anyone when it would return… as all bastards and people of ill repute are won’t to do.
Soon Evankeel would mount his counter attack, and scorch his a path through the forest eyes blazing.
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