The First Hunt: The Beast of Gisela

[Letho]

“Keep your eyes closed!” Lorelei insisted as she led her reluctant and increasingly annoyed father by the hand. Letho Ravenheart rather disliked surprises. From his experience – and by now he had vast amounts of it – for every jolly, party-round-the-corner kind of surprise you got in your life there were at least nine others that went about to smack you in the face and make your life more difficult. And while he doubted anything his daughter came up with would make him miserable, he also remembered that Lorelei was almost as headstrong as he was and had just as much of a knack for getting in trouble. And consequently getting him in trouble as well. But he played along, stumbling past the main entrance of their manor and into the wintry air of the outside, cracking his eyes open just enough not to hit the door frame. The wind had a bite this high up in the Jagged Mountains, freezing his nostrils after the first couple of breaths and blowing sharp, icy flakes in his face. It also reminded him that his sable cloak was left behind in the heat of the moment, leaving just a dark green doublet and pair of denim pantaloons to fight off the cold. Luckily, he had enough time to put his boots on, but just barely.

“If this is about another one of those sculptures made of ice, I already told you that it scarcely counts if you make them with magic,” Letho said, slowing down as Lorelei led him down the six steps that led down from the manor’s heavy double doors. He knew it wasn’t about the ice sculptures, though. For the past week, his daughter had been busy in the servant barracks, demanding from him to give her some privacy and not spy on what she was doing. And so he did, playing along with the little mystery she had going. He had speculated on her activities, though, but couldn’t come up with anything sensible. The barracks were mostly empty, currently housing no more than half a dozen in a building that could house thirty at the very least, but whatever Lorelei had brewing, she made sure the hired hands didn’t disclose it.

“No, it’s not about the sculptures. And keep them closed!” her voice commanded, her hand tugging him this way and that. Snow mixed with gravel grumbled underfoot at their passing as they made their way around the front of the manor, following a path carved in the waist-high snow drifts. Down in the flatlands, the winter was already waning, the last of the snow thawing fast, but up in the Dol Andana high in the Jagged Mountains, the snow and ice still reigned. They would keep doing so for another moon and a half at least, Letho predicted, freezing the world with white stillness that quite soothed him nowadays. There was no bustle of the stone-paved streets up in the Valley of the Gods, no stifling heat that reeked of horse and fish, no petty bickering and quarrels over a couple of yards of land. No, the elves built a refuge here, a contingent of them buying off the land from the Corone government for a hefty sum that allowed them a bit of sovereignty. They weren’t a nation within a nation like Akashima; everybody was free to venture there. But they kept their own law enforcement, their own laws of conduct and ultimately made their own decisions on whom to sell the land to. Suffice to say, anybody not passing their scrutiny didn’t stick around for too long.

“Alright, here we are. You can look now, father,” his teenage daughter said, and once he did so, she exclaimed a playful: “Ta-da!”

At first, Letho was blinded by the whiteness around him, the sharp sunlight making the snow-covered world around him radiate with white. Then the shape of the simple barracks structure took shape in front of his eyes, its single door closed shut, the blinds on the two windows around it opened wide. And above the entrance hung a sign, freshly painted in light grey with letters – clearly done in Lorelei’s curvy and neat handwriting – jumping out in blood red. The sign simply said:

Monster Hunters

“So... What is this?” Letho said after a couple of seconds of scrutinizing, cocking an eyebrow at his daughter. She stood defiantly next to him, hands on her hips the way her mother’s hands sometimes held her hands on her hips when she wanted to get a point across, pretending that she wasn’t freezing in her blue robe and low-cut leather boots.

“This, father, is your new office. Come on!” she said with a smirk. Once again, she grabbed his hand, two of her little pale ones yanking on one of his bearish ones. The brown-haired lass led him up the stairs and pushed the door inwards, revealing a vastly redecorated main room of the servants barracks. Instead of the usual assortment of lounging chairs and sofas and cupboards holding pewter plates and cutlery there was now a desk almost as huge as the one in Letho’s study, positioned at the far side of the room in front of the fireplace. On the left there was a weapon rack, the Lawmaker gunblade dwarfing every other weapon in his arsenal, including the Victorious, the magnificent warhammer Letho received for winning the skirmish in the Treszlin chamber of the Cell tournament. Next to the assortment of weapons were a couple of wooden dummies wearing Letho’s armors. On the right, in between two doors leading to additional room, was a vacant wall with another sign stating it was reserved for “Trophies”.

“I do not understand.” Letho said, but Lorelei was quick to explain.

“Well, it’s rather simple really. You know that I’m leaving for the Tol Elythis Academy next week,” she said and Letho nodded absently, still looking around. There were rushes beneath his feet instead of a carpet, but they were freshly spread and smelled of autumn long passed. “Seeing as you were boring yourself even with me around, I can only imagine how dull it will be with just the servants keeping you company.”

“I think I can keep myself entertained.”

“Oh, really? With what, polishing your sword some more? I swear, if that thing wasn’t made of adamantine, you would’ve polished it into a saber by now,” Lorelei said. Her mockery was cheerful and scarcely offensive, but it struck close enough to home for Letho to frown a bit. His daughter remedied it by taking a step closer to his side and try to put an arm around his shoulders. Due to her short stature and the broadness of Letho’s shoulders, she reached just about to his neck. “Let’s face it, father. You need something to pass the time. And while I know you are tired of fighting other people’s wars, I also know you still can and want to help people.”

“So you would have me sell my sword again? Travel around like a hedge knight? Live out of a saddlebag?” he asked, stepping away from her embrace in order to face her. He was a hulking figure that towered above her, impressive even in his simple house clothes with eyes that cut like razors. But the brown-haired youngster was undaunted, the Ravenheart steel emerging in both her face and her posture, more so because there was no anger in his eyes.

“Not necessarily. You’d rather be rendering a service to the good folks of Corone.” She stepped away from him and approached one of the windows, casting a glance over the white valley that unrolled down and down all the way to the thin silver line that represented the Erien river. “There are people out there that have some issues that they can’t handle, problems that are impossible for them to solve. Simple things like chasing away a dragon or exorcising a demon or three, you know how it goes. Some of them might have money, some may not. The main thing is that they have a problem and you, father, you have the spare time and the ability to help.”

When she turned around, she found Letho with his huge arms folded in front of his chest, his weight on his back foot, his face crumpled up in a familiar mulling frown. It was the face that usually emerged when she tried to cook something new or propose something that collided with the usual daily itinerary of the Ravenhearts. It was quite obvious he wasn’t sold on the idea yet. “Think of it as exercise. Instead of smacking around wooden poles in the back yard, you’d be smacking around some vile creatures and whatnot.” Still he wasn’t buying it, regarding her with those unyielding deep browns. “Besides, you know you don’t want to be holed up here for much longer. There are only so many chess games you can play with Jonah the Butler.”

“He still beats me three out of four times,” Letho said, but there was a twitch at the corner of his mouth, a sign that the ice was cracking.

“That’s because chess is not your forte,” she said, once again stepping in front of him as fearless as a young wolf. “Come on, what say you? As mad as it sounds, I’d feel better with you out there chasing some beast than in that house, losing your mind – and your edge – one bit at a time. Old man.” She finished with a chuckle, her fist bumping against his chest. That drew a smirk on his weathered face.

“Well, I guess there is no harm in doing some...” He never had a chance to finish.

“Great. There’s already a job lined up,” Lorelei said, approaching the oak desk and picking up a half-unrolled parchment. She handed it to her father. “Apparently, the authorities have a problem with some wolves down in Gisela. I believe you know this mayor Redcliffe?”

“I do,” Letho said, examining the scroll. Tytos Redcliffe was the one that helped them take Gisela back in the War, turning on the Empire and opening the gates for Letho and his Rangers. He lost an arm, an eye and most of his guards in the process. It was good to know he was still around and kicking. “And this just accidentally made its way to us, I suppose?”

“Well, you know. I kept my ear to the ground. I knew you’d say yes, so I figured you’d need something to start with.”

Letho shook his head and rolled up the parchment. “You know, every day you remind me more of your mother,” he said.

“Because of my charm and my good looks?” Lorelei said, offering a mockery of a curtsey and lashing her eyebrows.

“No, because you always find a way to make me do something I do not want to.”

But that was only half true. Yes, she reminded him of Myrhianna, but it was not because she managed to coax him into something he didn’t want to do. Rather it was because she managed to coax him into doing the very thing he needed at that time, even if he didn’t realize at the time that he needed it.

[Letho]

The town was bustling with activity, but that wasn’t unusual for a barony capitol such as Gisela, even when the skies unloaded cats and dogs like today. It was still early morning and despite the dreary weather, there was commerce to be done and money to be earned, so the slick stone of the streets was crawling with folk. The only thing the rain did was accelerate their activity, making everything move just a bit faster with just a couple more curse words at their lips. Suffice to say, the grey skies and the precipitation did nothing to make Gisela more appealing to Letho Ravenheart, especially after the demure calm of Dol Andana. If anything, it reminded him why he chose the elven refuge as his home after the Corone Civil War. It was a stark contrast to the dregs of common living in Corone and the scenery that he had had an eyeful over the years. Yet here he was again, riding into another town, chasing another adventure.

Yanking on the hood of his cloak for the umpteenth time in a vain attempt to provide his face extra protection from the cold, wind-blown rain, Letho clucked Midnight farther down one of the main avenues. The black pegasus obeyed readily enough despite the three days of hard flight from Dol Andana to Gisela; it was a majestic animal, as tireless as it was beautiful. The crowd around him spread lazily, scarcely paying heed to the hooded rider and the night-colored mount with folded wings at its sides. Letho was thankful for that. Midnight usually attracted heavy attention, something the Marshal had no interest in, but the weather dampened interest just as much at it dampened clothes, so he was able to proceed with but a few stray stares following his advancement.

There was talk amidst the small folk, he realized after a couple of minutes of plodding along with the mass of bodies, and it didn’t take him long to piece together what it was about from the fragments of conversations he overheard as he passed by. The wolves killed again, the talk on the street said, but this time they didn’t just chew on some herdsmaiden out in the farmlands. Apparently they struck much higher on the food chain this time, killing the daughter of one of the wealthiest merchants in Gisela. There was more to be heard from the mouths of the folk around him, but soon enough Letho found himself entering the main square of the town, a spot towards which all city activity gravitated to, and the clamor grew overwhelming. Only today it had nothing to do with the trade amidst the numerous stalls. Today it had to do with the fat man standing in the middle of it all, shouting from the top of his lungs, people surrounding him as if he was handing out golden coins. Letho dismounted, tied Midnight’s reins by a nearby lamp post, and shouldered his way through the crowd to see what all the hubbub was about.

“...sit on their ass doing NOTHING!” was the part he finally caught as he got closer to the center of the square. Before the crowd stood a man dressed in dark purple velvet, his three chins jiggling as he spoke, his chubby hands clutched in fists shaken at what Letho assumed was the town hall. Next to him stood a young servant drenched to the bone, holding a gaudy red umbrella in order to keep his master dry. He seemed to be doing a good job, because there seemed to be not a drop of rain on that smooth velvet. Behind the two was a fountain which usually depicted three cherubs spilling water from their jugs upon a field of wheat, but the thing didn’t seem to function at the time. Maybe the locals just got fed up with the water pouring from the sky.

“Well, I say we take matters into our own hands!” the man continued, pacing this way and that, shadowed by his servant. His voice was breaking from all the shouting, but it was still smooth and slick, a voice of a man able to sell horseshoes to a man with no horse. Still, while some of the folk nodded in approval to his words, most were waiting with a leisurely sort of absence, clearly just there for the show before they proceed with their daily activities. “These beasts... they killed my daughter. And I want them DEAD! Every one of them! So I am organizing a hunt. It is something the authorities should’ve done, but they seem happy with it happening outside the walls of their precious city.”

Some yeahs and hear-hears from the crowd, but not a whole lot, Letho noticed. It was a decent performance, but it was lost on this audience. The Marshal didn’t know these people, but he knew the mentality. They liked to observe other people’s business, but didn’t like to get involved in other people’s business. He predicted that the merchant wouldn’t be happy with the turnout to his recruitment.

“Hullen here tracked the pack back to the hills,” the large man said, pointing one of his sausage-fingers to the wiry main in the front row, dressed all in worn leather. The gruff man offered a mock salute as a response, tipping his wide-brimmed hat. “He will lead the hunt today at noon. I offer two hundred gold pieces to every person who joins him and an additional hundred for every pelt you bring me. Now, let’s slay these monsters! WHO’S WITH ME?!”

What followed was exactly what Letho expected: a whole lot of murmuring, a whole lot of shrugs and a slow trickle of bodies leaving the mass surrounding the speaker. Because as good as two hundred gold sounded, a mug of ale and a crackling fire sounded better. And safer.

[The Phoenix]

The steel sky wept openly, inundating the Gisela’s well traveled streets until the trod of countless hooves and feet churned the dusty earth below into thick grey paste and muddled pools of filth. The mire did little to affect the daily flow of men and women who went about their business in Gisela’s markets, save to decrease the general level of patience in the crowd. Bright eyes watched as waves of rolling water flowed together on the lip of a wooden overhead where a crowd of cloaked travelers squeezed together to escape the driving rain. At the last moment, before the collected water could break its bonds and fall free to earth, a dark gloved hand rose to meet it, unheeded against the dreary backdrop and muttered conversations. The pooled water ran freely across the back of the grey leather, twisting round the back of the bearer’s wrist and running down to fall free. The slightest of ripples broke the stillness of the puddle at Elisdrasil’s feet where the rain drop fell, and the high elf could only sigh and shake the excess water from his hand. Being packed together with a bunch of soaking, agitated strangers like mindless cattle wasn’t exactly how Elisdrasil envisioned his time in Gisela would be spent. Sadly, there weren’t many other options available to the sword mage at this point short of standing out in the rain and yelling.

Elisdrasil let out a calming exhalation and closed his eyes, feeling once again the most recent vision that his future sight had granted him. The visions had been the same for weeks, a vast field of wheat bowing towards a larger stalk of wheat. Armies of men, elves, and demons battled around the larger stalk with the destroyed armies replaced by fresh ones in an endless cycle of bloodshed. It was a simple vision which had pulled the sword mage across Corone for weeks with a steady pull. Upon arriving at Gisela however, Elisdrasil’s visions had abruptly changed. They were dark and sinister, full of dark shapes, glowing eyes, rushing cold, and gnashing fangs. Thus far, the only portion of the vision that Elisdrasil had managed to decipher had been the driving storm symbolized by the hazy, rushing cold. Knowing that he wouldn’t find out what his vision meant by staying in the cozy warmth of his hotel room, the sword mage now found himself out in the cold, shielded from the elements only by a mud spattered cloak and the horde around him, and waiting for the gods knew what.

Though his full body suit of leather armor and heavy cloak shielded him from the worst effects of the cold, no amount of insulation could stave off hours of the mind numbing boredom that came from watching sodden crowds go about their everyday routine. The need for patience in these situations had been drilled into Elisdrasil’s mind by his masters, but even his training wasn’t enough to keep Elisdrasil from contemplating a return to warmer, less crowded place. And then, from the corner of his eye, Elisdrasil caught sight of something that caused his breath to catch in his throat. A black pegasus, with a bear of a man on its back, wove effortlessly through the crowded, rain spattered street. Though he had no confirmation, there was no doubt in Elisdrasil’s mind that this spectacular sight was what he was looking for. Showing no hesitation, the sword mage adjusted the hilt of his long curve blade to keep it out of the rain and then pulled his cloak tightly about him as he stepped out into the elements. Behind him, the gap he left in the sheltered crowd closed instantly, erasing any sign that the sword mage had ever been there.

It wasn’t until the pegasus’ rider dismounted and tethered the beautiful creature that Elisdrasil realized that he had followed the creature into Gisela’s town square. A slight blush of shame reached the high elf’s cheeks as he pulled himself from his reverie and scanned the crowd. He lithely wove through the crowd, chastising himself for getting caught up in the pegasus’ majesty, until he was able to see the fat merchant who was currently attempting to rile the crowd to vengeful action. It was certainly a passionate speech, Elisdrasil thought, judging from the red shade and beaded sweat on the merchant’s face, but it sadly didn’t seem to be making as much of an impact on the lackluster crowd as hoped for.

Elisdrasil couldn’t fault the crowd’s fringe elements that had turned from the spectacle and begun to make their way to friendlier environs. But those people weren’t being led by a destiny that they couldn’t understand as he was. Sighing, Elisdrasil closed his eyes and once again recalled his vision. The writhing shape of reflective eyes and curved fangs could certainly be a pack of wolves. Given the circumstances, it was a more likely thing than not. But even with this knowledge there was still something else at the edges of Elisdrasil’s vision, something foreboding and hidden from view. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to spur the sword mage to action.

Seeing no one else approaching the merchant to offer their services, Elisdrasil pushed his way forward. His caught sight of the pegasus rider from the corner of his eye, interested to see that the large man and his mount had yet to take their leave from the scene. He would truly be glad if he were given the chance to meet the man who rode such a beautiful creature, but knew that the fates often didn’t work in such an amazingly fortuitous way. What he knew was that fate had called him to here and placed him on this path. Try as one might, there was no escaping fate.

A flash of hopefulness lit the merchant’s eye he spied the high elf’s approach, and Elisdrasil could sense the tracker’s shadow covered eyes assessed his every move. At least there would be one skilled person accompanying him, Elisdrasil thought as he stopped before them and gave a polite nod of greeting. “I would like to join you if you will have me,” he announced in a calm and even tone.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

“As will I!” a voice called out from the crowd.

A few patrons turned to see who had made the noise, their umbrellas twirling as they saw a roughish figure step forwards through the hail of rain. He had black hair dyed red at the tips, a jacket with cut sleeves upon his shoulder made of leather age with time that stretched to his knees where his boots kicked up puddles into people’s shins, making them dart away from the newcomer.

With a grin he pushed through the crowd, his fingers twirling a blood stained dagger in hand with a casual ease until he stood next to the other who spoke out of desire to join this hunt. He looked to his companions on this, seeing the group he would be engaged with for a few days, and nodded. They all looked like they stunk out loud, but there was one eye the man couldn’t ignore, and it was to this aging fossil he dipped low in a somewhat respectful bow. To the others, he merely sneered.

He waited with the other two, standing off to the side while he observed the grey background with a bored eye. He passed the time wondering why he was here, but the answer wasn’t far off in his mind. No, for the immortal Jensen Ambrose, all he had really was memories, and this one played before his thoughts like a tiny play.

It started in Sei’s office, where the mute had told Jensen that his favorite fight time buddy had vanished. William Arcus, the Revenant, was gone. Sei began to mutter about the troops and the army but Jensen couldn’t focus on that. The demonkin and the immortal went at it like unfed wolves and to think that after all they have fought for, over, and against that it was suddenly all gone left a sour taste in his mouth. When Sei got to his point in his solo rant, Jensen was asked to head to Gisela and see if he could secure a Monster Hunter captain to fill in for William’s shoes. Most of the team the demon kept had either left, or reassigned to new positions. Jensen couldn’t blame them. To work for William was an unique experience, and doubtless they felt no need to work under another.

At first Jensen had been against the idea on the whole. The stone tablet prophecy had mentioned Sei would gather Nine warriors, and the man had. However, closer inspection had dictated that perhaps it was better suited that the generals who left stay away. In time, when the prophecy would be revealed, they would take their roles in the coming danger. Jensen did not like the idea of Cassandra Remi coming back, considering the woman did murder his soon to be wife and destroyed his world for quite some time. Yet he refused to dwell on that longer than he had to. Jensen said he would think on it, left the mute’s room and headed back to the kitchen’s where he sat with Tobias Greenleaf and Erissa Caedron. He spoke about his worries, and the two agreed that Jensen should do the goodwill mission and jump at any opportunities to promote the Ixian Knights. jensen refused them instantly. But Tobias said Jensen needed to get out and do some work instead of staying couped up in the castle. Erissa agreed, and her soft voice and gentle pleading that Jensen go at long last broke his resolve as he tossed his hands in the air and agreed. The two women giggled as he ranted about how, in blunt terms, 'bullshit' this was. Yet Tobias had a good point, he needed to stretch his legs and get to work, and Erissa promised him she would behave in his absence and stay in the castle training.

Women, Jensen thought with a grin.

So it was Jensen waited in line, looking to the merchant with a uncaring gaze. He supposed this is the part where he should have proclaimed that he was a member of the Ixian Knights, and that he would take these men and rally them, beat the wolves, and save the blah blah blah. Yet the more he thought about promoting the group, the more he felt a desire to shove a knife in his head. Instead, he stepped forwards and gestured to the near empty crowd.

“I think at this point, we may as well cut out loses and get a plan going. Who’s going to be in charge of this shindig?” he asked looking to the others. “Is it you, lard ass?” Jensen’s eyes peered to the merchant. “How about the prancing leaf licking elf over here?” Jensen thumbed the man with the curved blade. “Or maybe grandpa?” Jensen said twisting to look at the man with the Pegasus and sword that looked like it could cleave him in twain without much thought left to it. “Oh and don’t think of me, I’m a follower, not a leader. Keeps things simple.” Jensen chuckled as he waited for an answer.

[Letho]

Letho Ravenheart didn’t find the notion of joining this motley crew overly appealing. For one, he certainly didn’t plan for companionship on this mission Lorelei so readily provided, and neither did he see the necessity for it. If a pack of wolves was causing this mayhem, it was nothing that a single hunter wouldn’t be able to handle. A couple of snares, a couple of hours waiting in the underbrush and a couple of well places arrows and the problem was likely to be solved. Even if some survived, they would run after sensing the blood of their kin and likely never return to the area. On the other hand, a large party would only scatter the beasts, making the hunt increasingly more difficult, especially if the hunters didn’t know what they were doing. And aside from the tracker, Letho had little confidence in this bunch.

The loudmouth showoff looked like he could use a good whack behind the ear and some alone time in the corner. Letho knew the type: son of some local lordling, born into too much wealth and so many opportunities that the only skill he developed was how to waste them. He wasn’t here for the money and he sure as hell wasn’t here out of the goodness of his heart. He was here because he was bored and this seemed like a nifty distraction. Compared to him, even the elf was an improvement, and Letho didn’t even like elves. Well, not as companions anyways. As neighbors in Dol Andana they were fine, kept to themselves, didn’t ask too many questions, didn’t put their pointy ears where they didn’t belong. But as comrades they tended to prance around and offer condescending comments in that demure, detached manner of theirs, always ready to chastise and point out the problem without really providing the solution. It was a generalization, sure, but clichés became clichés for a reason. He could only hope that this one was an exception.

When the cocky one called out for a leader, Letho figured it was good as time as any to join the rest and make his presence known. Salvage what could be saved out of all of this. But before he got a chance to move, a sharp sound of a trumpet rooted him to the spot. From one of the avenues that shot from the central square like points of a star came the sound of horses, and when the four riders swung around the corner, the crowd parted like water around a rock to let them pass. They reined in their mounts as they approached the fountain, these cowled figures, slowing down to a canter first, then a slow plod. The one with the trumpet, a young lad from the looks of him without a hair on his pale face, called out:

“Make way!” the herald demanded. “Make way for Mayor Redcliffe! Make way!”

The remaining mass of common folk responded with whispers and murmurs and an alien clap here and there that fizzled out sooner than it really began. The mayor seemed to pay no heed to the lack of welcome. He pulled his hood down, revealing a gaunt face with a scruffy beard and a patch over the left eye. A bit more fat in the cheeks than Letho remembered and a bit less black hair on top of his head, but still the same man that helped him storm Gisela during the war. The one working eye that the mayor had scanned the crowd, breaking into a faint smirk once he located Letho.

“Ah, the esteemed mayor honors us with his presence!” the merchant exclaimed as the mayor dismounted. For an aging man without an arm, he made a pretty good job of it. “Could it be that the treasury is so depleted that a mayor has to work for his wages?” The comment elicited a round of snickers in the crowd that once again began to thicken with the mayor’s arrival. The show was back on again and they played the audience readily.

The mayor took the jibe in stride though, chortling a laugh himself as he made his way up the steps that led to the fountain. “Ah, so funny, but no. The treasury is fine, thank you. Maybe you can check on it if you actually win the election next time. In fact, the treasury is fine enough to match you coin for coin, my friend.” He turned to the two volunteers and extended an arm to the crowd. “That’s right folks. You can now earn twice as much money. Courtesy of your humble mayor.”

Letho waited for the man to add ‘don’t forget to vote’, but it never came. Tytos was always a smooth showman, and all the politicking seemed to suit him. But it was definitely something the ex-Marshal didn’t want to be a part of. Too bad he got dragged into it all the same.

“In fact, the treasury is so fine that we hired possibly the best hunter in the realm to deal with this wolf nuisance for you,” the mayor continued. His eye inevitably went to the spot where Letho stood in the crowd, his arm summoning the burly man forward. “We bring you Letho Ravenheart!”

A collective sigh of puzzlement resounded through the crowd that made a passage as if mayor Redcliffe’s hand moved them with some invisible force, isolating Letho. Seeing that his whole inconspicuous act was shot to hell by the mayor, the swordsman pulled his hood down, revealing a familiar bearded face with a deep frown. Some of the locals knew him from the time he spent here during the way, but most have seen it on the wanted posters the Empire nailed to every corner during the war. The metallic clank of his spurred boots seemed to be the only sound in the square as he moved forward to join the rest.

“Mayor,” he nodded at the man who just called him out. “I see you have not lost your flair.”

“And I see you haven’t lost that dour attitude. Some things never change. How’s the wife?”

“Dead,” Letho answered flatly. Though his face revealed not a sliver of emotions, the mere mention of Myrhia still felt like a punch in the gut. “Yours?”

The one-armed man paused for a moment, the smirk wiped from his face momentarily. “I...ah, I didn’t know,” the mayor said, recomposing himself. “As for Tyra, you should ask her yourself. She’s coming with us.”

He nodded towards the two riders who still had their hoods on. Though her face was barely visible in the shadow of the cowl, there was no mistaking that olive skin and the almond-shaped eyes as black as obsidian. Letho remembered the Fallieni woman well, and by the cold looks on her face she remembered both the Marshal and the fact that his little siege cost her husband and arm and an eye. There was never much love between the two of them after that, and from the looks of it that wasn’t about to change any time soon.

“Us?! Sorry to interrupt your little reunion, but what do you mean ‘us’?” the fat merchant demanded. When he came face to face with the mayor, his voice dropped in volume considerably. “This was my idea. I won’t let you steal my thunder.”

“Your thunder or your profit, Gerold?” Tytos squeezed through his teeth as he leant closer to the man. “I know how much those pelts are worth just as I know little Ilsa wasn’t your real daughter. Now, you’re making me look bad and I can’t allow that. Be lucky that I decided just to match your coin.”

The merchant’s beady eyes were restless for a moment, moving this way and that as he rubbed his hands against each other. Finally, Gerold muttered: “Fine, but I’m keeping the pelts.”

“And I keep my face. And the good folk of Gisela rid themselves of the wolves. Everybody wins,” the mayor said, a sly grin dawning on his face. He turned to the crowd that was getting restless. “Just a minor disagreement, good people, nothing to worry about. I will be leading these brave hunters...”

“We will be leading these brave hunters...” Gerold interjected, stepping next to Tytos with his page dutifully following with the umbrella.

“Yes, fine, we will be leading these brave hunters in an effort to rid you of the beasts! And we’ll be leaving at once.” Again, a few isolated claps, a solitary cheer and a whole lot of murmuring as they slowly started to vacate the area around the fountain. Letho understood the common folk perfectly; this politicking made him want to leave as well, saddle up and return to Dol Andana and his sword polishing and chess games with Jonah. But he had a duty, so instead he approached the two other volunteers unlucky enough to get caught in this mess.

“Politics,” he said to the pair. “Makes you glad you volunteered.”

[The Phoenix]

"Makes you glad you volunteered."

"Not exactly," Elisdrasil mumbled, the words lost to the whipping wind and pouring rain. His profession was being a warrior, not a politician. Trekking into the wilds under clouds of whipping wind and driving rain were what his training had prepared him for. Ask him to facing certain death at the claws and fangs of savage beasts and he would do so without hesitation. But tell him to drag a gaggle of honking peacocks with him while he did this things and Elisdrasil was completely out of his element.

Fortunately, there were those in the group who were far more adept at dealing with the situation than he was. First imressions told Elisdrasil that Letho seemed reliable enough. He had proved to be a quiet man possessed of a stoic grace, and he did well to hide the power he exuded. Along with him, the tracker Hullen had dutifully lead the group, handling the one-upsmanship of both the fat merchant and the town mayor with the same emotionless mastery.

Neither of those men had had much to say once the party had left Gisela. In Elisdrasil's experience, those who said little were either ashamed of their ignorance or were wise enough to hold their tongue. Elisdrasil trusted that both Letho and Hullen were the latter. Unfortunately for him the other warrior, Jensen, didn't even have the decency to be the former. From what he had learned, Jensen was too ignotrant to even understand his ignorance. He moved with a practised ease of an extremely skilled individual, but there was more to being a warrior than fighting ability. Jensen may be a good killer, but he was a failure as anything greater.

Behind the warriors came the civilians, though why the merchant Gerold and his servant, who's name Elisdrasil hadn't overheard, were following the hunting party was beyond the sword mage's understanding. Money made people do strange an uncharacteristic things, including leaving the comfort of a dry home and a warm fire on a miserable day such as today. But as odd as it was that Gerold and his servant came along, it was nothing compared to the absurdity of being accompanied by the mayor's wife.

The mayor himself seemed like a capable enough warrior, if not slightly past his prime. Assuming it was his duty to see that Gisela was protected from outside menaces like a murderous band of wolves, Elisdrasil could understand perfectly well why the one-eyed politician had insisted on tagging along. But, opposite him, the dark skinned woman seemed as out of place as a tree in the center of a grain farm. She had not deigned to say a word to anyone but her husband since verbally abusing Letho back in the town square, and seemed wholly disinterested in the entire affair. Elisdrasil had to remind himself not to judge the woman overly harshly, as there were many great warriors who looked nothing of the sort. Perhaps her vicious softness held a soul of steel.

"Probably not," he muttered, quickly looking away as Tyra locked flinty eyes with him. Elisdrasil cursed himself silently for his inattention. Drifting into dream-thought and suppositions while on a mission was an amateur mistake. He should be focusing on the task at hand, keeping his muscles warm and loose despite the frigid atmosphere. A pack of wolves was not exactly a challenge for a single warrior trained to fight demons and necromancers, let alone a full party of such people. But, he had to admit, even his vision had shown him that there was some sort of connection between these creatures and the ominous shadow looming darkly in his mind.

Elisdrasil rached out to brush away a large frond of foliage that had whipped back from Hullen's advance position. Gerold and Tytos had engaged in another round of petty bickering over something or other that must matter to the politics of Gisela. A brief thought crossed Elisdrasil's mind of snapping back at the men to silence themselves before they compromised the rest of the group, but the Raiaeran quickly pushed the thought aside. Though he was here primarily on the whims of his future sight, even he needed money to keep his crusade against growing threats of evil alive. It would not do to isolate himself from two employers at once. Besides, while neither man had shown any disdain ffor Elisdrasil's Raiaeran heritage, the sword mage didn't want to give them any particular reason to join in with Jensen's loudmouth bigotry. It also didn't help that there was little chance of some minot bickering to reveal the group's presence in the midst of such a rainstorm. Not unless their prey happened to be half a dozen feet away at the most.

Sighing softly to himself, Elisdrasil shut his desires away and stoicially bore the frustration that he felt, choosing instead to tune his attention to the foliage and slogging mud of the game trail upon which Hullen was leading them. His off-hand reached down subconsciously to slide across the smooth white features of the war mask that hung off the Raiaeran's belt. Regardless of the difficulty of the actual fighting, he knew that this was a task that would need all of his focus to complete.

[Enigmatic Immortal]

The thing about traveling in the rain Jensen had to surmise he hated the most was the inevitable feeling of wet socks. It was bad enough that he trudged through sludge and mud and puddles, beaten by the never ending torrent that dripped down his hair like dew on a fresh morning. To add the feeling inside the warmth of his boots was that final little slap in the face. From the first squish, to the coldness on your warm sole, all the way to the realization you had a hole in your new leather. Not that the immortal could notice such a difference. He traveled unlike the others without cloak or warmth, letting the cold grip him like a blanket. His sleeveless leather coat provided all the warmth he needed, and the slicked matte of hair that slapped his face kept him alert.

Besides, he felt like a badass.

With a quick swish of his hair backwards he looked out over the landscape, pondering if the wolves would be stupid enough as they were to be travelling in this downpour. They probably were nestled in their pack together for warmth, hidden under a rock or tree flooring, and having dreams about chasing rabbits in the sunlight or whatever else the canines dreamed of. Certainly not getting their paws all dirty in this slippery mud.

Jensen gave a half-assed look to those around him. He had only heard of the name Letho Ravenheart. To be fair, you had to be a tribal hick, hidden in the trees for all time not to have heard of the veteran warrior. Jensen also heard of him because of his unique arsenal of weapons. He looked to be packing quite a bit of heat, more than enough to handle oh…a small army or three Jensen mused. But one weapon in particular caught his fancy, and he never had a good chance to see if the man brought it. Lawmaker was a trademark of the bastard; a gunblade that Jensen had once bent his entire life to having a copy of and naming it Lawbreaker. Yet the trade rules and regulations for fire arms, as well as finding a competent shop keeper to manufacture and design the stupid thing was hard to come by. The high lords of the trade market, a moderator perhaps, deemed during Jensen’s tenure that such a thing was maybe not to be allowed in the world of Althanas. With a look to the sky Jensen narrowed his eyes, cursing silently whoever that man was.

When he lowered his gaze he found the pompous Elf frolicking in the forest like a recruit on their first wilderness adventure badge. He reeked of green and needed perhaps more than a slap upside the head to bring out his potential. Jensen gave him a sneer, flipped the elf off when nobody was looking, and giggled to himself as he continued on the road ahead of the main group. He figured he should have been talking about Sei Orlouge or promoting the Ixian Knights, but that wasn’t really working out well for Jensen. No, the knight just figured a few extra gold coins will be well worth the trip to purchase a round of drinks back at the castle.

“You sir, your name?” It was a hallowed shout, drowned out by the rain that fell around them. Jensen had to turn and look for who was speaking, only to find one of the mayor’s goons looking to him and waving. Jensen gave an over exaggerated wave back, clearly mocking the idiot on their hunt and slowing down enough for him to arrive. The wife of the mayor passed a look to Jensen that he returned with a grin and a wink, causing her to turn her face away at once. Jensen shook his head, a low chuckle as the mayor’s entourage showed themselves.

“Any particular reason you are screaming like a jackass on a hunt?” Jensen asked the man who flagged him down.

“I was only simply asking for your name so I can make sure you are paid for your courage,” the scribe replied, doing his best to keep the papers in his hand dry. He was failing miserably. Jensen shook his head turning around, speaking back to the mayor’s scribe with a detached care.

“Sei Orlouge pays me,” Jensen shook his head in irritation. “I don’t need that money. Toss on the street when we get back and drop my name for mayor of Gisela.” There was a soft chorus of chuckles and laughs as the mayor turned back to Jensen, giving him an appraising eye with the only one he had left. He made a careful show of moving towards the immortal until they were side by side. Jensen kept an eye out on the man’s wife, but Letho seemed to keep a steady pace with her in the sidelines.

“Sei Orlouge pays you, eh?” Mayor Redcliffe said in a manner that reminded Jensen of the image of a rat pawing it’s hands over themselves again and again muttering ‘good…good .’ He shrugged as his answer and the Mayor went on, climbing the hill with little trouble as Jensen ducked a low branch. “You a member of the Ixian Knights I keep hearing so much about?” Jensen gave another shrug. “Mercenary team? No, perhaps monster hunter? Nah, I heard their leader was a demon. Let me guess, Reformation team?”

“Personal body guard,” Jensen muttered to him, closing his eyes as he started to whisper a soft mantra on his lips, feeling the ebb and flow of the wind around him.

“Oh, well then I am honored to have such a fully capable man on my team. Perhaps Sei Orlouge was looking to seal a working arrangement with his Knights? I have many times thought of how beneficial it would be to have the Ixian Knights behind me when I started my campaign. And of course,” He looked to the rest of the group and leaned forwards, his stinking warm breath offending not only Jensen’s sense of smell, but taste. Yes that was right, Jensen could somehow taste this man’s rotting intentions. They continued on, Jensen saying nothing as he spoke to him. “I could make this wholly worth his time. Trade network second to none, not even the Bazaar in Radansath! Re-open of the Gisela tournament! Ha ha, what glorious way to celebrate Gisela and the Ixian Knights by having such a highly ranked warrior within the last Gisela matches.”

“I do believe Sei placed third,” Jensen muttered, breaking his mantra for only a second, returning the words to his lips as he grinned, finding a flow to the breeze that he liked, his hands softly stirring to his sides.

“Ah, well…that’s very highly respected.” Jensen shook his head in disbelief. “If you could have Sei help me with my campaign, I can return the favor to him easily.”

“I’m here to hunt wolves ransacking your people, spread good cheer, and vomit the tenants of peace and love. Not make sure you look good coming out of this little hike. As far as you can be concerned,” Jensen smiled, turning as a breeze of wind moved with him, a torrent of rain whipping in an arc slamming into Mayor Redcliffe’s face and torso, drenching him in a manner such as a bucket being dumped on him.

“I’m a leaf on the wind,”