Request As a Request: NaNoWriMo

[Original Hylion]

I'll be posting up my lil novel soon enough. It was long and difficult to write, and will indeed have spoilers to my RP that's going on right now. I'm terrible with grammar and spelling, and I could barely find all of my mistakes after a few five times of reading it over. Thanks to @Silver Lion Coalition there should be a little less grammar mistakes, but of course he could not waste to much time on me and correct my every mistake. So if my terrible grammar isnt too distracting, feel free to read it. I'll post it soon enough.


People who asked to see...


@Delta @Sol @Erica @EliCarter @Evangeline @Slender Man


Errr... sorry if i missed anyone who wanted to be tagged.


Special thanks to @Humor Erica, Elicarter, Abby, @Aeradom Sol, WanderingTyrant, @Soses-fighter007 and of course Silver Lion 
You may not use material from this short novel's setting elsewhere without the explicit WRITTEN consent of the author (myself: Original Hylion/Chase Lamb). 

Chapter One

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A fine afternoon, when clouds flow gently through the sky riding a cool and calming breeze. The Sun warmed the floor and the flesh of the men and women who walked about the city, among them Rige Airs. Rige stood alone in a stone gazebo; there he had a good view of the Eastern outskirts and the many roads and towns leading outward. From his spot, he could see the many blue roofs of the city, which signified higher caste and castle dwellings. Rige lived much closer to the cathedral than the castle, though he was allowed to traverse wherever he pleased, as were most of the Djinn Wolves. The castle was usually just patrolled by guards and servants, most too busy to spare time for small conversation. Rige found himself wandering around the city much more oft than usual. As the Alpha of the Djinn Wolves, Rige was usually busy, but as of late there was nothing for him to press his attention on. The Djinn Wolves, the famed unit of Zephyr, the independent city state that resides on the southwestern coast. All the nations around were city-states, but many of them relied on each other, or partnered with nations that shared the same god. Zephyr was one of the only states that stood on its own feet; as well they lacked a god that they solely worshiped. Religious practice was free in Zephyr, as long as it was confined to privacy. Zephyr's fame did not come from its political stand, but rather the infamous cavalry brigade that served under it, the Djinn Wolves. While the rest of the world is often at war or in shambling states, Zephyr has been able to keep a steady economy and strong army to defend its walls. While Zephyr is considered quite powerful, it is far from the largest population wise or territorially. They are quite lucky and thankful for their size and their independence. Economically they are sound, as friendships with neighboring city-states are quite solid, though there are some states that detest Zephyr for not garnering a main religion or condoning the smaller unwanted religions. Religiously, Zephyr allows any religion to be worshiped, as long as it is kept in privacy, although Zephyr has a church devout to the graceful goddess Sultra and a cathedral under Cosmos the goddess of Order. While the civilians of Zephyr have varied religious beliefs, a majority serves under Cosmos or Sultra. Zephyr is quite close to the coast, and has prominently sized docks that lead out to the ocean. While it is rare to have contact with the other main continent or isles, on occasion there is a foreign ship at their docks. Due to that, Zephyr is not unknown to have residents with extremely foreign accents or appearances. Along with the people, the foreign goods give Zephyr a large amount of wealth being as they control the docks of the western coast. While Zephyr's currency is focused mainly on talons, it also expands onto the coin to meet with standards of trade. Thanks to their diverse trade, many of the residents of Zephyr reside in the middle or higher class while there are near to no people left in the lower classes. There are three classes of wealth on the Realm of Gods. The higher class, those of noble birth, Saints, Mancers, and others that would naturally be born into the position. Often they have large amounts of both currencies. The middle class, who are the artisans, merchants, tradesmen, knights, mages, generally people who have worked and continue to work for the position they possess. Usually they have enough of one currency or the other. The lower class, consisting of militia, farmers, servants, slaves, diuris tribesmen, hermits, and those who do not believe in the common currency or were born into a caste near or in enslavement. Rarely do they have any type of currency, usually relying on the old trading system. Zephyr is not overly advanced, but they stay to date with the times and usually keep the main parts of the city up to date. They have basic plumbing, strong houses, dependable walls, and gorgeous structures. Zephyr consists of a main city that is kept up to date and well defensible and also holds the church and cathedral, while the rolling plains to the east are scattered with smaller towns that mainly consist of middle class artisans and lower class farmers. Both the city and the plain towns have a strong guard force, mainly manned by the Djinn Wolves, while the law/Djinn Wolves are the most respected men and women of Zephyr, they are relatively kind, commonly gruff and boastful, but kind. Zephyr is run as a monarchy. The Duke is a very benevolent ruler, but is also known for a slight greedy nature, though nothing uncommon. Taxes fluctuate, but are kept low, especially towards the Wolves’ families, and in turn the duke pays the Wolves salary. The governmental system of Zephyr is controlled by the monarchy, the Dukedom. It is very general, with a system of feudal hierarchies. There is the Duke and the Duchess that hold the highest hereditary, then under them the earls who own the towns outside of Zephyr, after them marquises and viscounts who separate their jobs under the earl. The marquis would take care of military while the viscount took care of economic and social matters. Barons came next as the lowest royal heredity, under them came the knights and squires, followed by the lords then their children and younger siblings. The lowest ranks come along as free and common men such as artisans and farmers who owned their own land. Then the serfs and villeins who serve almost as slaves but could leave service if they pleased, and below them the actual slaves. The Djinn Wolves served a completely different governmental system; they were above all other hereditary and took care of most, if not all, military and domestic security. While they do not bother in economic or social affairs, they have the respect to do as they please in all areas.


The large amount of recruiting had forced the need for divisions and more lower ranking leaders. Now they had the work divided amongst the separate veterans, leaving Rige with only the top work, if it ever reached him. His wife was becoming dull and spent most of her time gossiping and shopping. It was sad: Rige was finally free of work yet he no longer had any children around to spend his open time with. Too often was he staying at bars, drinking and whining about his boredom. He simply had almost nothing to interest him; the only thing he was happy to hear was the occasional letter from his youngest daughter. His youngest daughter, Payge, had started her pilgrimage in priesthood and Airrow, Rige's adopted son, volunteered to escort her. His daughter would send him updates on their progress and condition when she could. He learned that they were traveling with a young and peculiar mage, a foreign minstrel, and a hunter. Rige was not fond of his daughter traveling with so many roguish men foreign to him, but he trusted his son to take good care of her. He admittedly believed that he was too hard on his eldest daughter, he was afraid that his often absence, and his large amount of scolding her behavior troubled the girl when she was young. He felt that he left an incredibly bad impression on her when she left for her college studying. It was only some cycles ago that he had received a letter of her disappearance. He merely hoped for her safety. Rige rarely speaks of her now. He knew little of how the children were as toddlers, only now has he gained time to spend freely. His eldest daughter saw the least amount of him, and when she did, she would see the tired and grumpy father too tired to bother with caring for his daughter. Along with that, he would be told of her bad behavior and would come home to scold or discipline the girl. With Airrow, he would only get to spend time with him when Airrow visited the Wolves’ hall. Mostly, Rige would spend his time with his son teaching him, but he lacked the time to bond and simply learn more about his son. He had not even known that his son learned of his lack of blood relationship almost an entire cycle after he found out. He felt most disappointed about his son, as he always wanted a son, and wanted a male heir, and someone to carry on his dreams. His youngest daughter left at a young age, she was given to the church to become a monk, while Rige saw her on rare occasion, and it was not often that he could spend time to simply talk with her.


As usual, to kill time Rige would spend all daylight going from one tavern to the next, aimlessly tasting all the drinks until he became too drunk to find his way home. By then one of the members of the Wolves would find and escort him back home. He had actually been carrying around a checklist where he marked off every tavern he had been to, often he would lose the checklist and start over, visiting many of the taverns over and over again. He was headed to a bar in the towns, as he had not yet been to most of the bars outside of the city. It was rare that he even left the city; he had no need to, slightly enforcing his boredom. Rige was set on starting his day at the Drunken Breeze. It was quaint little place, relatively new, as Rige had heard. There were rumors that the place was serving a nice kind of mead made from a foreign honey. If it tasted good and sent him into a fast enough buzz, he may just spend the rest day there. Though, he considered that if he were to pass out there, the Wolves might not find him due to the lack of knowledge of the place.


Rige entered the establishment pushing the doors open, taking a few looks around, and noticed that the place was quite empty, except a few people. Although, he did see a few people in the tavern, a group of hunters and a lone man who looked quite angry with the pretty young barmaid. Perhaps he had made an offer to her and had been rejected. Rige decided that he could entertain himself by drinking with him. The other group seemed to already be acquaintances with one another, so it may be more difficult to edge into their established clique. The current emptiness of the tavern was understandable, being as it was relatively new and the famed Cloud Nine would take most business of this type. Cloud Nine was set in the Red Wind district; commonly red districts are where most unruly and sometimes illegal activities are free to happen. The city, and most other city-states, is separated into color-coordinated districts. The red district for frowned upon activities to happen, the blue district for the higher caste, the brown for industrial district, and the yellow for the thatch roofs of the lower castes. The Red Wind district is small and continues shrinking due to the Cathedral wanting less and less of the activities there to be known. Cloud Nine is the largest attraction; it is a gambling house, a brothel, a pub, and even cheap of price. They have good protection of the girls; an almost upright management and a currency pay back system, and take good care of all visitors. The Red Wind district would have been closed down some time ago if the Cloud Nine had not erected itself in Zephyr. The district is kept somewhat in good condition as they do not allow men under the ages of sixteen cycles, and women are not allowed unless attended by a male of twenty cycles. Now and days, Cloud Nine and a few other establishments are the only businesses in the Red Wind district. Rige does not often travel to the Red Wind district, but on occasion he would visit Cloud Nine for a drink and some gambling. He never partook in the brothel area, as he was pacted and was faithful to his wife. He had heard rumors that Airrow, his son, had begun taking regular visits to the Red Wind district. Rige did not believe the rumors, but they made him anxious as how his son was being raised. There was a group of hunters there as well; it was not uncommon around this time for hunters from all over to visit Zephyr. The Hunt attracted the eyes of many, as it was a test of skill and a grand show. Nobles and civilians would come to watch, rogues would gamble, and hunters would either participate or learn from viewing. The Hunt gained much attention, although Rige did not partake in the events any longer, though when he was younger he very much enjoyed it. It was an interesting change from hunting the forests as the beasts and animals hid in an entirely new environment. The reward was fame and an honorary prize, the prize changed every festival but it was always grand. The group of hunters in the bar were part of the early arrivals, as the larger amounts of visitors arrive closer to the days of the festival. Soon enough every tavern and inn would be filled with people from every corner of the Realm. Rige would most likely see if he could learn of any info on his daughters, or how the Eastern cities are doing with their diuris problems.


The Hunt was not a new festival; in fact it was partly the reason Zephyr had ever come to be a city. Zephyr, a beautiful city inhabited by gorgeously kind people and surrounded by lush forest and rolling hills. A thriving economy, a kind monarchy, a benevolent caste system, and powerful yet welcoming walls. Agriculturally beautiful, a grand surplus, culturally diverse, and incredibly safe. Within the city, much of the buildings toward the deeper areas of the city are designed in a much older and prettier fashion, as the original settlers of Zephyr had come here as missionaries, spreading Sultra's love throughout the land during the beginning of the times of iron. Much of the settlers were hunters, and sought to impress Sultra by commonly holding grand tourneys of hunting. Eventually, more and more people came to Zephyr as its trade was remarkably strong thanks to the occasional visits from the humes across the ocean, as well as the goddess Cosmos bestowing amazing harvests and protection on the inhabitants of Zephyr. While Cosmos's cathedral quickly grew larger and garnered more supporters in Zephyr, the Signum church's old traditions stayed. Thus every two cycles a wondrously fun festival is held, the great Hunt. The Hunt festival is usually held in a large district of the city, around the church, an urban district. They gate and lock off that district, then release several large and medium sized beasts into the city. The spectators who are not participating either lock themselves in their homes, or watch from balconies and roofs. The participants are allowed to walk the streets and hunt. The goal is to bring the largest amount or best bounty to the church. There are guards stationed atop many houses to assure that none are participating in unfair play, and monks are stationed in case any become injured and cannot continue. The Hunt is always a great and fun festival, especially as there are market stalls stationed around the gates, selling toys to children, sweets, and much more. The festival has become a great tourist attraction, and garners large amounts of attention. As well the winner and participants are showered with praise and gifts. Even those who do not participate have great fun watching. Another attraction during the Hunt, diuris, far from east, even participate, pitting the hume hunting skills against diuris in good sport.


The two dominant human races are the diuris and the hume. The humes, what is considered a basic human, dominate most of the lands in population and control. They are the most common race, they were not some of the first human races that came upon Terryal, but they are definitely the first to begin mass organizing and domesticating the lands, as well as creating civilizations. Most kingdoms and governments are mainly controlled and governed by humes, giving them most of the control and influence over most of the lands. Due to their power, they have deemed themselves the most intelligent of races. They cover most, if not all, the lands making their languages the most common spoken, thus all races are practically required to learn the local hume tongue as their natural language, in this process actually erasing other races origin languages. Being as they control a majority of the lands, they have become the most diverse and advanced of the races. On the Realm of Reaping they do not hold control over a large kingdom. Besides power and control, the hume kingdoms seem to focus on order and innovation, as they search to gain more order they find new and innovative things, adapt new ways from foreign lands, and spread diplomacy throughout Terryal. As they seek out the future, they tend to lean towards finding the newest most innovative ways to do things, as to always stay on top. While they tend not to excel in singular subjects, they have an amazing tendency to bring what all the other races excel in together and create greater things.


The long eared folk, these creatures share many similarities with the humes. The diuris's most noticeable difference is their long ears, they extend a slight further up and out with a tad bit more of a point. While the ears are the most noticeable, they actually have a large amount more of differences, such as their body frames, their body frames are somewhat longer, meaning most are a bit tall, and usually slimmer, but still looking much like a hume. A belief is that their bones spare strength for lightness, making them weaker than humes but much lighter. With lighter bones and the same amount of muscle, the long eared folk are capable of running faster and much more agile feats. But with lighter bones, they are prone to braking and fracturing bones much more often and easily. While they are more commonly known as soft skins or long eared folk, some like to call them diuris. The long eared folk, or the diuris, are capable of living for a long period of time, usually at least twice as long as a normal hume. Due to their fragile bone structure, they have difficult times caring for young, while in the womb, most mothers die while giving birth. To avoid extinction, they isolate themselves and protect and shelter the females of their race. The diuris life style is very caste based; they have their undesirables, their farmers, their artisans, and so on. While they were in no way advanced during the times they lived on their own culture, they had a considerable amount of fight, allowing them to be one of the first civilizations along side the first hume kingdoms.


The conflicts of the mainlands were usually simple claims on land and arguments. It was rare that any of the city-states would declare war on one another, but it was often that they would do battle with full armies. Due to the common unfriendliness between the human city states, the hume races, who control all the city states and have most recently been losing ground, outpost towns, and many lives to the diuris tribes. The diuris are much more tribal in comparison to the humes, they seek more land and resources. The most suitable option, in comparison to fighting amongst one another, is to gather the tribes and declare war on the humes. Only the city-states that border the eastern forests have been affected, but the diuris tribes strike further from the forests every day. Some of the hume city-states consider joint offensives against the diuris, but none successful as of yet.


The lone fellow seemed overly aggravated, he did not seem foreign, and in fact Rige felt that he had maybe seen him before. As a guess, Rige took that he was either a resident of Zephyr or a common visitor. Being as the fellow was most likely from around Zephyr, Rige found a seat beside him. He placed his hind end on a seat adjacent to the lone man, but with one chair between them, as not to seem peculiarly friendly. He waved to the group of hunters and greeted them with a kind smile, and the same to the bartender and the barmaid. He ordered the best drink they had and asked for the largest tankard to have it in. He started off taking sips, tasting and savoring before he finally began gulping down portions of the drink. Rige was once a very sporting man, and was quite large in size. He was born into a higher up family, a few barons. He could have continued the line as such or even raise the line’s status, but he took against it and left to fight the diuris of East. He raised a small contingent at Zephyr and recruited more on the way. Before he could even get close to where the raids were happening, his forces were becoming too hefty, and he could not pay each of them their wages. A local earl was making a claim on another’s land, and had begun preparation to challenge for the land. Rige signed up his forces to help. Chances were, the earl would lose as he was challenging Sanctitas, one of the larger city-states in the mainlands. In the long and arduous battle, attacking Sanctitas, then falling back to the field, then being sieged at the earl’s estate (where Rige and his forces defected). And he did it all to dwindle his forces. It garnered large earnings, but now he lacked a suitable amount of troops, so he decided to pull back to Zephyr. Of course they came back with different stories, mostly of heroics.


"Now that's the stuff!" He spoke cheerfully. "How bout a few rounds on me, eh?" Rige stood from his seat and gestured to the others, the hunters reluctantly agreed, even as it was free drink. The barmaid quickly began passing about more drinks, as she was alone she began to scurry around. Rige nudged the fellow beside him with a rough elbow, "Hey now, drink with us, ti's a merry day, the Hunt is soon upon us!"


The fellow gave a sideways glance in reaction, seemingly not amused by the show. The fellow had begun paying his talons and getting up to leave. “The Hunt, the Hunt,” He began in a mocking tone, “When we drag our warriors and hunters away from the battles against the diuris so they can grab out love. But, bless me, I shouldn’t be insulting the great lady that is Sultra, else she’ll strike me where I stand.” He began to flatten his tone; “I’ll be merry when I please myself merry.” The man then began gulping down the free round. “Although,” he said after quickly finishing the drink, “pay for this last one with the next few, and I might be a little less…” he trailed off, not completing his sentence. Mindlessly, he took his next drink and downed a few gulps as another patron entered the tavern. Already the place felt much less emptier.


The girl was much younger then anyone in the tavern, and she seemed to mind her own as she placed herself where she pleased. As Rige was very much bored, he found himself over examining everyone and trying to track down their pasts with only the detail of their appearance. He tried to make it obvious at first, as he did not want to come off as already drunk. The first thing he noticed was the fact that she had ears of an animal, large grey fluffy looking things, as well she had a long grey tail waving behind her. On her cheeks and some on her neck, was more light fur than a hume should have, but it did not look scruffy and manly, instead it looked very animalistic. He noticed her arms were very much the same, with grey fur. One of the more interesting things were the sharp and long nails that curved inwards slightly at her finger tips. It was quite unique, as hybridia were definitely not common here. He had heard rumors that they were in slave trade in the Northern Dead Lands, but he could not believe he was actually seeing one. Hybridia are not native to the Realm of Gods, in fact the sight of them was quite a surprise to the residents of the lands. They originate on the continent across the sea, and are mostly barbaric. To see a civilized one is considerably interesting, as most that leave their home continent become enslaved by either the humes of the isles or are traded to those of the Northern Dead Lands. It made Rige quite curious of her, as she was quite young. He wondered how she had gotten here on her own. She looked young and fragile, not the type to be able to travel alone and fend off from those commonly use to enslaving her kind. She looked quite ragged; perhaps she was an escapee. If that was the case, Rige did not see making friends with her as a very safe decision. He would have to keep some of his wits about him tonight. But Rige was not the type to pry; his attention was away from her and back to his drink quickly. The main continent has come to be known as the Realm of Gods. There is only one other major continent, it has been deemed the Realm of Reaping, and it is very northwest. Near the Realm of Reaping, is a collection of large islands. The Realm of Reaping is known to be home to beast men and barbarians, while the isles are inhabited solely by godless humes, while a few other isles have yet to make contact and are assumed to be uninhabited. Even as contact between the Realm of Gods and the isles as well as the Realm of Reaping is rare, on occasion ships travel to and from for trade.


"I wonder where all the decorations come from," Rige spoke out loud, "most taverns hang up items that they are renowned for, like a prize hunt that a patron donated, or equipment from a legend long passed."


The now the even angrier seeming man spoke about the Hunt mostly, it seemed he did not take much joy in the occasion, that or his drunkenness pushed a much more rude exterior. Rige assumed that forcing more drinks down his throat would lighten his mood, or knock him out anyhow. He seemed he would only stay if the drinks were supplied to him steadily. Rige did wonder what his problem was though. "The Hunt is a time to be joyous, for all men and women. Should we deny the brave soldiers who fight on the line a chance to rest and enjoy sport and the celebration of the Hunt?" Rige smiled to the young man, "Or perhaps you would offer to replace them while they take a few days to breathe." Rige then gestured to the barmaid to continue filling his cup and as to secure his trust in him, and somewhat to help calm the man beside him, he spoke his name, "Put the tab on the Djinn Wolves, just mention Rige Airs and all will be fine." Of course his name created a horrid moment of silence as the owner and barmaid realized that the blond man in front of them was the Alpha, even the hunters at the table peeked over to see. Even with Rige's current vices, he was still quite recognized, and infamous when known. The name took a few moments to hit the rude fellow, as he had begun blubbering about with his drink still at his mouth.


“Ah… Well, I-I s-suppose I wouldn’t like-I mean… the Hunt isn’t so bad. W-wha-what I-I’m saying, you see…” he stuttered out, not realizing that he had not swallowed the drink he had choked on and was now spraying it all over Rige.


Rige knew of the inevitable silence that would arrive after uttering his title and name. As the Wolves were respected and allowed to do as they please, the Alphas even more so. The Djinn Wolves hierarchy was simple; the veteran officers garner more command with proof of valor. Valor being the most successes with the minimum casualties, besides that the only position that cannot be surpassed is the main Alpha, which solely belongs to Rige Airs, as he is the founder of the group and holds proper command, even if he holds little actual command over the majority of the forces. The silence was expected, forcing Rige to always be prepared to break the awkwardness of the revelation that the man so eager to get drunk was truly the Alpha, the founder of the Djinn Wolves. What was an even more pressing matter were the details of his request. The Djinn Wolves were allowed to do as they please, take what they wanted, and decide what was and was not just. Which meant, when Rige asked for all to be on him, the tavern would have to give all its drinks away for free until Rige either said not to or when he left. If they were to deny him, they would be arrested. There would be no court, there would simply be the Wolves carrying out the law. Another, a large hulking mass of another, luckily broke the silence. When Rige heard that there was another, of course he looked, the place was nearly empty so the sudden appearance of a newcomer was always a sight to be seen. Rige turned to be surprised by a giant of a man, perhaps one of the largest men he had ever seen. It looked to be a grand armored shock trooper lost from the ranks of a battle, except his armor was made purely from scaly creatures. With the loud and heavy sounding, sack like thing dragging behind him, Rige assumed that this humongous man was a bounty hunter, who had just got his charge sacked and was taking a quick drink. What enforced it were the arrows spewing out of his back. As an initial greeting, Rige simply gave a welcoming smile before turning back to his original companions.


The giant towered over most of the others in the tavern; he wore large and baggy black trousers with a few pockets in them, and had no shoes. His upper body was mostly concealed by a large brown traveling cloak was down, and the large scaly head of a creature that belonged to one of the beast races could be seen. He was a bestia, a saurian at that. Much like a hybridia, but in the stead of a more hume appearance, the humanoid would be much more beast like. A thick and powerful neck with knobby armor plating on him could be seen supporting an equally large head that could fit another man’s head inside of it. There were several circular golden piercings that lined the left eye ridge of the creature, and a necklace made of teeth could be seen around his neck. Behind him, through the traveling cloak a large and thick tail could be seen dragging behind. He was a saurian, another rare race seen in Zephyr, or even the Realm of Gods. The great beast of a man slowly trudged over to the bar area. He walked quite oddly, as if he was unsure whether where he was stepping was safe or not. He had an arrow sticking out from his leg too, although, that was seemingly not the problem. Something else was bothering him. He took a seat as far away as he could from the others, taking a stool and sitting on it as carefully as he could to make sure it could bear his weight. He slowly reached down and into his cloak and pulled out a few pouches, one was much larger than the other. He set the bags down on the bar, and then reached down to his leg, carefully yanking out the arrow so the tip did not break free. After, he began to pull at the arrows in his back, and dislodged as many as he could, setting them down on the bar in front of him. He pushed the arrows to the side, and crossed both his arms and placed them on the table to lean against it. The stool below him creaked in response. He looked up with tired eyes and lifted one of his hands out of the cross his arms were in and tapped the table as a silent request for a drink. The bartender, in response, got him, what looked like, a small bucket and filled it with mead as if he knew exactly what the saurian wanted. When the bartender brought the drink over, the saurian flicked his head over to the sacks, and the bartender took the small one and pulled out several coin, what the drink was worth, and put the sack back down. The aura around the saurian was one that demanded respect, and the size of the beast man was enough to where it would be stupid to deny him it. However, the saurian tilted his head to the side in a questioning manner to the bartender, before grabbing the sack and pulling out several more coins.


"Thank you for allowing me to come to Drunken Breeze freely. I fear that going to Cloud Nine would lead to dishonorable conduct by me and others." the saurian said, the accent in his voice one that raised the eyebrows of any in the room. It was one many had never heard before, and may never again. "Take this as thanks for welcoming me into your tavern. May it prosper,” the saurian said, his voice very smooth. He had a voice much smoother than that of most other saurian races. The saurian then took the bartender's hand and opened it, placing the coin in it and closing it before returning to his original position.


"Are you alright, Tooth? That was a lot of arrows." The bartender said, reaching across the bar and placing a hand on the saurian's massive slouched shoulders.


"Just a couple of hunters. They thought I was an escaped beast." The saurian replied. "It was an honest mistake, and upon confrontation the hunters apologized. My kind is not seen in this city often. I'm going to give them back their arrows tomorrow." He said, his head turning to look at the arrows he had pulled out to make sure they weren't broken.


"Come now! Drink friends!" He said as he again rasped his fist against the young man's arm then slapped the hybridia girl's back. "It’s all on me, feel free to take as much as you please." The bartender was quite displeased by this, as the establishment was practically being robbed. They could do nothing to gain money as long as the Alpha was there. This was only shown for a moment as they reluctant began refilling more tankards. Rige finally threw his attention back upon the extremely large fellow who had ordered his own drink before Rige forced that all be free. "You as well, big guy," Rige called over as he leaned over the counter, "drink as much as you like, the Wolves will pay for all of this!" Of course, the ruse to most who knew little of the real economy in Zephyr would believe that the Djinn Wolves were indeed paying the establishments that they took from, but in fact they simply took what they wanted. While many businesses find it most difficult, large establishments, like Cloud Nine, are able to stay in business as the Wolves provide donations somewhat to keep the preferred and needed businesses around. Meaning most of the smaller establishments find themselves unlucky when they first lift off.


"Drink, drink, drink!" He laughed gleefully before he began gulping his own cup, downing it after a moment. He slammed the cut down upon the bar counter and called for another, reluctantly it was filled.


"I would rather not drink much." The saurian responded. "Miss? May I order some soup? I am somewhat hungry,” the great saurian said to the barmaid, who smiled and nodded, going behind the bar and into a room off to the side to prepare the food.


Rige turned his attention on the fellow that was once grumpy only moments ago. He was now choking and splattering his drink all over Rige's robes, which he wiped off promptly. He seemed to have been stuttering about the Hunt. Rige tried to recall the last winner of the Hunt and how much his own son had enjoyed the Hunt. Rige tried to think back to his few moments spent with his adopted son, very few times were spent simply talking and getting to know each other. His moments with Airrow were most often training and teaching him the secrets of the Djinn Wolves. He would have liked to go hunting with his son, and perhaps participate as a team in the great Hunt. He could only hope now that when his son returned, they would be able to spend some time together before Airrow decided to wander as he pleased.


"This year looks to be a good one, for the Hunt I mean. I do wonder who may win it. I always contemplate whether I should join or not." Rige spoke quite outwardly, but not completely directly at the blubbering drunk.


“Aha… Umm, sptbls…” he again spat out some of liquid before finally swallowing and putting his drink down. “The Hunt, a good cycle,” he agreed as he looked to be searching any information he knew of the subject. “Ummm… I’m sure you would do fine in the Hunt, sir, if you did join it.”


"What of you, have you ever considered joining in on the occasion?"


That question left the man blubbering at air, “N-no, no, no, no, no, no, no. I cou-no, I couldn’t. I’m just a farm hand, not much more,” he said before downing the rest of his drink, at least what was still in his cup and not on Rige’s shirt.


Another group of hunters filed into the tavern, behind them more groups began to circulate the streets. It seemed the early groups were arriving in masses this cycle. The tavern was getting crowded, and with the limited space, people were quickly bumping and nudging against each other as they shuffled by one another. Noticeably, the few original patrons were pressed into their position without choice of leave. One of them, the once aggravated fellow, but now blubbering fool seemed to have a discomfort in the crowd. Rige felt that it was time to stop asking questions, but the awkward silence was too discomforting, especially with the rowdy and loud crowd.


“Hey, hey get off me!” A high-pitched voice appeared out of the crowd, sounded of girl with a boyish tone, either a boy of a young age or a female being harassed. The sound was of no bother to Rige, he actually expected to hear a loud smack, from the woman who was being harassed, but instead he heard a man respond back.


“What do you think you are doing here, runt?” It was obviously someone else, just another patron, Rige could hear a slight slur in this one. Most likely he had began filling himself with alcohol as soon as he entered the establishment.


The young voice continued, “Wait,” he seemed to pause, as if actually waiting, “what did you just call me?” At the grizzly voice, Rige could tell it was at least a little boy. At this point, Rige’s interest was caught, and he began watching the event take place. “Mhara, what did he just call me?” The boy asked someone nearer to him.


“I think he called you a bitch.” An even higher pitched voice came from another in the fray. Rige now began to stand up, trying to properly get a view on the situation.


“Wait,” another slight pause, “seriously, I thought he said runt.” The boy responded.


“No. No I’m pretty sure he said bitch.”


At the girl’s words, the boy’s face changed to that of anger as his mouth opened wide to shout out. “Don’t you know who I am?”


“Annoying?”


There was a loud bashing sound after that. From what Rige could see, the man, who was holding up the boy by the collar, reared his head back and released the boy from his grasp. Then following was two thumps as both boy and man fell back onto the floor. The man had a stream of red flowing from a nose as well his nose seemed to collapse on one side and fall to the other. While the man quickly cradled his face, the boy stood back to his feet and began brushing himself off. It was certainly a young boy, barely past ten cycles in age it seemed. He was fair of skin, yet tanned from sun exposure and had the bright blonde hair. He was a foreigner, form the isles that much could be told by his exterior. On the boy’s boots, a trickle of red could be seen as fresh. It seemed he had a swift kick.


“I’m the hero of this story!” The boy announced as he stepped forward, onto the man’s groin, twisting his ankle to add an extra portion of pain. The man began to curl up into a fetal ball, protecting two areas of tenderness now. The boy had a wide grin plastered on his face as his gaze was now wandering the crowd. He had made quite the spectacle. Rige did not realize they hired such young people for plays these days.


“The Hero has arrived!” The boy hollered again.


“And I’m the Hero’s Wife!” The girl spoke up, who was with the boy. She had stayed quite silent during the boy’s act, but had now stepped up and hooked her arm around the boys. She was actually slightly taller than the boy, they were both very young and along with it short. By the looks of them, Rige assumed they both had yet to reach puberty. The girl was slightly more interesting in appearance. She, like the girl Rige had seen earlier, was a hybridia. She had ears like a fox, and pluming tail waving around behind her. She also had light fur crawling along her shoulders and cheeks, down to her forearms.


“All mine, you hear me?” she hollered again, her eyes seemed more directed at a woman in the crowd watching the two kids.


It took a the woman a moment to realize the question was directed at her, but she did respond, “L-look at him, he’s like nine!”


“Leofaz Ubelblatz is XII cycles old!” The little girl screeched. As she yelled, a gust of wind seemed to erupt from her being, bursting passed the crowd and colliding with the woman sending her off her feet and right onto her back. A quick wave of whispers came over the crowd speaking of mages and magic, one of the whisperers being the rude fellow and Rige’s side.


“And I am Mhara Ubelblatz.” She ended with a much more musical tone.


“W-wait,” again he paused as if waiting by his own directions, “what? That’s not your surname!” The boy spoke to the girl at his side, with a bit of annoyance in his expression.


The girl seemed a little confused by his interjection, “You said to make up a last name.”


“Not my last name!”


“It’s going to be my last name when we get pacted! I ought to get accustomed to it!” Again she finished in a very sing-song-y tone. Pacted being what Signum referred to as a mutual agreement between a man and a woman to serve each other solely, together under Sultra’s will. Rige had not realized that Signum’s traditions, Signum being the religion’s name, had touched the foreign lands.


“You’re ruining my entrance!” The boy yelped at the girl.


“I’m sorry honey!”


“Don’t call me that.” The boy grumbled.


Behind the two, at something of a bad time to interrupt the drama of the event, another man entered into the bar. He was rather dark skinned, and wore clothes that were definitely of foreign place. And with something of a deadpan exterior, he walked passed the tension-building duo and found himself an open chair. He then proceeded to order himself some drinks. Rige recognized the coat; it was from the Northern lands. Rige was not interested in bringing up a conversation about it, but he recognized that anyone from the north was naturally dangerous. The land is quite bare, the most hospital place being set around the rivers the flow through. The settlers travel so far that they lose almost all contact with the towns and cities thy originated from. The people who aim to make the Dead Lands their home have no choice but to look to the gods for supplement, the gods answer. The gods there rarely interact directly with the human settlers, but on occasion deals, meetings, or religious gatherings are made between the humans and the Divus Nati, in divine form. In the mainlands, the only information of these events that the humans can gather is that cults are forming around evil gods.


There are several types of gods, pending on the person examining’s beliefs. There is a vast amount of religions across the Realm, but only a small few have becoming widely known and practiced. There are those under Sultra, or rather those under the religion of Signum, have a powerful belief in a goddess deemed Sultra. She is considered the all-mother, she raised and brought up every being in existence, by their standards, and her angels give protection to the lands while her Saints give guidance. The churches of Signum often have a type of book that describes one of the first Saints going through the lands of the world and spreading the knowledge of Signum and Sultra. The religion spreads through out most of the Southern mainlands, and is mostly dominate in a majority of cities. While Signum is the powerhouse of religions, there are gods that are worshiped, sometimes above Sultra or below her in other religions. The goddess Cosmos is considered the lady of order, the contractor and master of ceremonies and the guiding light to the human races. Under her, the orderly system is created; hierarchies in churches, colleges, and marriage contracts are done in her name. Her influence is most powerful in the western coasts, including Zephyr, although, as history tells, at least what is remembered and believed as truth, Signum and Cosmos were not always the leading ladies of religion. The two had only appeared during the times of bronze, and that it was adapted as the civilizations, especially the old city of Byzantium, transferred into the times of iron. There many pagan religions then, but during those times, the heaviest of beliefs relied on the sun and the moon. As most would say, the oldest religion hails from the story of Pro and Elec. They were considered the first beings to ever exist, the original gods. Pending on the area, they were called other things, such as Father Sun and Mother Moon, the Jinn and genie, the green men, Lepton and quark, the names always different but the two gods always the same. They were here and they created, they created the celestial bodies, the great light in the sky, the stars in the distance, and two other gods. They created the Divinens, and then the original gods left. The Divinens, in the opposition of Pro and Elec, lacked varying names. They were almost always called, in some shape or form, Divinens. The two were known as all-powerful and incredulously destructive, as they often fought one another. As they fought, they grew tired and slept within the world of Terryal. Terryal began to drain them of their power and energy, leaving them in an eternal slumber under the surface. Due to the energy, life and beings began to grow upon Terryal. The first beings were considered the Neu, the new gods. The first were born in two, Alati, and then they came in masses, the Divus Nati. They were dominant creatures, until the human races came. Things changed when the humans, but none of it is remembered. Rige does not believe much in any religion, he understands that the gods are a force best not reckoned with, but he does not find himself fallen under any majorly. He does give his prayers to Cosmos, only when he is in times of need though.


Rige was overjoyed when more and more people began to flood into the tavern. He was absolutely happy that the party in the tavern was going great. Well it was not really a party, most likely just a vacant tavern for a short rest stop. Rige doubted that there was going to be enough rooming for the amount of people who arrive at Zephyr for the Hunt. He was interested by the amount of diversity there was this time around. He spotted a diuris arriving at the bar, rushing through and in search for some work. She was obviously from the south; somehow she got passed all the defenses that guarded from the diuris raiders. It seemed the humes were getting less and less attentive, unless possibly the battling was lessening at the borders of the forest. If the battles were to end and the diuris was to be quelled then all would be well. Of course Rige was no racist towards the other races, he simply saw the humes to be more dominant.


Well Rige was now interested as he was rewarded with a show. He was beginning to think that this was a showcase for some traveling drama act. The two miscreants become great heroes. Especially with the boy gallivanting around blurting out about how he is the hero of the story. Rige was interested in seeing this play, and was especially happy that he got to see a preview here at the tavern. He was sure he would check this play out when he got the chance.


"Magic?" Rige spoke to his grumbling companion, "more like show props." With that, Rige stepped towards them, casually and happily. Placing gently hands on the surrounding audience, nudging them out of his way and finding his way at the opening where the children boasted. He walked over to the young boy and bowed slightly, as to better speak with him. "Young man, you put on quite the show." He started, "I would love to see your play, do tell where and when your first showing will be." Rige smiled gently. He quite enjoyed the young man, though it was more due to his begging want to be a father. Losing his chance to be a father to any of his children was still quite crushing to him.


"Of course I did,” In response to putting on a show “are you deaf in your old age, and I’m the Hero." The boy seemed to completely avoid the question.


"Old?" Rige stood back straight, his hand came to his chin and gripped it in slight thought, and “well I guess my hearing has been getting pretty bad with all those hits to the helmet leaving my ears ringing!" Rige said with a laugh.


A woman stepped into the establishment; she was barely dressed and smelled of cheap scents. She seemed overly joyed to be there, and by the mere sight of her, many of the men became very joyed. With her bosom pressed up and her eyes wandering upon the men, she plastered on a seductive look, at least as seductive as a whore could conjure. She was in no way ugly, she just seemed quite tired, and in fact she was quite pretty as well with her painted face she masked any distasteful appearances from her façade. Rige recognized her, he had seen her at the Cloud Nine, and he had recognized what she was doing here. It was not rare that the whores of Cloud Nine would be sent out to advertise what they had. Behind the confident woman, followed a young and fragile looking girl after her also barely dressed.


"Oi, who's the new one, Fae?" A gruff drunk man asked with a sloppy smile towards the confident woman's companion.


"Oh, this little bud, my new friend. You might like her, she hasn't even bloomed yet." She pulled the new girl closer to the man to give him a better look.


"Oh, she's mighty fine but, you know I like em' with experience." He boomed proudly and grabbed a handful of first whore’s hind end.


She cleared her throat, it seemed she bit back the impulse to give a small yelp of surprise. "Well, you know where to find me." She winked and moved on, dragging the new girl behind her. Before she could get to any other patrons at the bar, Mhara bumped into her.


"Hey, watch is you old cun-" She started but instead, looked up to see some girl yelling about "her man." she raised an eyebrow as she looked a few inches past the angry preteen and at the boy, Leoblatz.


"Aye, your man? Tell me, you even catch your monthly bleed yet, girl?" She jeered, collecting a few hearty laughs from her go at the children. "Who let these children in anyway?" She called, placing her hands on her hip.


"Oh, come down, Faelyn, we're watching the show!" A man sitting behind her bellowed with a deep laugh before pulling her down into his lap.


Bloody nose began to climb onto his feet again, his distinctively angered gaze pouring down on the boy who had used him as a human doormat. “I oughta wring your neck!” He hollered from under his hands that grasped his bleeding face. Rampages of muffled curses were directed at the boy, and like an angry bull he seemed to be preparing to charge him.


A large yell came from the bar counter, the voice was different from any common to Zephyr and was quickly realized to be the saurian. Following after the shriek was a loud smash and the cracking of wood. The giant’s voice caught everyone’s attention, causing most everyone to freeze and peer at the giant who just crushed the bar stand.


“Oh my,” he whispered to the bartender, “I apologize.” Softly he spoke to the bartender. A few hunters that had, unknowingly to Rige, encircled the saurian during the confusion began to slink away from the giant. “I hope you had a good reason for doing that.” He spoke, reaching around his back and plucking a sharp blade out of his back. He then proceeded to stab it into the broken bar stand. With a simple shove, the saurian knocked down the group of them, sending them into a tumble against the crowd. The rest of them found cowardice and retreated through the crowd and out of the exit. The saurian’s glare followed them out, but landed on the bleeding man. With heavy steps clearing a path for him, the saurian stood himself just outside the small puddle of blood and snot.


“Do you have any idea of what you just did,” he directed at the children, he almost sounded shocked. “And you!” This was much quicker in speech and with it came a flash of scaly flesh taking the man by the collar and lifting him from the ground. “Attacking children, even if they attacked first? Who do you think you are? What if two large men attacked you when you were children because you stole an egg?”


Rige peered from the side lines, watching the situation escalate and enjoying the preview to the epic play that he was sure he was getting a teaser too. He was sure the saurian messed up his lines somewhere. His argument was not very convincing, Rige, as something of a man of the law, knew that when a child stole from market stall or from another man, he would be beaten and further negotiations would be assessed with his father.


The man’s feet dangled and twitched, as he was rigid with fear, staring into the face of the beast, the gapping maw and the horrid teeth. He stayed speechless, so the saurian tossed him in the direction of the door, where the man tumbled and sprinted with the speed of a horse from a fire.


“You two,” the giant spoke to the children again, “are in the wrong pace. Almost XII cycles,” he murmured something about gods, “You could have injured that woman. People are allowed to look at other people. If you think it is a personal item, not only are you not ready for love, but you have issues of jealousy.” The saurian kneeled beside the kids.


Rige was sure it was a play now.


“Look at it a different way, if they are looking at your lover, be proud. You have someone they wish they could.” He placed a hand on the girl’s shoulder. “You’re not in the right place, this is for adults.” Finally he spoke with the boy, “And heroes,” he stood back to his feet, “are heroes because they have a choice on whether or not to use their power on others. Your actions have shown me at least, that you are no hero. Not yet.” The saurian went back to his place at the bar and took his seat. Even with the now curved bar stand he continued with his soup. “May I some more?”


The children seemed utterly befuddled upon what the large beast was rather than heeding his words, much more interested in his anatomy rather than his choice of words. Even as the girl had once let her cheeks burn at the comment from the whore, she was now exasperated at the sight of the saurian presenting his heroic nature. They brought on those very childish pouts and almost teary eyed guilt when the giant began lecturing them. The girl began shamefully staring at the ruffles in her dress, rubbing her toes against the gritty wood, only on occasion throwing a pout to the giant. The boy had a somewhat more stubborn and defiant expression on him, showing he was a bit more potent on believing he was the hero. When the saurian sat himself back on his stool, the two children followed after him, the girl in lead and the boy unwillingly following. They placed themselves in a line beside the saurian, the girl sitting closer and boy beside the girl. Rige actually found himself following them as well, interested in their amusing play speech.


“We’re sorry, we didn’t mean to start a ruckus,” the girl began, “we’re sorry for making you go out of your way to protect us.” She muttered and pouted in the most childishly adorable and pitiful way she could. Her red tail flicked gently side to side. “It won’t happen again, mister.” This was said with a slight red hue reaching her cheeks as she noticed that her Hero was still keeping a stubborn face. With a swift jab to the gut the boy spoke up.


“Oohf,” he scoffed from the hit, “ow,” he rubbed his side then looked to the saurian. “Mmm,” he let out a slight groan, “sorry” he spoke almost inaudibly.


"That's what I like to hear." Tooth said, humming slightly before taking another sip of his soup. He looked over to where he had smashed the bar and cast an apologetic look to the bartender, who simply stared at him for a moment and sighed. "As long as you pay for it, I'll get it slide." The man said. Tooth nodded.


Leofaz quickly changed his tempo, grinning and eyes widening as he gazed upon the saurian. He quickly began bouncing childishly and asking the giant questions. “Hey, are you a hero? I wanna be a lizard man!” He roared triumphantly.


Mhara squinted, slipping herself between the Leo’s view of Tooth, “You can’t be a lizard man!” she exclaimed.


“Aw, but I wanna!”


“Well, I don’t want lizard babies!”


“We aren’t having babies! I wanna be a lizard man!”


“Hmph! Fine, I wanna be a lizard girl then.” Her sing-song-y tone came through again.


“Wait,” again the boy had a short pause, “You can’t copy me!”


“I just did.” She continued singing her words.


The boy changed his attention and directed towards the bartender “Can we have soup too?”


The girl interjected, “See! You just copied him!”


“Did not!”


“Did too.” The girl said leaning closer to the boy and pecking her lips against the boy. The boy reacted by making the face that expressed someone preparing to hurl.


“Lizard man, She kissed me!” he pointed to the girl who was obviously the culprit, “Am I going to die?” He cried out, as the girl squinted at him.


“You can’t die form a kiss,” the girl spoke up, “how did I fall in love with someone so dumb?”


“I’m not dumb!” he retorted, crossing his arms and huffing.


The girl simply leaned towards the boy again; resting her head against his should and nuzzled against his chest. “This is the only place I want to be.” It was barely a whisper.


“Where are your parents?” The saurian finally spoke again. He had been chuckling at their little conversation but had kept relatively silent.


“Our parents?” she barely responded, hiding in Leo’s breast.


“Whys yes, your parents or care takers. You’re both far too young to be out alone, aren’t you?”


“Our parents,” the boy spoke up instead, his face looked like he was choking back some words, “they’re dead. So, I mean, we are just orphans together.” He tried to steady his voice, “we have been looking out for one another our entire lives. Heroes have a tragic back story you know,” he smiled at the giant, “how you handle them dictates whether you’ll be the hero or the villain.” He placed a hand on the girl’s head. “Anyone messes with Mhara, I’ll kill them.”


The girl perked up and began speaking again, “really?” The boy almost jumped from his seat, Rige assumed that the girl had fallen into a sleep.


“Wait,” again a short pause, “every hero needs a side kick.”


“Every hero needs a damsel, I prefer that roll!” She sang.


“You have to be in distress!” the boy began pushing the girl’s head away from his shoulder.


“Help, help I’m in distress!”


“No!”


“Yes!”


Mhara frowned; upset she had to remove herself from Leo's grip. She quickly moved his hand from her face, since she had no way of telling when the last time he washed them was, and she was not risking that, true love or not. She turned away from Leo with a huff, crossing her arms and drawing her knees to her chest. She turned to look at the large man, "You're a Saurian? And that's kinda like hybridia? I'm a hybridia too," she said, peering up at the large man, "And you're a dragon? That makes you twice as cool,"


The thought of being with a man who was part dragon sent tingles down her spine, she tried to peer past the cloak to get a better look at the man.


"I am not a dragon, I am a saurian. We are distant relatives to anguis, which are somewhat like dragons, except they are only a cross between people and dragons."


He was quite the informative fellow, Rige would not doubt that the giant knew more about the different races than he did.


The scantily clad female stood up from her place on a customer’s lap then crossed her arms as she walked over to a spot at the bar. She signaled the bartender for her usual and smiled coyly as she drink slid over to her.


"It's on the house if you give me a tip later." He winked and nonchalantly wiped the counter in front of her.


"I'll need a few more drinks to give you even a little of this for a night." She winked back and set the empty cup down.


"Well, that talk went nicely." She muttered indirectly at the children, but it was obvious she was listening in. Her attention was turned to the man sitting beside her, the Djinn Wolves’ Alpha. She had a somewhat shocked expression when she laid her eyes on him. Rige could only assume that she recognized him, although, he did not recognize her in turn. All he knew was that she was very plainly a whore. It did make him curious though, to as of why she recognized him so easily. Officials or other Wolves commonly recognize Rige but rarely from by standing civilians.


The booming noise of rolling carriages, trollies, and the pounding of horse hooves echoed all around, coming from outside in the direction opposite of the city. Rige glared at the door for a moment before a wide grin spread across his face. The parade was here.


"Ah hah!" Rige shot up form his seated position and went for the door. "Hurry now, if you want to catch a glimpse of the great beasts the Hunt will supply this cycle!" He hollered, and in reaction a large portion of the tavern goers filed out, especially since a majority of them were here for the Hunt. Outside, a large convoy of Djinn Wolves escorted caravans of barely visible creatures in wooden and metal cages. The cages ranged from smallest at the front to the largest towards the back. Pending on the cages, the beasts within could be seen smashing and thrashing around in urge to get free. The smaller creatures being the size of large dogs, thicker of fur and dirtier of teeth and eyes, then larger beasts, one a cockatrice in its own cage, a giant wyvern creature that seems to cross species with a rooster. In smaller cages, oddly shaped cages, giant centipedes could be seen squirming from their chained down positions. Wargs were carted in small-secluded cages stacked amongst each other, and a mass of other cages carrying different and varying creatures from around the Realm. Then the last large cage completely covered in sheets strolled through. They stopped the last carriage and surrounded it with Djinn Wolves. As the crowd slowly gathered around the cage, standing in anticipation for some type of noise or revealing hint of what the creature may be, Rige slowly approached the carriage of Wolves.


“Why not let them see the big’en?” He hollered out to the mounted escort. They were skeptical at first until getting a good long look at the rugged old man. Rige was not of incredibly old age, simply older than most. About forty or more cycles, maybe going on fifty, at which point most men would begin retiring from much physical actions.


“Yes, sir!” The Wolves answered, almost in unison. A few of them lined up on one side and took hold of the sheet. They kicked their horses forward and ripped the sheet from off the cage and gave view to the grotesque beast caged into a metal prison. The surrounding audience gasped and flinched at the sight, it was large and definitely unknown in places like Zephyr. It could be compared to a moving rock figure, but it was not blocky like some type of elemental being. Its skin seemed to have adapted as to blend in with stone and dirt, even growing patches and grass and moss along its body. It had large slouched back, along with massively thick arms. Its legs were small and stumpy and were completely overgrown with vines and moss almost looking like it was a plant growing out of the ground. Its face was lizard like, but short and with a more muscular face. When it opened its humongous maw, several rows of jagged and unordered teeth rustled like sharpened stones in a pit trap as the beast released a ravenous howl. The sound that came from it made a cringing sensation in one’s gullet. The noise was not sounding of its own, but rather a combination of screams and cries of different animals and beasts mixed into one, a child’s cry, a woman’s scream, a goat’s hurdling call, bears’ painful roars, and other creatures. On its left shoulder, it looked to be a full tree was growing out of its back, and then crudely cut in a spiky yet natural form. Along its arms, harsh veins that looked like tree roots traveled down to its hands. Its hands were large, palms thick and course, fingers long with jagged stone and spiked wood as claws. Its eyes were small, pupils dilating in and out as it glared at the audience.


It was a troll. The creature that had become the main event was one of the troll folk. A somewhat dimwitted existence of large flesh eating creatures that travels in small separated packs or alone. They do not have the same thinking capacity as the dominant races like humes and diuris, but they have an incredibly great hunting ability. The troll folk are known for finding small gorges, creeks, and ditches that would be essential for traveler to pass. They easily blend in with the environment as moss and grass begins to grow on their skin, even growing large scales that appear to group up and form a tree stump. As well their skin is hard and thick seeming much like stone. The unnatural formation of their bodies allow them to simply lay down and barely become noticeable even with their size, nothing but an odd looking hill. They tend to shape themselves against both walls of the creek, letting dirt and moss grow over them, and becoming somewhat of a bridge. When other humans need to pass through, the troll simply throws them into the creek as they pass over him, trapping them in a death pit where he would then use his strength and size to overpower and devour them. The Wolves thought it would be a great hunt due to its ability to hide in any forestry area and its fighting ability. They could have easily captured and de-winged a small wyvern but that would be no fun. The cockatrice was enough for wyverns, and creatures that were running around in confusion were common during the hunt. Usually the large creatures were difficult only due to their defensive capability, but now with one that is even a challenge to locate, the Hunt would create much challenge for the participants this year. Rige had approved of this creature with much glee, he could barely recall slaying a troll himself, in fact he doubted he ever had. It was one of the only temptations in getting his old butt into gear and joining the hunt. The troll was extremely interesting due to its rarity, due to the nature of the troll folk they were barely seen by most living men. Some suggest they are miscreations of Sultra, some say they are abominations of Bezoda or other demons. Their origins are unknown, but the fact that they will be a challenge for the hunt is inevitable.


The saurian was amongst the crowd, and it seemed mostly uninterested in the parade of caged animals being hoarded into the city. He paced down the row of cages, looking quite sure of himself. Rige was not sure what he was sure of, but he could tell the giant was sure of something, as he walked with pride amongst the beasts looking as if he wanted to help them in the stead of hunt them. It was curious, but Rige did not think too much of it. The two children followed him, but stopping at the sight of the troll and began to gawk at it. The prostitute seemed to have followed them in return. She began to talk to them, Rige was not sure of what.


“Hey, boy. You want to be a hero, right? Why not start out on the Hunt? It may not be the type of hero activities you’re looking for but it’s first.” She seemed to smirk as her face turned to the female girl, “May want to leave your sweet heart somewhere safe though, no place for a young lady out there.” She placed a hand on her hip, and then pointed the other hand at the general direction of the Red Wind district. “If you don’t have one, there is always Cloud Nine, we’ll take real nice care of her there.” She was obviously holding back a laugh, “Young fiery ones are always placed with a high price.”


“Look woman, I don’t know what Cloud Nine is,” Mhara spoke up, “or why they would have a price on me but I’m not leaving Leo!” Her brows furrowed. She was still quite stubborn towards her own gender. “We’re a team, and we’re going to annihilate in the Hunt, together.”


The boy seemed quite absent minded as he gazed wondrously at the troll.


“Actually, the fact you want to separate me from him makes me think you’re up to something, you cow!” The two children cleared away from the whore after that, and began to retreat to the cages, wanting to get a better glimpse while they could, Rige guessed. He intercepted them quickly, to get a word with them.


“Young man,” he spoke to the boy more specifically, “I realize you wish a hero to be made from your flesh. Well, as someone who would be considered a hero by right of blood spent and enemies slain, I give you some advice and guidance as well a proposition.” Rige placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Join the Hunt, it requires the skill of a great warrior of patience, skill, and temperance. If you join, as a mark that I believe in your future of heroism, I will join as well to marvel and to give support of your, hm,” he paused for a the proper phrasing, “your leading role, allow me to be your supporting cast.”


Rige began making his way back to the tavern, to perhaps grab a few more swigs before headed off elsewhere. Before he could head make it up there, the rude fellow had found his way before the Alpha.


“Quite the catch, huh?” Rige was still grinning, still quite happy about all of this.


“As long as the needed repairs on my house stay to a minimum.” He responded still quite rudely, but more plainly.


Rige took it as sarcasm, “Perhaps I shall see you there, I do believe I will join this time around. Really I do not have much else to do.” And he had a feeling that those children were going to join as well. Rige felt that he should join for their sake, he was sure he could add to their experience. It could be like a father son bonding moment, something he never really had with his own son.


“We’ll have to see,” the rude fellow nodded “I must be going, mustn’t let the monsters beat me home.”


“Your name, friend?”


The man seemed to try to escape, but was caught by the arm by Rige’s friendly grasp. “Soren.”

Part 2

​

The day was coming along nicely, considering how nice the visit with her father was. Zephyr seemed cooler than Aesriel remembered, but maybe that was because it was Death season, and Cold season was coming up. The seasons were four together, Life, Heat, Death, Cold then it went around again. All four would be considered a cycle. It did not snow in Zephyr, it was usually quite warm all cycle round. The weather changed, but not immensely. She enjoyed the Death’s cooling breezes arriving from the coasts almost as much as she loved the sight of fresh blooms pushing through the snow in early Life. She of course did not forget, with Death came the Hunt. A spectacle, purely and enchantingly, but one she had rarely attended, not that she did not welcomed it. It gave the people an excuse to celebrate and the children to eat candies and let their hands go sticky from sweets and honey-laden pastries. The thoughts made her smile as she walked by the people crowding and lining the streets. Aesriel had visited with her father this morning, she had been telling him of her latest adventures and new tales she had learned. They were not much to speak about though; they were much more than the average person experienced. Mostly, skirmishes, several foul creates and nasty beasts felled, a criminal returned to justice, or some type of nightmare plaguing a village put to rest. Hardly anything worth a ballad. She added and stretched it sometimes. Her father did obviously realize, but they both enjoyed the absurdity of it all until, of course, her stepmother, Lynessa, would come to scold them, and in reaction they go into fits of suppressed laughter. In a fantasy a long time ago, Lynessa’s condemning glares caused Aesri to quake in fear. Now with age and understanding, she believed, at least in theory, that her stepmother felt pain hosting for her husband’s bastard daughter from another woman’s womb. Aesri respected Lynessa’s domain, though, she refused to allow Lynessa to scare her from visiting her father during the short time she came to Zephyr each cycle. Already, she could feel that she would be leaving very soon, even as she tentatively decided she would join the Hunt.


Now several people spotted her clean, embroidered blue top, tailored pants, and fine boots, coupled with the jewel at her forehead and the staff in her hand. They decided to move out of her way, most likely assuming her to be wealthy; she did not correct them. But mostly people followed the custom of Zephyr during the Hunt: they left her alone. This time of year, you never knew whom you might run into on the street.


Watching the creatures, she shook her head. She had always thought the parade an odd ritual, like an anticipatory funeral. This year, she had other eyes for the creatures, though. She was not sure what she was doing, signing up for the Hunt. Most were a better challenge for a swordsman or hunter, not a Sage. The last creature, though, the one they kept hidden: that was intriguing. Her blue eyes glinted with anticipation as she heard a man ahead yell and the caged beast was revealed. The creature was impressive, but she was more surprised to see the Djinn Wolves’ Alpha who had ordered the sides of the sheets removed standing in front of a tavern instead of with his men. Along with the usual assortment of travelers who came for the Hunt, two children stood near him. Odd. She shrugged and watched as the parade moved along its winding path, then made her way toward the Drunken Breeze. If it was good enough for the Djinn Wolves’ Alpha, then she supposed it was safe for the likes of her. Besides, she could handle herself and after dealing with Lynessa’s condemning looks, she needed a drink. She nodded to the children outside, wondering what they were doing at a tavern but she held tongue as she moved through the small crowd outside watching the parade make its leave. Two scantily clad women were there as well, proving that all kinds of business boomed during the Hunt, and an assortment of the usual tavern-goers, in varying states of sobriety. An odd tension hung in the air, but she saw no immediate threat. So she nodded to those who greeted her as she for the bar, her staff tapping out a soft counterpoint to her light step on the floorboards. When she reached the bar, she asked for spiced wine and did a quick double take upon realizing the man beside her had only one arm. He looked like he could handle himself. Seeing his features reminded her of Ashland, and she realized belatedly she was being rude. “Here for the Hunt?” she asked rather awkwardly. It was a safe assumption; most people were, as evidenced by the announcement being repeated by the barkeep about rooms for rent upstairs.


Yurt, the northerner, had no recollection of what had transpired at bar, after drinking "The Swill" everything seemed blurry, like it was on the tip of his tongue yet the words would not form themselves. Nothing seemed to register to him at all, it was simply him and his drink, this "swill" that bartender kept talking about. Apparently amid the commotion that occurred, he was taking a sip of his drink. It was a strange drink, one that tasted sweet yet burned like an inferno in his belly. He was definitely not common to this type of drink, not in the north, but he did find it delicious and somehow refreshing.He kept ordering the same swill every time he finished a cup. He had not realized that he lost consciousness or at least was on the brink of losing consciousness or was fully unaware of his surroundings due to having one too much to drink. Then again, he could not be sure he had not lost consciousness at one point or another. He was official drunk and on the brink of blacked out. He was shaken back to sobriety when the female beside him had mentioned, "Hunt." It brought back memories of the initiation to the clan's fighting arm when he had came of age back in the North. He was supposed to hunt those who would seek to oppose their clan and root out those within their clan that would seek the demise of everyone and displease their gods. For just a moment, he had recalled with it was like butcher those who fought and bled alongside him during their training prior to the initiation. He had recalled what it felt like to have both arms attached to his body. It felt powerful and satisfying, terrifyingly satisfying. In the North, where Yurt was from, they believed that battle was the best way to sort out any dispute. Often, the Northern lands would be littered with battling fiefdoms, clans, and dukedoms, whether over regular disputes of land or over gods’ commandants. There, Sultra was not strong in influence, as she would not show her aspect to them. In the North, a god was only truly a god when you could see them, when you could feel them, to the point where you could challenge them. Gods were amongst the humans in the north, they led the wars and manipulated the battlefield. In return to loyalty to their gods, their families and people would be kept fed and supplied. Yurt’s clan was a renowned warring clan, one that had served under Razaranje, a god who made his home amongst the burning city.


Yurt turned to face the female to get a better look at her as well as provide her with a response. It would seem as though the blonde woman was fixated on his missing arm and could not stop herself from glancing at it or at least where it was supposed to be. It irritated Yurt, but he kept his silence and proceeded to answer her inquiry with a question of his own. "What hunt? There are many going on in this land, be more specific." Though Yurt was almost certain that his breath smelled of the swill and that he was, at best, comprehensible with some effort, at worst, answering in another dialect or completely forgetting the westerners’ language. His body could not focus yet, though his mind was sharp enough to discern basic elements of what was going on around him as well as whom he was talking to.


Aesriel only realized that Yurt noticed her glances at the void space that would commonly be a left arm. She immediately noticed the scent of liquor and the awkward slurring tongue. She was only slightly surprised that he was drunk, even though she knew he would mostly be drinking, after all they were in a tavern. She was taken aback for a moment and found herself glancing to the empty sleeve where his arm was missing. She took a breath before focusing her gaze on his, slightly red rimmed, eyes while he spoke back to her. She tried her best to keep from looking back at his armlessness, knowing that staring at it would not make it grow back. She kept her mind away from the thought of where his arm may be resting. His accent reminded her of her time in Ashland, the bordering valleys to the northern mountains where she had once found occupation, and may never earn a proper occupation again. The city had been close enough to the north for traders to frequent it. At first the accent had seemed foreign to her ears. Now it reminded her of better times, before her mentor and her school both died in a glorious fashion, taking her reputation with it. Her smile gained some warmth at the sound of that accent again, but his words surprised her. Her brow creased in surprise, causing the blue gem hanging there to swing briefly.


“You are correct, hunting always exists in some form.” She did not want to disrespect the man, “but here in Zehpyr, there is only one Hunt.” She emphasized the last word. She paused to thank the bartender when he brought her wine, placing the appropriate payment on the bar along with a tip. Her gaze flitted quickly over the other people milling about the bar before she met her companions gaze again. “Every year, a great festival is held to celebrate the city’s prosperity and to honor Sultra. They capture beasts and monster of all kinds and release them in specific district tin the city.” She took a sip of her wine. “The area where they release them is closed off, of course. Hunters, warriors, and even mages,” she said the last word with a smirk, “come from all over to hunt down the creatures and offer their catch to the church. The winner is greatly rewarded, and the people get a spectacle.


As she explained, Yurt contemplated on how Syracuses’s friend failed to mention before sending him off to Zephyr. Yurt’s mind had begun clearing up by then, the prospect of a fight aided in this greatly. He wondered why the practice was done here, it sounded strange, just what exactly stops the larger beasts from tearing down the doors and creeping through the windows of the residents and civilians who opt not to participate in the Hunt. That and a few more questions swarmed through his mind, questions he did not bother asking as it was somehow beyond his current comprehension were it be answered now.


“I assumed you were here to participate.” She kindly avoided any commentary about how his inebriated state would affect his chances of participating without injury. “To sign up, we need to be at the church by sunset. Which will be within the hour.” Her eyes moved to the door as if she could see the moon’s ascent in the sky. If there was doubt in her demeanor, she hoped the cup would obscure it as she took a sip of her wine.


Stare at the sleeve all you like, friend. It’s not going to grow back any time soon; I doubt any magic could bring it back. Also, your presumption is wrong yet correct at the same time. Had I been informed beforehand that such an event even existed then I would gladly have waited by the church throughout the entire day. It’s been far too long that I’ve fought anything, the last time was a week past, and dealing with thugs that harass the town I resided in. Exactly how does closing off an area keep the citizenry safe as well? What about those residents that live within that particular area?” The two questions were simply rhetorical, Yurt would never really care about the people here, he was too used to the prospect of fighting for one’s own life in the north. He took count of how many mugs he had downed, asked the barkeep for a total amount he owed them and paid for the drinks. Even though his mind was clearing up, the number was just too high for him to manage, it was somewhere between 3 to 9. He had an hour to sober up, plenty of time or so he thought. His right hand performed a brief pat down of on his body to check if his belongings were in place, the most important item being Syracuses’s sword that was passed down to him.


Chastised by the drunken one-armed man. Worse yet, it was deserved. The light color on Aesriel’s cheeks betrayed her knowledge of that fact. Uncomfortable situations seemed the norm the last few cycles. So she should be used to it by now; her body apparently disagreed. Mercifully, her inebriated companion seemed content to simply point out her rude behavior and move onto the subject of the Hunt. Aesriel might have even answered his (rhetorical) questions, except that he seemed to need all of his faculties to decipher the amount of alcohol he had consumed. Over the rim of her cup, she watched the man count and recount the four mugs on the bar. Thinking this might be the perfect opportunity to remedy her poor decision to initiate the conversation, she took a step away from him and looked over the other patrons of the bar. The Hunt attracted fighters from all over, including some of the deadliest. Those were in the minority, though. The rest were mostly untested men who wanted to prove themselves. Many of them even polished their weapons and dressed in handsome outfits, as if the beasts would care that their jacket matched the fabric decorating the hilt of their sword. These were the ones still remaining at the Drunken Breeze. The real fighters were probably already lined up at the church. She suspected these fops lingered in the hope they could miss the chance to sign up and later claim they hadn’t heard the announcement. Was she any better than the fops, though? She possessed considerable skill, but she had always preferred teaching to fighting.


"So where might this church be? And you mentioned "we" which means you are participating as well? Isn- Nevermind, so shall we be going then, miss?"


Yurt’s question about the location of the church brought her out of her musings. Her eyebrows danced upwards as she looked back to him. So he was sober enough to walk. She nodded in answer to his last two questions. Perhaps fate was helping her out; this stranger would prevent her from delaying any longer. She downed the rest of her wine and set the cup on the bar, nearly missing the edge as she did so. Glancing downward, she cleared her throat and grabbed her staff, making her way through the crowd toward the door. When they stepped outside, she looked his way again. “


I’m Aesri, by the way,” she paused long enough to allow him to offer his name in exchange if he pleased before continuing. The end of the parade, coupled with the setting sun, caused the crowd to dissipate. Some of the locals were indulging in celebration early, but most hurried to find a good spot to either watch the Hunt or hide from its aftermath. Foot traffic generally moved toward the center of the city - to the church that sponsored the yearly event and the blocks surrounding it. Aesriel led them into the flow of people, smiling at a pair of twin boys that ran past on their right with wooden toy dragons in hand, roaring at the top of their lungs. A man - presumably their father - ran in their wake, instructing them to slow down to no effect.


“There was a parade earlier to show off some of the beasts for this cycle’s Hunt,” she explained. The trace of the Western Isles’ accent colored her words, worn away by years living on the mainland but somehow clearer against the background of locals discussing the parade. She glanced his way as they dodged a group of teenagers who were going on about the troll. By their accounts, it was fifty - no a hundred feet high and had claws longer than swords. “The people of Zephyr find the Hunt a great spectacle. It’s considered good fortune to have your house damaged.” Her lips twisted into a small smile as she added, “Mostly because the church pays for the repairs.”


Yurt noticed that after he asked the way to the church, she seemed to be puzzled, most likely puzzled about his lack of knowledge of the city. Then again, that was to be expected, Yurt had only been in this city for the past few hours and was pretty much isolated in the North, despite moving to a border town. It didn't matter now, Yurt was sure that at least he did not have to go to the Hunt alone. Yurt did indeed question himself of why he was even joining the Hunt, what was supposed to be his driving factor to join. The time for second guesses was long past, he had already become this woman's partner, though he was sure she could carry her weight in a fight well enough it did not really give him premonition if he suddenly had hesitations after asking for the directions to the church and implying they were in this together.


"I don't remember if I told you my name, but I'll do it again anyway. My name is Yurt.... a "trader" from the North. Come to share my wares here in the South. A pleasure to meet you Miss Aesri." Aesri, a simple enough to pronounce name, rolls of the tongue and one that did not require effort at all. Perfect start for Yurt. It stood to reason that since Aesri led them both to the church, she would also be the one to sign up for them both. The streets of Zephyr were still busy despite the lateness of the hour. It was different from the North where when the sun sets, the predators all come out to hunt while the civilians were already holed up in their homes and a few brave souls stood sentry in the night. Though, some people were already finding places amongst the rooftops to watch the predators Hunt the unblooded of Zephyr. It was plain to see that most of the applicants had not tasted an actual fight that involved their lives against an unrelenting opponent. Though the slight intoxication still made it somewhat difficult to discern who had come to hunt and who are simply spectating. It was not strange that two youths were rushing to sign up with their father in tow, what was strange was the fire-breathing apparatuses that held in their hands, it was wooden and formed after a fable beast that breathes fire so it stood to reason that those were weapons in their hands and they were eager to incinerate a few predators. A troll, one that was a hundred feet high and had claws longer than swords, it was an opponent worthy enough for him. It also reminded him of a relatively small predator that prowled the North, that animal only relied on the initial surprise to kill its prey otherwise it gets easily overpowered despite the reach its long claws possesses.


"A parade to show what one expects to fight in this Hunt? Why not keep the predators a secret and surprise the Hunters, it should give them a good rush of adrenaline and a dose of the good kind of fear, the kind of fear that hones your entire being and makes you capable of simply amazing feats." Yurt decided to relay his thoughts to his companion, which drew several glances from the passersby who overheard him, giving him strange looks. "So Aesri, I suppose you shall register us for this Hunt? I shall speak plainly, I have no idea what I'm doing right now only I must prepare for a fight soon."


The crowd reflected the impending moonrise. The citizens of Zephyr sought out safety and a good view of the pending fights. As Yurt and Aesriel approached to the church square, candidates for the Hunt soon outnumbered the local observers, although a few people lingered to see their loved ones off and wish them good fortune. The sight of a young girl giving a man a kiss on the cheek brought her father to mind. Maybe she should have warned him about her intention to join the Hunt. Hopefully he wouldn't hold the surprise of seeing her in the fights against her for too long. He would tease her, certainly. The nature and duration of the teasing would largely depend on how well she fared. And that might depend on having an ally or two. Competitors had been known to turn against each other in past Hunts. It didn't happen often because the church watched for and disqualified anyone who openly attacked another contestant. But the church had also historically turned a blind eye to more subtle acts of sabotage. For example, riling up a beast and leading it to another contestant so that you could flank it was considered brilliant strategy. The debate about the line between “brilliant strategy” and “poor form” might be hotly debated in barrooms for weeks after the Hunt, but none of those arguments changed the outcome of the contest or the injuries sustained by the poor soul used as bait. Was Yurt an ally? Or did he only need an escort to the church? The smell of alcohol lingered about him; hopefully the same couldn't be said for the effects. The way he squinted occasionally did not inspire confidence, but at least he was speaking coherently. And he was from the north. Men there were good fighters out of necessity. Plus, it wasn't like others were lining up to make alliances. Was he? His distracted gaze implied she might be rambling. Old habits die hard, though. Spending the better part of her life providing instruction, it was hard to leave a question unanswered, and lecture mode came so naturally. He took it as making conversation, though, and shared his own thoughts about the parade. She smiled at his assessment. It was a typically Northern sentiment. Hopefully the same rush that would inspire "simply amazing feats" would also burn off the last of his buzz. Then he answered her question about alliances in a truly direct manner. She felt her shoulders relax a bit, not aware until that moment how much tension she had been holding there. When he confessed that all he knew was that he should be ready to fight, she offered a genuine smile. "Then you know the important part. The rest will work itself out." They slowed out of necessity as they neared the church. It towered over the surrounding buildings, both in height and in opulence. A line of warriors of varying appearance, weapons, and skills wound away from a booth set up in front of the temple. Conversation about the beasts this year, past Hunts, and general bragging grew more prevalent. Aesriel looked over the others as they approached. Had there been so many competitors in the past? The last Hunt she attended had been years ago and the details were blurry. Big battles and terrifying beasts stood out in her memory: the mundane details about the number of competitors and smaller skirmishes had either been forgotten or never caught her attention in the first place. She spoke to Yurt as she looked over the others.


“I do not know if they allow us to register as a pair, but I will ensure we both get on the rolls either way. And there’s no rule against… pairing up… once… inside.” Up ahead of them, the young boy she had seen outside the Drunken Breeze was apparently being teased. This is what caused her words to falter. He looked positively despondent as a young girl with floppy ears clung to his back. Her heart went out to him. Then the girl hopped down and started scolding the adults around her. Aesri hid a smile at the scene and turned back to Yurt, suddenly wondering if he could write. It suddenly occurred to her that might be why he asked her to handle the registration process.


“To sign up, we need only to write our names in the book. Do you simply go by ‘Yurt’, or should I include a family name?” Ahead of them, the line was moving quickly. The church’s representative was an ugly man with crooked teeth. He instructed people where to sign then pointed them inside the church to receive a blessing. He managed to do this quite efficiently while glaring at the little girl for breaking protocol.


Yurt wondered how Syracuse would react of the old man was still alive. He came here to learn the merchant's trade, yet indulged in this act of senseless violence. Although, violence in itself is never senseless, at the very least it served the purpose of getting your point across and your name known throughout the land. Violence will always be a part of anyone's lives, a lesson the North teaches all her children, be they adopted from the south or born from her descendants. Many people have already gathered around the church from what Yurt could tell. His vision was still cloudy yet it was finally beginning to clear up, hopefully he would be at least in a serviceable state when his comrade needs him. His mind was finally thinking straight yet a slight nausea still assaulted his sense every now and then. People were gathered by dozens to witness the spectacle, children, families, the elders, everyone. Again, Yurt wondered just how Zephyr kept its citizens safe from the beast that they let loose to prowl the streets. What kept those beasts from clambering up to the roofs, should they possess ample agility? What kept those possessing great strength from simply bashing the doors in? Unless trolls in the south differed from the one's in the north capable of making short work of a group of hunters. It was highly unlikely, yet whatever notions he had from the North, he had to keep it in check. The south was a different place; the way life goes on here is a stark contrast to the North. New places always meant new ideals and thoughts or so Syracuse had taught him. Yurt would have to keep an open mind.


"I,” Yurt began to speak, “am,” he hesitated, “not confident in my ability to write right now." He was almost sure the lingering stenches of alcohol still resided in his breathe as Aesri looked to be holding back a gag. He couldn't blame her; he just opened his mouth in front of her face. And his words were still sluggish, as opposed to his mind.


"I am Yurt the Silent..." Slayer was what he wanted to say, it was what he was called back before he lost his arm. The Silent Slayer, even in the heat of battle Yurt stayed composed and calm, every movement was a precise action guided by his instinct, honed by his training. He never once let out a sound during a fight, neither slander nor battle cry. The Silent Slayer indeed. "....Trader. I am Yurt The Silent Trader. I wish to keep my title if it could fit on the book. The south will know my name the same way the north did. Now I shall keep to my namesake and stay silent, I have expended too much effort now." It felt like an empty boast, it also felt as though he was projecting himself to be unreliable to Aesri. He had long lost the title of Silent Slayer after he lost his arm. The North eventually forgot about him as well, as was evidenced by the amount of fools who dared attack his new home, a home he left behind, yet one he may return to as well at any time.


The church had honed the Hunt down to a smooth operation. The line moved quickly; soon the clerk registering everyone was motioning Aesriel forward. The snarling and stamping of the larger beasts floated to them as the monsters were moved into position nearby for release at high moon. It might have been her imagination, but Aesri thought the clerk smirked, as he looked her over.


He droned the phrase he had repeated dozens of times tonight. "Sign here." A pudgy finger discolored by ink tapped impatiently on the paper. The page was filled with a mix of names in widely varying degrees of legibility. Only one person had marked an “X”, proving that not all fighters valued the ability to write but most could sign their name. Taking the quill from him, she dipped it in the ink and started with Yurt's name, guessing the spelling correctly by chance. With elegant and precise penmanship, she managed to fit the title he had stumbled over smoothly in the small space. Certainly “Trader” wasn’t how he was known; when he’d supplied the title, he had born the air she had witnessed a thousand times on students when they wanted to dodge an uncomfortable question. That was his business, though; she wouldn’t pry. Not about his arm, and not about his name. She understood wanting to escape your past better than most.


The clerk read the entry upside down over the table. "Yurt, is it? Funny name for a lady," he teased. She heard a snicker from somewhere to her right. Probably the same brilliant lot that had been teasing the children. Apparently, the job of registering contestants was boring enough that the clerk felt the need to entertain himself with snide comments. Or maybe he was just naturally an ass.


Aesriel looked at him for a long moment, ignoring the people grumbling behind her. There was still time to bow out. All she had to do was explain she had been signing up her friend from the north, step out of line, apologize to Yurt, and leave. Then what? Go back to mercenary work? No. The only chance to shed the reputation of the White Hand lay in eclipsing it. Besides, she and Yurt had a deal. Maybe. More importantly, the clerk had pissed her off. She bent over the table again, tilting her head as she met the clerk's gaze defiantly before she signed her full name in the same elegant script, but with one addition. Sage Aesriel Fletcher - Ashland. It was difficult to fit on one line, but the clerk's audible intake of breath and fleeting wide eyes were worth the effort. The clerk’s mouth formed a hard line in short order, but Aesriel still felt some guilty satisfaction at seeing his reaction. Her name was not known. And it wasn’t unusual to include a city or town with one’s name: usually either one’s hometown or current home. However, the calamity at Ashland was only four years ago - long enough to fade from many people’s memories but not the church’s. Ugly rumors and theories about the nature and origin of the magical battle and resulting deaths there still lingered. Aesriel straightened and squared her shoulders, handing him back the quill with a small-satisfied smile before stepping away from the table.

Chapter 2

​

There was something about Zephyr that did not quite sit right with her. She would have this vague sense of misplacement, like being here was wrong. Discomfort sat like a heavy stone at the base of her stomach, always, she would lightly push Kayto to hurry his business so that they may leave. But he always seemed to prolong their leaving; using the excuse that he had other business. It never seemed to bother Kayto, being in Zephyr. In fact, he almost seemed at home, bantering with the other merchants, old friends he had not seen since departing in his travels all gathered to hunt for trade. Since their arrival at high noon, Kayto acquired quite a few valuable goods, cash crops mostly, but a few of Zephyr's furs and spices as well, much demanded in the other isles in which they visit often, but it did not seem like he was finished, much to her dismay. Vaya stood close beside her master, feeling quite self-conscious under the other merchants' scrutiny. They would steal glances at her, an eye roaming her body whenever they thought Kayto was not watching. She simply thought her dress was absolutely filthy. The silent girl let her honey eyes drift around her unfamiliar surroundings. She had only been in Zephyr a handful of times. And had arrived during its festivities only one other time. All the other instances they had visited, was during the calmer times of the year, as well as during the day. Zephyr’s festivities brought its people out into the streets. She had forgotten just how many people lived in the cities. "The Hunt," they called it. A peculiar name, she always thought. She always wondered what they were hunting for. She did not know. The last she had been here during that time, Kayto had made them retire early to their room. But for what reason, she did not know either. Vaya does not know a lot of things, she noticed. And she noticed a lot of things, too, like the faint smell of ale resonating from her master. She could not understand why, but golden liquid had a very strange effect on her master. His behavior always fluxed, he would be screaming at her one moment, then holding her tight in his arms the next. But only one definite result came from his drinking. He tends to be more needy, handling her less delicately; less careful under its influence, the scent of ale almost always guaranteed her new bruises in the morning. Kayto was always careful to cover those up; sometimes he would let her have his coat. The townspeople of the smaller towns more often while passing by always cooed at the sight of her wearing his clothes, the act always seemed to be pleasing to their eyes. Women who are familiar with her, like Tessa, who she vaguely remembered resided somewhere in the Southern Mainlands, had once said to her "I wish my own husband would give me his coat. I tend to get cold easily, too." She cocked her head at the strange woman. Why, She was not cold at all. Vaya had tried ale once; Kayto had given an entire cup to her, she remembered, while also enjoying his fifth cup. The experience was quite strange; the liquid burned her throat as she allowed it to slither to her stomach. She would wait until the sensation somewhat faded, before raising the large cup to her delicate lips once again. And before long, the room seemed to tip to and fro. The rest of the event was unclear, as if it had been wiped clear from her memory.


Vaya snapped back to focus at the slight nudge Kayto had given her. Her master stared at her expectantly, his mud-brown eyes harboring a faint look of annoyance. He gestured towards the throng, signaling their departure. Vaya turned towards the other merchant, a small smile stretching the corners of rose petal lips as farewell. The other merchants only offered short waves, their stare strange, and unfocused. She paid no mind to it and with a slight bounce in her step, she followed close behind her master, mirroring his long strides with a useless effort, as her legs were not quite long enough to read such lengths of his steps.


The Hunt was actually a tad bit larger than usual. It was covering multiple districts of the city this time around, instead of the one urban district. This time, the Hunt would be covering an urban district, encroaching on another, and half of an industrial area, including a piece of the Red Wind district. The Hunt was usually over populated with participants, so the Saints decided it was time to expand. After a counsel with the king and the Wolves, they scrounged up enough guards to cover and maintain the amount of expansion. They even went about making a bigger spectacle of the Hunt this cycle, sending out messengers to the neighboring states to spread the news and hype for the festival. The Wolves were charged with finding more beasts and larger ones for this festival. If things were to go well, they would consider keeping the size of the festival this large, or maybe expanding it more later on. Around this time, most of the people who lived in the district were beginning to crowd into their houses through rooftop entrances. They kept their locks and doors bolted shut, and did their best to blockade doors and windows to assure their lives were in tact. The incredible enjoyment of the Hunt seemed to always blur out the fact that there was actually people who died during it. Like all holidays, it was made to take ease off everyone’s heavy and difficult lives. There were early goers, trying to claim spots for upon the rooftops where they could get the best view without having to relocate very often. Usually enthusiasts about the hunt, learners trying to understand the beast's movement and decisions, and the professional hunter's way of thinking, and then the older folk simply getting up early and finding themselves a place where they would not have to move from. Along the streets outside of the gates, the many market stalls were set up, booming with business as the festival brought money and produce from all around. New couples, entrepreneurs, festivalgoers, children escorted by mothers bought every which what. Merchants usually never missed their chance to come to Hunt. Then there was the church where the participants signed up and awaited to begin the Hunt. They lined up at the church, surrounded by other hunters that contemplated signing up this cycle. The hunters were already prepped for the Hunt, for once you signed up you could not leave. The line exceeded dozens and dozens of hunters. They signed up at the booth outside the temple door then waited inside the church to receive a blessing then to be escorted to where they would enter. As the participants were signing up, the monsters were being released into the district. It was actually a slow process as they had to release the beasts separate from each other and at different times, else they would begin killing each other. Also they had to let the creatures settle to make the Hunt something of a tracking event. They released them largest to smallest, letting the larger ones claim a territory before allowing the smaller ones to wander around to find nooks and crannies. One of the cages contained two humanoid creatures. There were guards set up all over the rooftops and around the gates, making sure that the monsters were kept in check. The guards usually did their best to keep anyone from getting hurt.


Rige was making his way to the church, as he strolled down the somewhat crowded streets. The market stalls were selling everything they had and were beginning to trade to gain stock back. He was still not quite sure if he was going to sign up for the Hunt. He did love the amount of merry making there was during the festival. So many old friends coming from round, so many new faces bringing news from far off places, so many new stories to hear of heroes of the new generation. Rige did wonder if he would hear any stories about his son. He did hope that his son would become the hero that Rige had originally set out to be. As well he wondered for his daughters, the eldest that had not seen since she was young and the middle girl who left for pilgrimage with Airrow. His children were leaving him behind. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a familiar face, a young, vibrant and beautiful girl standing with a silly expression of confusion on her face. Like a little girl who was somewhere new, feeling fear yet curiousness at the same time. It was Vaya, the slave girl. Zephyr did not hold slave trades; the Wolves did not allow it. But slaves were not abolished from Zephyr; they did have slave laws at least. Seeing a slave was not too common in Zephyr, but it was no sight of craze.


"Ah-hah!" Rige changed his directions to approach the stall that Vaya attended. "Vaya, you're attending the Hunt this year, I see." He smiled to the confused girl. "And where is Kayto, has the man finally trusted you to be left alone?" Rige said before only looking slightly adjacent to the girl, seeing the merchant attending to a customer. "So then, Kayto, how goes your travels? See anything new? What news do you bring?" Rige began asking away. His traveling merchant friends were really his only accurate information from the outside world.


Vaya smiled a warm greeting to the familiar face, the only friendly one she has seen so far. The man was as lively as the first time she had visited Zephyr, she had recalled getting lost in its maze-like streets, and having the older man intercept her path. She had not quite understood what he had been saying to her, as at that time, her infantile mind was only beginning to develop. There was only so much she was able to process, getting lost had her head spinning like a top. Rige was not able to make her talk, and by sheer luck, was able to stumble upon Kayto as he chatted away to the dumbfounded girl, all the while dragging her along the streets. Vaya was complied to follow the man like a lost puppy, which, understandably, was her position at that time. Kayto had gone to Zephyr that day to deliver the goods in which he promised to client he met in the market months ago, expensive furs and sweets, she recalled, in exchange for a few barrels of wheat and salt, which was much demanded to preserve food. She had gotten separated from Kayto as she was examining the colorful spheres of what she recalled her master calling them 'fruits.' Some were oddly shaped, others were completely round, but not perfectly so, since there were dimples on their skin. There was a peculiar scent that resonated from the brightly colored fruit, 'oranges' the seller had called them. She spoke with a smile that seemed as if it would split her face in half, and Vaya could only stare, puzzled as she continued to babble. Not one word made much sense to her besides the names of the fruits. She called the yellow ones 'ba-nar-nars.' Vaya offered Rige sweets nestled into her small, pale hands, which she produced from the folds of her dress, which bulged in peculiar places, as she had stuffed the wrapped pieces of sugary goodness in every pocket she could find. Zephyr was always filled with children scampering about, and it gave her much pleasure to have them smile at her and giggle as they popped the balls of sweets into their tiny mouths. Kayto, however, seemed to stiffen as the man's deep voice reached his ears. It was strange to see Kayto so discombobulated and disheveled. Being around the leader of the Djinn Wolves always seemed to have a strange affect on her master. It made her ponder if, perhaps, Rige was comprised of ale. She often wondered, seeing as Kayto only ever lost his composure drinking ale. Upon turning, her master had a strangled smile on his lips, and he seemed to turn a few shades paler. She noted the small beads of sweat that had begun to dribble from his temple. Kayto cleared his throat.


"Ah, Master Rige!"He took the larger man's hand in a sweaty palmed grip and shook hastily before dropping his own hand back to his side as he laughed, much too loudly. "Jus' the man I was looking fer!"


Vaya lost her master in his babbling, he spoke of his recent trades in the North, offering Rige the newest swords he was able to acquire, and other various weapons she didn't catch, and the difficulties they had to face reaching Zephyr.


"I nearly lost my goods ta those barbarian bastards," Kayto shook his head, running a hand through his sandy hair, jabbing a thumb behind his back. "We were jus' at the market in one of them outposts. I had the ship docked an' left for the day ta go 'bout my merchant business. Then all o' a bloody sudden, the whole bloody half o' town comes runnin' ta the other side o' the village. Vaya an' I were lucky to be near the docks, them diuris are strikin' up a hellova commotion out there, Rige. How's leadin' the Wolves? Ye seen any action lately?"

Part 2

​

Leo moaned and popped his shoulders up tucking his arms that clutched the soft peach colored legs of his companion who lay sleepily over his back. The little pop jostling the young girl he carried. Leo could feel her warm breath touching and tickling the side of his neck and bottom of his ear as she inhaled and exhaled over his shoulder. Leo could hear the loud chatter as they continued their walk from the tavern that just thirty minutes before they had been sleeping in. The opiate of food that surrounded the area of the church ensnared the young boy as the low rumble of his tummy began to blind his ears in his vexing hunger. The light sizzling of meat the smell of exotic fruits stinging his nose’s pallet with envious appreciation. People around Leo with Mhara ridding piggy back began to stare with light giggles adorning their mouths watching the young couple make their way through the crowd. Leo's eyes hung heavy with the zeal of sleep as the ever-drooping eyelids swung heavily closed then fluttered lazily open with each trudge. The festival's rhythm and chaotic harmony was something to be admired while he made his way to the church square where the admissions were held. Hunters from near and far from beast men creatures to women adorned this square laden with their arms of destruction and death. This was the famous hunt of the greatest hunters and heroes. This would be the day Leo could ascend to what he deserved to be the king hero god champion. The corners of Leo's mouth curved upwards in a little smile as he made his way into line. Leo's head lurched left and right, with the sleepy fox girl's body following his motion, in attempt to peer around those in line to see how long he had to wait.


"Boy I think you are in the wrong line." An older man chuckled while he shook his head in disbelief.


"Yeah I wouldn't want to see a young babe like you get hurt." A woman chortled from the side.


The crowd around Leo began to buzz as those skeptical of joining and those joining began to mock or sneer and hide their laughter at them.


The boy seemed as if he was going to yell at them in response, “I am a-!” but he was hesitant


"Leo,” the girl upon him began to whisper, “if you do that, I’ll" Mhara's light gentle voice tickled his right eardrum with a shivering chill sent down his spine. Within the next moment of her sentence stopping a light but gentle tug touched his iced ear and the gentle warmth of her mouth trapped his ear in a tender nibble. Leo's face burned bright red as his chance to prove himself was snuffed from his embarrassment.


"I,” he whimpered, “am,” and he tried, “a hero...." Leo whispered to himself as Mhara wrapped her arms around his chest and held him tight. The subtle jeering of the crowd and Leo's voice in her ear was what woke Mhara from her interesting dream. She could barely remember what had happened before she woke; yet here she was, in a line. It had to be for the hunt! Had she fallen asleep while waiting, then how had she gotten here? Her eyes traveled down to the mess of blonde hair she was so close to, Leo had carried her. Her brief excitement died when she managed to collect herself enough to put together what the crowd was muttering. Her maiden-esque blush disappeared and in one smooth movement she disentangled herself from Leo and dropped daintily to her feet. She tossed a pigtail over her shoulder and narrowed a wicked gaze on the line-stander closer to her, despite addressing the whole crowd.


"I suggest you all be worried about being beaten by a couple of "babes" then focusing on what we do, are your own lives that uninteresting? Pathetic." she said, voice loud and clear. A man to her left seemed to take offense, huffing slightly, she moved away from him as well, sniffing haughtily, yet the amazement of seeing this many people in one area, on rooftops and spilling into the streets, all to watch carnage about to take place. It was disgusting; she felt it was disgusting, despite her participation, yet what was a better way to make a name for them. She glanced around at the crowd of people, all dressed in clothing that signified that they were from different regions, different faces, all with expressions of determination or just drunken vigor. She stood close to Leo, watching the assortment of faces with curious blue eyes, that is until a large hand rubbed her back, she blanched, turning to face the gentleman that had tried to get her attention.


"Wh-what?"


"That th're man, 's been callin' for you," he said, accent thick. She glanced over, the man with the sign up book was beckoning for her and Leo to approach, and she took initiative and approached him.


"A little too young to be participatin' in the hunt, are ya? Well, whate’er, sign here," he said, pointing to the blank space in the book, she frowned at him, at his crooked teeth, at his rotten personality before she took the pen, writing Leo's full name in perfect script. She had practiced it so many times, yet when she went to write her own name. Of course, she was a slave. She did not know how to write her name.


"Havin' trouble there, sweetheart? Wusswrong? Can't spell yer own name?" he asked, embarrassment burnt her cheeks as she her hand with the pen fumbled, a body pressed to her back and she found Leo's hand over hers, she frowned as he wrote her name on the name for her. Of course, he wrote her own last name instead of giving her his own, but she could live with it. She smiled gripping onto his hand with hers, though it lasted only a second before he yanked it away, pushing and shuffling her along out of the next person in line's way.


"Thank you Leo,” with her singing voice, “you are always there for me when I need you and it's ju-"


"Cram it,"


"Sometimes I feel like you don't appreciate what I'm doing!"


"Well you're sometimes right, then,"


Mhara opened her mouth to respond but Leo's pushing had caused her to almost bump into a large figure, she glanced up to see the man from the bar, the old man, he was talking to another man and a very pretty brown-haired girl, she quieted down, clearing her throat nervously, "Ah, hello again, sorry for interrupting,” she spoke timidly, “and wreaking havoc in your bar," she muttered, elbowing Leo in his side, earning a yelp from the boy.


Vaya removed her eyes from Rige, as he was too distracted to take any of her offered goods, but this did not bother her. Kayto and his customers tend to become too absorbed by their exchange of stories and trade to pay attention. She does not call for their attention, especially considering she does not have a working instrument in which enables speech. Her eyes wandered once more, busying herself watching the line that seemed to extend, crawling slowly forward as those in the front bent to scribble something on a piece of parchment, then proceeding to disappear into the crowd upon straightening. Her honey brown eyes fell upon a girl, not much smaller than herself, perhaps an inch or two shorter. She was a dainty little thing, and she could not help but marvel at the girl's bright blue eyes, they looked like pretty little jewels that adorn her round, childish face. Her lengthy hair framed the face of innocence, she marveled at that too, how it seemed to catch light and glitter when the girl moved. Her eyes caught the golden glint of her partner's eyes. This, too, widened her eyes in awe. The children she was most familiar with did not have such bright features as this two blue-eyed duo. Most often, the children she's acquainted with were brown haired, brown-eyed, much like herself. They looked absolutely beautiful. She pivoted upon her heel; still cupping the small treats in her hands, pushing them toward the two, a gentle smile that had made the habit of manifesting around children, adorning her rose hued lips. Kayto's mud-brown eyes also fell upon the girl who spoke, and her male companion. Tension seemed to be released from his body, which he forced erect speaking to Rige. Vaya was able to catch a look of annoyance, before flickering to hopefulness at the sight of the two adolescences, upon her master's mug. She furrowed her brows at this, her immature mind attempting to process and understand the strange assortment of human emotion that crossed her master's face. He looked just about ready to scurry away. She's only ever recognized that expression when Kayto had accidentally stirred much trouble in a tavern during their travels. As the tavern-goers advanced on him, looks of anger and annoyance contorting their already worn faces, Kayto had his hands up, firing words of apology at them while she stood, dumbfounded by the happenings. Kayto then later explained, or rather huffed and puffed about "dem bloody drunkards, an' their ale, too bloody sensitive." But even then, she couldn't quite understand what had happened. She glanced at her master's face again. Was he afraid of Rige? She definitely did not believe Rige was scary. He was quite jovial. The notion of him being frightening was not very believable. Aside from Rige's much larger, much more muscular stature, in comparison to Kayto's own five nine, thin and lanky physique, there wasn't much she found about the leader of the Wolves very intimidating. He did not have the mean face her master, and other aging people, sometimes sported. She knew him for his lively self, oft polite, boisterous, and kind. She found no reason to fear him.


These two did not seem to have changed much at all. Kayto always seemed to be a blathering fool when Rige approached him, even as he had heard that Kayto was a slick con man. He looked like his age was catching up with him; the tradesmen seemed to be somewhat in lesser health than Rige. Must be all the stress from going one place to then next. Rige on the other hand had always stayed put, he never really had need for moving anywhere when his life was practically made in Zephyr. As well he had a wife here, he had a job that needed attending to, he could not leave simply because he wished to. Rige was in good shape though, in comparison to Kayto. That could just have been since Rige is somewhat pampered and a very sporting man, while Kayto seemed to be something of a thinker in the ways of mischief. Rige did not see himself as a muscle brain, but he often found himself befuddled by the academic achievements of the newer generations. Thoughts and discoveries they uncover never would have crossed his mind. On the other hand while Kayto was aging by the minute, Vaya seemed trapped in time. Her young beauty placed in the point of ripeness and dares never to leave that spot. It confused Rige as he wondered if it were some type of new beauty product. He knew what type of man Kayto was, so he was sure he would pamper her somewhat. Kayto went on to talk about the Northern trades, but that was actually more of the boring subject. Even as the immense action and amounts of battles fought up there garnered more and more skill, it was usually the same type of story, and Rige knew that Kayto avoided the hostile areas. News of great warriors of the North only came in the form of minstrel tales, so one could never actually tell what was truth and what was false. The only news that would not travel through a bard's song would be a dramatic political change that would possibly effect areas closer to the North's borders, but events like that were quite rare. It was even less common for the news to travel this far. And the wares from there would not interest a man who strayed from battle in his age, like Rige. He would have his spear, which was all he believed he really needed. A more dedicated hunter would bring much more, but Rige was just having fun with the sport. Then Kayto went on to more interesting news, the diuris raids on the move, roving faster and deeper into the mainland with every bit of news, it made Rige worry very much so, mostly for his son and daughter that would have to travel through there. He worried indefinitely about if they would be in one of the cathedrals during an attack. He would trust his son to protect the young girl, but he doubted his son could survive an onslaught of the savage diuris. Rige was inclined to pry on that subject more, on inquiring of where exactly town was, so Rige could dictate where the raiders were attacking most and where his son and daughter would be moving next. There really was not much he could do if he could learn of it though, they would be too far for him to hunt down and find. The Djinn Wolves’ influence only ranged so far before they became a military force that wandered too far from home.


"I am practically retired, Kayto. Action comes to me in reading and writing." At his leg, he felt a slight nudge. To his surprise, the two young children from the tavern were there. They seemed to have taken his advice and joined the Hunt. If that were the case, then Rige would have to hold up his end of the bargain as well. While he did not actually expect to get to hunt cooperatively very much with the boy and his companion, he enjoyed the idea of the competition, even if it was with a child. Like a father testing his son, but Rige felt slightly empty as he was going to partake in it with someone who was not his own.


"Young miss, no need for apologies towards me," He smiled to the little foxed eared hybridia "I did not have any ownership over the bar, and in any case you caused no damage to property, it was really all the large fellow's fault for smashing the bar. I do wonder where that big feller went, I am sure the Hunt would enjoy someone as skilled, or rather as attention grabbing, as he to participate in it. Too bad then." He ended it with a ruffling of the girl's hair before sending his attention back to Kayto and the girl.


"I best go sign up, myself!" He admitted, "Kayto, be sure to give these two a discount, in fact put it on me," As it did in the tavern, it meant all wares would be free, "Also, let Vaya watch this year, I am sure she would enjoy the show." With that, Rige turned ad went off to the line to sign his name, and then go off to the church to receive his blessing.


Rige's trial was not much different from any other person's time signing up. He took a moment in line; it was a short cue, as people seemed to clear from the line when Rige stepped into it. It seemed the hope for more participants was still hindered by the self-doubt most people had when it came to these large events. Rige could only guess that it was merely do to the idea that the Hunt was so large. The amount of incredible skill that would gather at the Hunt would scare away amateurs. It was the usual reason why the Hunt lacked a large amount of participants. Most commonly, participants would be from only the surrounding cities, garnering only the most skilled hunters as participants, the rest of the income came from people who simply enjoyed the festival and the show spending their currency and helping the economy of Zephyr. Enlarging the Hunt and advertising to even further cities was an attempt to get more participants, skilled or not, to join from further out and spectators to garner interest in seeing the diverse hunting cultures. As well, it would give more of an economical boost to Zephyr to have even more tourists and participants. To Rige, it was simply the same problem as usual. To the hunters, once someone recognized who Rige was exactly, whispers were being thrown here and there. If the Alpha was joining the Hunt, then there was something amiss. No one would dare put them against royalty or of someone in high position, as it was considered a sign of disrespect. At this point, the only ones would join now were those who were already signed up and those who had no idea of the Alpha's presence in the Hunt. It was a common thing, that when someone of royalty joined a competition, if they did not win, those who earned spots above royalty were considered disrespecting the higher caste, no matter how silly it sounded. While someone like Rige would not dare wander down that road of unsportsmanlike ways, there are many others that would. As these were mostly foreigners, or hunters that have traveled in other cities and experienced this envy that rested in the breasts of royal competitions. They cleared the line, knowing that participating might not be worth it. As it was his turn to sign his name, the man assigned to the table graciously greeted the Alpha, showing him where to sign, giving him a quill, and even offering to write Rige's name for him. Rige denied the man, kindly. His own name was the best thing he knew how to write. Sadly, while he was educated, his writing skills lacked. The most he did when he was working at a desk was write his name in approval of new laws and mandates. He knew how to read, and only how to write things that pertained to him now and days. Writing his name on the list was easy. Rige Airs Alpha Djinn Wolves. It was a short wait, the line. After that, Rige went straight into the church to receive his blessing. Some hunters liked to check the market stalls before headed into the church for last minute supplies, but Rige really needed nothing. He was not at all very serious about the Hunt, he simply wanted to have some fun and spend sometime with the young folk. As for a weapon, he could just ask for one of the Wolves that are guarding and helping coordinating the Hunt, for their spears. The Djinn Wolves did not have much for uniform. They had a banner color and a crest of recognition. The veterans and richer Wolves spent large amounts of money to purchase the newer type of plate armor. The lower income members would settle with scale, leather, mail, or brigandine. So the higher ups, including Rige had armor fitted and made for them, but Rige found no need in wearing it, as he was simply hunting, not going into a bloody duel or war. The Wolves’ only real uniform was a mass produced spear made by blacksmiths in Zephyr, they called it the Wolf Fang spear, and it was a winged spear. The pole was not incredibly long, as to keep versatility at all reaches, it had a strong wooden staff, some had a neat thin line of red cloth lining the staff, with a long leaf like spearhead, and two wings spreading from either side. The wings bent upward making a crescent shape, for feathers it was barbed with short symmetric spikes. It was good for stabbing, especially guided from horse top. The wings were to create a better ability for spear fencing as well as to prevent the blade from entering too far into an enemy.


Mhara blinked in surprise, confusion crossing her face as she stared down at the assortment of sweets she had been given. After a day of bar fights, travelling, and general rudeness the small act of kindness surprised her. She unwrapped the candy and slipped it into her mouth while Leo went off to the line again to give the group a rousing speech about his heroics, Mhara stayed quiet this time, reveling in the unknown textures and taste as she rocked on her heels. She kept a keen gaze on the brunette woman, eyes studying her features, as well as her companion. Their relationship was most interesting, though the gaunt-faced skinny man did not match the pretty, young, girl. She glanced at the thinning line for the Hunt and then back to Leo, who was no doubt annoying them with his long, cocky speech, hands on his hips in a wide Peter Pan stance.


"Of course, I was able to defeat them! And with my powerful might I was able t-"


"Leo, love, I hate to interrupt, but I think we need to get our blessing so we can participate,"


"What did I say about calling me love?"


"Nothing I wanted to hear." she reminded him in her sing song-y tone, slipping a slim arm into his, interlocking them firmly. She turned back to the quiet girl again, gaze serious as she tilted her head the left, "Thank you for the candy, Miss, I wish we could talk more but we really must be off," she said politely, gripping the edge of her skirt and curtsying. With a huff Leo began to lead them toward the church, though Mhara's gaze drifted behind her, as she kept herself locked on that milky chocolate gaze. Within a limited amount of time she found herself amongst many other inhabitants in the church, as well as in the presence of the old man, again. She chose not to greet him this time, eyes wandering the room, there was a man with hawk-ish nose speaking with a woman with blue gemstone fashioned to her forehead with a chain, squinting slightly, she watched as more people began to fill the space. Nervousness began to settle in along with great excitement, it felt like a Hunt was about to begin, perfect.


Rige found his place in the church, finding a relatively open spot adjacent to the edge of the bench and a couple discussing tactics for the Hunt. Rige paid little attention to them as he gleefully waited for the blessing to begin. Soon the two children had entered and found themselves suitable seats as well. Rige sent a smile and nod in their direction before placing his attention on the pedestal and altar where a Saint took his place. He began to quiet the crowd, with a rising of arms making him seem like a bird with his loose-sleeved robes. Soon the crowd of hunters ceased their speaking and watched the Saint.


"O Brave hunters of Signum, by Sultra's blessing shall you bring about the might of holy blade. By her glory shall you be granted greatness, shall you be granted strength, shall you be granted will, shall you be granted victory. Inward and outward, Sultra's will and guidance moves through your soul and body, giving her love so you may be granted long lives to continue your servitude and fortitude against the demons of hate and atrocity. So we speak directly to her, our Sultra. We thank you, O goddess, for giving us bodies, that are specially fit and strong, and for making us able to use it well. In our training, help us never shirk the discipline, which we know that we need and that we ought to accept. In our leisure and in our pleasure, help us never to allow ourselves any indulgence that would make us less for than we ought to be. When we compete with one another, help us each, win or lose, to play fair. When we win, keep us from boasting. When we lose, keep us from making excuses. And help us always with good will to congratulate a better person whom beat us. Help us so to live that we will always have a healthy body and healthy mind. By the grace of the great goddess may we always honor, thank and adore the goddess Sultra who created the animals and saw that each species was good. Let us love the goddess who made humans in her own image and likeness and set them over the whole world, to have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the birds of the air, and over the cattle, and over all Terryal, and over every creeping thing that creeps upon the ground. By our honorable conduct as hunters let us give a good example and teach new hunters principles of honor, so that each new generation can show respect for Sultra, other hunters and the animals, and enjoy the dignity of the Hunt. Sultra, may we make an honest count of game, respecting the law’s limits of game in order to preserve the balance of life and death among the creatures of your creation. May we so love the truth that we always give an honest recounting of the hunting stories while keeping them interesting to our companions. May we also listen to our comrades’ stories with enjoyment and without envy. Sultra, we do not need to take every animal in the city, nor must we take the best or nothing. Guide us to seek the best and to accept what we retrieve. May we never take more than our limit and let us always help maintain the balance of nature in relationship to the environment and the numbers of animals there. Keep us aware of the needs and desires of other hunters while we always try to hunt at our own best skill. Pray for the good sense to care for our weapon and to carry it and use it responsibly. Pray for the animals, that the blades are clean and do not cause unnecessary suffering to the animal. We pray that we may take down the game in as painless a way as possible. May we recognize our limits and take the swings and shots we know we can make, not taking the chance that risks maiming or wounding an animal unnecessarily. Sultra, we are so blessed to be able to hunt and we appreciate the blessings you have bestowed upon us. Yet we know that so many others are in great need. Give us the grace to share the food of the hunt not only with our families and friends but also with those who have greater need: the hungry and the poor. May our sharing with them be one small part of our continuing care for those weaker than us. As they as you, Sultra, for their daily bread, use us as one small instrument to help provide it to them. Goddess, you spoke to the great Saint Hubert Roosevelt and converted him to you during a stag hunt. You changed him into a hunter of souls, yet you continued to use his skills as a hunter to open minds to your voice. We ask that you make us into a hunter of souls above all other hunting activities. May we look for the opportunities to speak of you and your salvation. Let the district of hunting be a place that uplifts the soul. May our time alone be an opportunity to pray and listen to you. May all the actions of the rest of our lives be a constant hunt for you, for the opportunities you give us to evangelize, and to target the souls most in need of your love. Graceful goddess, to you we pray, a majestic prey may come my way. Let our aim be straight and true, this my Sultra, we pray to you. A swift clean kill is what we ask; take his spirit swift and fast. For his last breath should not be one of pain or agony. Let his soul come to thee, to roam your domains, wild and free." The Saint went on, letting his sermon be as long winded as every day's sermon. Rige was considerably baffled by how well they were able to continue on about the same subject over and over again. Rige's speeches before battles never lasted as long as sermons. Even so, as he could barely keep up, he could feel the blessing of Sultra flowing through him, his muscles tensing, his mind clearing, his blood pulsing ever so quicker with adrenaline. He truly found the amazement in how well the Saint's blessings worked. The Saint on his podium, was speaking continuously and beginning to sweat profoundly. His focus was not on his words, but on the entities in the room of which he began to manipulate. The Saint's magic, the zazrack magic that he studied and knew so well was now being put to use. Being used to jump-start the bodies of the hunters, so they would be ready in the quickest amount of time. The Saint tried to relax them in mental sense to allow their minds to be focused on the Hunt at hand. As he did so, he could feel his own body giving up on him. His knees quivered, but were unseen thanks to his large robes.


When the Saint could no longer withstand the blessing, he ended the sermon with, "Through the light of Sultra, we will find glory." After that, a monk assisted the seemingly older Saint then the one who quieted the crowd down and to a back room. The church doors were reopened and monks and Wolves directed participants out of the church.


Each Hunter, in groups of threes were separated to different gates of the closed district. The closed gates would have to wait a moment. When a gate had their hunters at the door, they would raise a banner signaling the rest of the gates. When each gate had their banners raised, the gates were allowed open and the hunters were given access.


"Yurt, the Silent Trader? Sage Aesriel Fletcher of Ashland? Rige Airs Alpha of the Djinn Wolves?" a Wolve said from behind a piece of parchment. Then looked up and allowed three in. "Good luck." He said before handing Rige a spear.


"Good day, mam, sir." Rige said to the two he entered the gate with. He pressed his attention on the path a head of them, looking around for any trails that may have been left behind by beasts.


At another gate, a monk read from another parchment to three more participants. "Ayesha Muir? Leophaz Ubelblatz? M-... Uh... Muh-hara Sarcina?" He did not even look up to the three. The gate was opened and the participants were sent in.


There was no turning back now, the participants were locked in the closed district and the Hunt had officially begun.

Part 3

​

“Let’s go, Yurt. I believe we are to accept the church’s blessing next.”The clerk ignored her comment and waved the next person in line up to the table. Meanwhile, Aesriel led Yurt toward the temple. Other contestants filed into the building, continuing to compare notes and reminisce about past Hunts. The chatter would only fade when they stepped inside the church. One large group was allowed in at a time. When the church was filled, all inside would be blessed and then moved along to the waiting area. Apparently, the building was reaching capacity, for two robed priests were closing the doors. As they met up with the other contestants forming the next group, she turned to Yurt. “I don’t want you to break your trademark silence, but … should we discuss strategy?”She glanced at his sword before meeting his eyes, careful this time not to even glance at the stump where his arm should be. “Besides the obvious, I mean.” She had worked with fighters who had a fear of fire. A battle could rapidly deteriorate if she did not know these things ahead of time. Somehow she did not think Yurt would care, but it was courteous to ask. Plus the discussion would provide something to focus on to keep her nerves in check.


Yurt contented himself with staying at the sidelines, while Aesri went ahead and signed up for both of them. It didn't feel right that woman should do something he quite capable of, but he was not exactly in the best shape to be doing anything, not after that "swill" drink that was served in the Drunken Breeze. His mind may be sharp and his control over his body was returning gradually, but it was still too much to simply write something. He wondered if he could actually sober up in time for the hunt to begin. He kept glancing at Aesri, staring at her while the queue was slowly moving forward. At the head of the line was a pudgy individual who seemed to be guiding those on the sign up procedure for the Hunt. The person looked bored as he kept instructing the next hunter and the next and the next on what to do for the Hunt. Yurt felt sorry for the person, it would take immense willpower to not stand up and walk out on everyone, and being seated there all night didn't seem like an attractive prospect. Yurt himself knew he could not stand just sitting there and do nothing. There did not seem to be anything else that caught his eye so he just tracked the progress of his companion through the line until it was her turn to be admitted. Yurt wondered if it was even possible for one person to sign two people up for the Hunt. The registrar and some of the people in the line were apparently laughing at Aesri. Yurt had an idea as to why, he scanned the line and saw a multitude of young men who were most likely trying to make a name for themselves or things along those lines, in fact the entire line seemed to be composed of just men. They had most likely been laughing at Aesri because she is woman, which meant women were not exactly held in equal regard in Zephyr, not like home. She did something with the parchment but what it was Yurt would never know. Whatever she did, it seemed to silence some of the people jeering at her. She turned and lead Yurt toward the church, something a blessing before the Hunt. Yurt wondered if the voice of his gods would reach him here or he would have to conform to the gods of the South. Not that their blessing was any more effective than that empty ritual before every fight in the North. His sword arm would see him through the Hunt, not some deity who was too busy to turn their attention to his minuscule plea or that of the others in the church. He said nothing regarding the church or the blessing, for his companion may take offense. That was one warning from Cyrus that Yurt decided to keep to heart, the Southerners will always be too zealous and devotional to their deities that a small opposing opinion is enough to offend them immensely. The architecture of the church did not interest Yurt, what interested him were the myriad of people gathered in halls. The interior seemed to be filled with people who were looking to make a name for themselves. There were others who seemed like veterans that were talking about past Hunts that have taken place in Zephyr. It stood to reason that the Hunt has been an event that has been practiced in Zephyr for a long time as evidenced by a Hunter clad in plate armor, wielding a large sword. The Hunter in question looked to be an old man but still possessed strength despite his age, he was lecturing several of newer Hunters as well as relive his glory days. Then again who was to say that that Hunter's glory days are past him? Other hunters seem to already be making alliances with each other in the hopes of slaying larger beasts no doubt. Still others were content to hang back and observed the crowd. Yurt's own observations were cut short when Aesri turned to face him and ask about strategy. Strategy was not something Yurt was an expert on, he had battle experience but he was in no way sure he had any strategy in mind for anything. The plans held in council meetings back in the North were not open to all warriors, they would simply receive simple instructions on what to do and that they should follow them to the letter.


"Strategy then? I think we should know what the other is capable of before we even plan anything, yes? I'll go first. I have been fighting in the North for as long as I could remember, of course that fighting came to an end after this happened." Yurt gestured to the sleeve that was missing an arm. "Or so I thought the fighting would end. Do not worry about my ability to fight because I have been defending a border town alongside the town watchmen up North from bandit raids since a travelling merchant took me in. My capabilities are not diminished even if I have lost an arm, my family taught me to fight with a weapon in each hand rather than a weapon in one hand. I know no magic, neither do I possess immense intelligence but I have enough sense in me to know when something isn't working. That's all there is for me to share with you Aesri."


Was it her imagination, or was Yurt speaking in longer sentences? The odor of alcohol was slowly fading, and his coherent answers gave her hope that his wits were not so dulled that he would end up a Hunt casualty due to the drink. Or worse yet, make her one. Her hand lifted to press slightly curled fingers to her lips, covering the small smile inspired by his matter-of-fact summary of his past and assessment of his skills. The frank way of speaking was familiar from her time in Ashland. The city bordered on the Northern dead lands, far enough away for relative safety but not outside of the Northern influence. She had met Northern man and women, always admiring their strength and wondering whether culture or a closer daily relationship with survival drove their clarity of purpose. It was a purely academic question, of course. She nodded to confirm that she had heard and understood him and then cleared her throat as she contemplated how to return the courtesy of explaining her abilities without turning it into a lecture on magic. Knowing a lecture both unwarranted and unnecessary had proved insufficient to override her natural tendency in the past. More than one traveling companion had bluntly explained that not every situation warranted a lesson, although, never quite that articulately. Usually their remarks were either "We don't care", "Shut it", or some variation on the two themes with a threat thrown in for good measure.


Her hand fell to her staff as they came to a stop, waiting with the next group of contestants to enter the church. "We are well matched, then." Only belatedly did she realize she might have just implied that she was "immensely intelligent". She smiled a bit nervously as she continued. "Were you are gifted in fighting, I am only passable with this." She lifted the staff to indicate her only physical weapon. "But I am a Sage of prvok magic and have often worked with warriors. Usually in situations like this, I focus on elemental attacks and distracting the beasts so that you can get in close enough for a kill if my attacks are not enough, something like with that troll, for example. I am not terribly knowledgeable when it comes to strategy, but I suspect our biggest challenge during the Hunt will lie in finding the beasts before the others." Her gaze shifted to take in some of the contestants around them. "And watching each other's back." Aesriel wanted to explain that winning would be wonderful, but it wasn't her aim; but stopped herself there before she said too much. Again.


For Yurt, it felt like an eternity watching the woman, go about how to present her abilities to him. He could not rush her because that would be disrespectful, however he felt anxious with each passing second of silence. Was she not aware of her delay or did time decide to stretch itself longer, so Yurt may reflect on what it is he has done and what he is about to do? There was a possibility that his companion may turn on him after the hunt or during, when they have gathered the sufficient number of pelts or kills for that matter. It made him uneasy, it made him recall a lesson he learned from Syracuse and one he had realized after he lost his arm. "Anyone can be trusted, but only to an extent, if they do not wish to open up wholly to you, I suggest you keep them within arm's reach, Yurt." Those words from Syracuse rang through his head like town bell calling its citizens to arms. Aesri broke the silence. What exactly had she meant that they are well matched? Sure enough she was a mage of considerable power but what could he ever contribute to her. He had only been partially bluffing on his boast of fighting prowess, for that ability lay with his nonexistent left hand. He was passable enough in a fight with his right hand and was only barely able to defeat the bandits that one time, and even then it was more to the effort of the town watch and the fact that his reputation still stuck throughout the North. They dubbed him as a reincarnated demon, something to be feared. He barely raised his sword arm then and that had been quite some time ago, Yurt was not sure if his right could match the deadly rhythm of that his left possessed. It felt unfair; he was bringing up the hopes of his companion when he ran the risk of bringing them both down.


"Aesri. Let me warn you, I may have been in fights before, but they happened some time ago. I am not confident in my ability and so wish to speak plainly of my shortcomings. I may or may not be as gifted in the martial arts as you think I am. Whatever I said about my abilities, should be taken with a grain of salt, keep in mind that I was not in total control of myself for the past hour or so. I shall try to live up to whatever concept of "gifted" you have about my abilities, but ask yourself if a one armed veteran could really hold his own against a predator whose whole life was devoted to hunting prey?" Yurt hoped she would heed his warning. It had been a while since he had fought anything and was worried about his ability to fight efficiently. "Strategy against the beasts are simple enough, tracking them should be easy, their scents are vastly different than what you'd smell in the city. Trust your nose, Aesri; if it smells wrong or different, we are going the right way. Simple enough, yes? Pick out what is different. These are animals and as such will always prepare a fallback position they'd defend with their lives should they sense danger. Their lair will be where everything smells and feels wrong." He whispered his next piece of advice to Aesri; he didn't need others to pick out what felt natural to a Northerner, to someone who was once an animal.


Aesriel listened to Yurt’s “warning” with raised eyebrows and summarized the situation with a single word. “Oh”. The smile that followed was weak but genuine. His honesty was refreshing. Most men bragged about their fighting prowess whether or not it was deserved. On the other hand, it was discouraging to hear him say that he was not a match for a predator. Oh well. What did she expect from a man she had encountered randomly at a bar? The best fighters in the land were not likely to be downing drinks and waiting for someone like her to direct them to the biggest fighting contest on the continent. So she had made an ally, but a limited one. It was better than nothing, she did not have many other options, and she thought not to go back on her word. And when, exactly, had she given her word? That whole process was a little fuzzy; maybe she was just too nice and too trusting for her own good as Quendias had always told her. All she could hope was that fate was on her side. Inside the church, the conversation continued with many of the whispers surrounding the arrival of the Djinn Wolves’ Alpha. Aesri listened to Yurt’s advice on tracking the beasts with interest. She fully planned on relying on him for that portion of the Hunt. Once the blessing started, everyone found a seat and quieted down. Aesriel bowed her head out of respect for the Church if not Sultra herself. Aesriel believed in the gods but only in the way one believes in the great beasts that fishermen claimed lived in the deep seas. She trusted that they existed, she had been taught as much since her childhood, but she did not expect any involvement from them in her life. The ritual blessing was a part of the Hunt and a mechanism for the priests to work their zazrack magic, so she would accept it, but she did not have any faith that Sultra gave a damn about her or her performance tonight. She could feel the effect of the ritual blessing ramping up her body for the fight to come and providing focus. It was fascinating from a magical theory perspective. Zazrack and prvok magic worked in entirely different ways. As the priest droned on, she wondered: did the priest need the words of the prayer to activate it, or was it simply a focal point for him - or maybe just something to keep the crowd still? She had some time to contemplate the question as the prayer continued but eventually came away refreshed and strengthened with no further answers.


Yurt could feel the morale between them plummet as he came clean with his abilities. He wondered whether or not he had made the right choice with regards to his confession. However, mages are almost always more than enough to deal with wild animals, no matter how fierce. How hard could it be? Yurt could act as a distraction; while Aesri would prepare whatever spells she has up her sleeve. Though these were simple musings from a warrior hailing from the north who was only ever familiar with the shamanistic rites of magic, he was told that the South was similar yet very different at the same time when they called upon the spirits to aid them in any endeavor. Any more questions he had would have to wait, it seemed as though a ritual was about to take place within this church. People were taking their seats or bowing their heads if they could find one. Aesri was doing the same, which meant that he should follow suit as well to avoid disrespecting the zealots he was told time and again by those he knew from the border town to never offend. There was a person who stood up before the crowd and had his arms thrown open as if to welcome everyone gathered. He began reciting what seemed like a blessing, calling on whatever gods they worship here in the south. The blessing itself took very long, but it seemed as though the spirits of everyone was slowly but surely being uplifted by the priest as he continued on with the blessing. He glanced over at Aesri to see what she was doing, but it looked it she was deep in thought about something and decided not to interrupt her meditation. The blessing ended and they were called toward the entrances to the hunting grounds.


Then they were called to the gates with the Alpha. Aesri shared a brief glance with Yurt before they moved to the gates, belatedly realizing that Yurt probably did not know about the Djinn Wolves. She nodded politely to Rige in return to his greeting, wondering about him entering unarmed and unarmored. The Djinn Wolves’ impressive reputation did not include hand-to-hand combat with trolls. Her unvoiced question was answered when he took a weapon belatedly from one of the guards. Apparently they were one of the last groups, for they were admitted to the district with the beasts almost immediately. As a girl, she had watched a few Hunts. Some people watched the contestants enter the district with the beasts. Some would even yell out suggestions, but usually the spectators only grew truly interested when the fighting started. Entering as a contestant was an entirely different perspective. As Rige went his own way, Aesri looked briefly upwards toward the rooftops where their audience watched. A glance to the streets told her quickly that she would be little help in spotting anything but the most obvious sign. And despite Yurt's clear instruction, she did not smell anything except for the concessions being offered to nearby spectators. She turned to Yurt as they walked, speaking quietly. “They expanded the size of the places the beasts can roam this year. If all the contestants are being let out here, it may be best to head for one of the more distant areas, where there may be fewer people looking. What do you think?”


They were being called in triads; three hunters per gate, something Yurt found strange and inefficient, why not just open up the entrances and allow everyone to leave at once. He had to keep in mind that Southerners would always do things differently; it was more likely that they were following a certain order to things. An order that must be kept and held in the highest respect. It mattered not to Yurt, he would not slander nor comment on what the southerners did that was vastly different to how the harsh North treated everyone. Both of them were grouped up alongside an individual that seemed to hold himself in high regard, at least that was what the air around the man told Yurt.


The man greeted him and Aesri offered a slight bow to the man, Yurt figured he should do the same but was too late as the man had already exited and began his hunt. "Go against sense then, Aesri, if that is our condition on finding our prey. Do not limit ourselves to just a distant place, we best find somewhere that would put us to the test, a place that has us face to fang with the monsters. The kind of place that no fledgling hunter would dare tread, I would assume that the simple and common monsters would be released closer to the church for the sake of the unblooded, and the absolutely terrifying ones to be released deeper inside. Although, these are simply my opinions on the matter, where we go should really be up to your discretion, you seem to know your way around Zephyr better than one who had arrived midday and spent the rest of the afternoon intoxicated at a tavern."

Chapter 3

​

Soren sat on a rooftop of a lonesome building in the city with a group of other people. He and some of the others would go back to their houses soon, but for now they sat outside, watching what they could see of the Hunt from their position and conversing with each other.


"So, what made you buy from me this time around?" asked the man sitting next to Soren, a rather rotund man whose clothes suggested that he was quite wealthy.


Soren mulled over his answer as he studied the sword he had bought, "The last time this stinkin' event happened, I almost lost my life along with my house, that's why. Now what made you decide to haul your wares all the way out here again? I imagine you'd get more business selling to the likes of Falror and his men."


"Oh," the merchant said with a superfluous wave of his arm, "just tell them that these are the same swords that the militias use to combat the diuris, and I'll make just as much talon here as I would back in Sorolk. Except here, I get a good show out of it as well."


"I'd rather hunt for my next meal," Soren said as he looked towards the church. It seemed that the Hunt was now beginning.


"You never were one to entertain."


Soren looked down at one of the hunters beginning his search for the creatures. When Soren had heard in the bar that some men from Sorolk had come to participate in the hunt, he had immediately left to seek out his old friend. Now he stood up, ready to return home.


His friend spoke up. "You never smile. Relax for the night. Perhaps you'll learn something."


Soren continued to walk, without even a look back. "I'd prefer to return to a house, not the ruins of one."


Vaya's soft smile seemed to brighten as the girl took a treat from the cup in which her delicate hands formed, her wide honey eyes held the familiar twinkle of delight as she watched with silent glee. It had been days since she was able to stretch her legs, and longer still before she had been around the company of children. Towards the city, people seemed more wary of each other; it was not at all like the tight-knitted relationships the outposts' townsfolk had with their neighbors. There was no shortage of new people to meet in the cities. It seemed that there were new faces replacing the once familiar ones she would have the luxury to see once or twice. Regularly, when visiting these highly populated areas, she would catch sight of a few mothers, arms linked around the elbows of their children, the other arm carrying baskets of food. More often than not, when she approached a child whose mother had asked them to stay put as they purchased necessities, the child would either back away, as if afraid, or their mothers would yank them towards their bodies, as if to protect them from her. But how strange a notion! Vaya pondered if they feared her. And she would watch in curious confusion as they strode away in a hurry, all the while having their mothers shoot glares in her direction, and hissing quietly in their children's ears. But this small girl did not seem to have come with any parent or guardian besides her companion, which she had noticed had not taken one treat from her hand. Oh, never mind that! At least one child was friendly enough to take one. Which had brought her attention back to the girl. How strange she looked, her attire... It looked so beautiful! She only had half a mind not to reach out and feel the fabric for herself. Her and her companion. It was clear that they were not from this area, or from the common class she would see roaming the streets. It was only then did she notice the curious looking fluff of fur, suddenly arresting her attention. It swayed in a peculiar motion behind the small female, twitching as she spoke. Vaya only vaguely realized that the girl was speaking to her, saying her farewell. Distracted and absentminded, she would pocket the remainder of the sweets before raising her small hand in return. Though, as the girl turned to her partner, in her departure, she was met with a most astounding sight. A tail! Vaya clapped her hands together in delight at the sight of this; her bell chime giggles drawing Kayto's attention, as he had been watching Rige in his departure, only averting his eyes as the larger man disappeared into the throng. The young girl turned to meet her master's mud colored eyes, flashing a bright smile at him, her hands clasped and pressed upon her chest. She faltered, however, at the sight of her master’s visage. His eyes held no warmth, it was but a dull brown, as if in his thoughts, he was not here. Her master was thinking. And it did not seem like whatever was arresting his attention was not pleasant. Vaya tentatively reached out, placing her hand upon his arm in what was meant to be a comforting fashion. Kayto seemed to come into focus; a frown bore down the line of his brow, creases upon his forehead accentuated in the expression, signs of aging. At that moment, her master seemed to have aged ten years before her eyes. Vaya furrowed her eyebrows in worry, but Kayto left no room for inquisitive gazes from his slave. Instead, he snatched up her arm, gruffly to say the least, and as Vaya gasped in pain at his vice grip, he tugged her along, leaving the small girl stumbling hurriedly after her master. Kayto wasted no time in pushing through people who strolled about, those who lingered and didn’t seem to notice him weaving and shoving past. Faintly, she could hear him muttering in what she could tell was feigned annoyance.


“That bloody bastard got lost.” Kayto grumbled beneath his breath as he shoved past. “He betta’ not be lookin’ to have me find ‘im. He ought to pay me double fer waitin’ for his smart arse…”


Vaya could at least understand that her master was selling something new, though, what it was exactly, she had not a clue. Her brows furrowed further. She was unaware of her master selling anything else new or otherwise. As far as she knew, the only deliveries he had been arranged to deliver had already been completed. Presently, she could hear the resonating voice of a man. The crowd was hushed into silence, and she turned back briefly to catch sight of the gates. The man stood in front of the church, arms outstretched, and it seemed as though he was addressing the Hunters. He was wishing them luck, she figured.


“Oi! Kayto!” Vaya felt her master’s hand jerk her in a different direction, this time, not towards the walls of the supposed district, but parallel to it. “Good to see ya, man!” Vaya blinked at the merchant’s baritone voice, his giant physique blocking the doorway in a literal sense. Korren. Vaya threw herself in the giant’s embrace the moment he spread his arms upon seeing her tiny form. His arms enveloped her and it seemed as if his body completely swallowed her small frame. Kayto shifted, his dampen mood slightly uplifted at the sight of the old friend as he too turned to embrace the hulk when Vaya stepped away. Korren was a well-liked man, fair in his trade. He was known for his kindness, as Vaya is known for hers, however it seemed that his acts of generosity end with him losing plentiful money, and having to borrow loans from his fellow merchants. Kayto was one of those merchants he had borrowed money from, and it was actually often that the big fellow would come by and beg for Kayto’s help. But she sensed, even despite Kayto’s sighing and scolding, that he didn’t mind at all helping the kind man.


“Ya made it jus’ in time!” Korren’s bellyful laugh seemed to resound within the small tavern, and a few unfamiliar faces joined in greeting Kayto. Maybe old friends, she mused. “Both of ya’ need to c’mon up! We’re sitting right at the edge of the district, and we got a perfect view of the Hunt.” Korren grinned through his great beard, ushering the two towards the flimsy wooden stairs that no doubt lead to the roof. Vaya crinkled her nose as she took tentative steps following the big giant up the stairs. As much as the man must weigh, it seemed impossible that the stairs, creaking loudly in protest at each and every one of even her steps, didn’t collapse in a heap of wood from under them. At the very top of the stairs, Korren halted in midstride. He turned toward Kayto, one large finger tapping his beard at where she presumed his chin should be.


“Oh, Kayto. That reminds me. There was a gentleman requesting to see ya. Says he’s here on business, but the fellow couldn’t spot ya in the crowd so he hurried on here.” Vaya could feel her master’s fair mood slipping, though she had no view of his face. Through the dim light of the stairs, she could see the muscles of his back tensing at Korren’s words. “He’s waiting for ya on the roof.” And with that, Korren turned, flattened his large forearm against the heavenward flap doors to the roof and pushed with a grunt. Light flooded the stairs and hurt her eyes, and with small, child-like hands, she grasped at the back of Kayto’s shirt, allowing her master to tug her forward. And as soon as she felt solid floor beneath her feet, she allowed her honey eyes to flutter open and roam her surroundings. There were few that chose this tavern to watch the Hunt, whatever that may be, they all sat close to the edge of the roof, Korren had been right about the perfect view. She was able to see a fine amount of maze-like streets from where she stood, and as she stepped closer to the edge of the room she could see brief flashes of motion in the streets beneath, small creatures scurrying to find places to hide. She came to realize there was a strange presence among the tavern-goers that sat scattered, though in pairs, or in groups. Vaya’s gaze settled upon a lone gentleman, finely dressed, with beautiful and vibrant colors as well as a stylishly fashioned hat, sitting upon a chair at the corner of the square rooftop. Korren’s loud voice startled her as he spoke up from behind her.


“That’s the fellow who wanted to see ya, Kayto.”


For some reason, some small part of Aesriel had expected a compliant shrug from Yurt. Instead, he said something that struck her to the core: “Go against sense.” Above all else, she considered herself a learned woman and a scholar. Her learning happened to be focused upon the magical arts and no school would accept her as a teacher any longer, but that was beside the point. Reason was her northern star, and Yurt was proposing they abandon it. Her jaw fell open at the very thought, but the rest of his explanation did make sense in its own way. The real problem lay in the fact that she was out of her element. This was not a classroom or a logic puzzle. Her companion presumably had much more experience fighting monsters than she did, at least before he lost his arm. Forcing herself to close her mouth and listen, she realized his guess was not far from the truth about how they released the beasts. Maybe that meant he was right. Maybe she should stop trying to analyze the situation. But the question was how, exactly, does one do that? When he jested about his drinking, Aesri found her smile again, as she attempted to determine how to stop overanalyzing matters. The place to start would be taking the first step: into the Hunt. They had to choose a direction.


“Fair enough,”she said with fabricated confidence. Taking up her staff, she led Yurt in the opposite direction from Rige. At first, the buzz of the spectator’s conversation could be heard above the streets. People gathered and chatted about the weather, the creatures in the hunt, and local gossip, waiting for the battles to start. Vendors sold food and bets were placed. (The gambling was only preliminary now; as each fight started, it would be accompanied by a flurry of wagers. Zephyr’s odds-makers loved the Hunt.) Aesriel led Yurt through the streets, leaving some of the other contestants behind as they sought out clues in detail. The sound of the crowd faded as they moved deeper into the cordoned district. The streets seemed wider with the houses and businesses boarded up and no people on the streets save the contestants. She mused on where she would go if she were a big and nasty critter. Okay, big and nasty, but not too big and nasty. Thinking back to the few Hunts she had attended, the larger creatures were released first and usually found their way to the largest buildings or open courtyards and markets where they could stretch out. The ones in the open would be engaged quickly, so they needed a place where a large, okay, medium-sized, beast could feel at home.


It was plain as day on her face, Aesi must have felt like she just heard someone offend her mother. It was safe to assume that she really was a scholar or scholar of sorts; none of the academic personalities Yurt had ever met were learned in the art of combat or at least carried that very presence. He had, after all, recommended that they both go against common sense, to throw away the logic that the intellectuals loved so much. It did not come as a surprise that she would look annoyed, trying to get to grips with what he just said. In his defense, he was merely stating his thoughts, everything still hinged on Aesri, she knew her way around and knowing the terrain was always a good advantage. It took a while, but it seemed Aesri reached a conclusion, she would be throwing common sense away as well, she trusted him. So far, Yurt could only trust that Aesri would live up to her words about her ability in a fight. Trust, it was the only thing keeping the pair together or so Yurt perceived. Trust that the other knew that she was doing and trust that he would not let her down. Trust that she knew where she was going or at the very least knew where she should not be going and heading in that direction anyway. Yurt took a quick look at his surroundings as he trailed behind the sorceress. Both of them were headed to the deserted part of Zephyr, everything seemed to be boarded up, no doubt with families inside huddled with each other, hoping a hunter would deal with whatever threat prowled the streets they tread on everyday. Even the sentries seemed less here, as if no one wanted to run the risk of getting eaten but at the same time needed to fulfill their duty to the public of Zephyr. It would be a problem if one of the more formidable predators were to escape the hunting grounds. They passed what looked like a town square, but deserted with not a single trace of activity on it, as if the people were scared that they might leave tracks behind for the predators. Yurt did not put it past him that some of the predators here would be like that of the North, the ones that could track a villager and be bold enough to strike quickly and disappear with its quarry. The town square itself looks like it could be a nice place for a larger predator to nest, but it did not seem like it was marked territory yet. Yurt began doubting himself this time, maybe going against sense and suggesting it to the Scholar really was a bad idea.


Aesriel looked at Yurt with a wide smile and quickened her steps. “I have an idea.” She led him through the streets toward the back of the market square, ignoring some soft skittering sounds emanating from a porch they passed. They were looking for larger prey, and she remembered a line of shops she had loved to visit in the winter for their warmth. Blacksmith shops were closely assigned with tanneries; all boarded up for the Hunt but still giving off heat. Surely some creature would be attracted to them for that reason. Turning the corner, she stopped in her tracks. In the middle of the street, a giant black lizard stood with its back to her. Occasionally its head would rise, displaying a maw covered in blood and gore. A mass of guts, bone, and white-grey fur lay on the ground before it. The lizard was eleven feet long, nearly half of that its muscled tail. It was covered in black scales, with white spots forming two lines near its yellow eyes. Its narrow head dipped downward into the mass of grey and red that might have once been a wolf, tearing into the bloody flesh before it. Aesri held a hand up toward Yurt as the creature’s head shook to toss a chunk of meat back further into its mouth. With a nod of her head, she indicated the direction of the threat. Feeling the blood rushing in her ears, Aesriel closed her eyes and began chanting quietly under her breath. The lizard’s body tensed as its head came up again. It looked at Aesriel and started to turn in their direction. Then, with incredibly fast speed, it abandoned its meal to move to the left, gripping the stone sill of a boarded up window with dagger-like claws as it assessed the newcomers. Opening its mouth, it revealed rows of sharp teeth as it hissed at them.


Yurt had only been thinking like how a Northern animal would, it could be a different case for Southern creatures. He owed her an apology after this, it did not seem like anything was going to happen. He turned to face her and was about to call for a different approach when she smiled and said that she had an idea. She did not wait for a reply and moved toward a certain destination, her steps seemed to be faster than they were before, like they knew where to go. It was not a gamble to say that she was confident now, she had a plan or at least a suitable spot that met his conditions on where to hunt for predators. They passed rows of closed shops, it seemed as though Aesri was familiar with the area that they were treading on. Could it be that this was her home? Maybe she had lived here or someone close to her had lived here? In any case, he followed the sorceress turned pathfinder until she suddenly stopped. Yurt almost ran into her, but stopped mere inches from her. It seemed as though she found something, he strained his ears to hear what he could hear, and he could hear feeding. Ravenous feeding, like a starved animal wolfing down its meal. She held a hand out to him, most likely as a signal to stop, but the proximity between them made it as if she was reaching out to him for comfort. It would not be the case; she was too intent on whatever feeding beast that caught her fancy to realize she was touching him. Yurt moved into a better position to get visual confirmation of their target, he must have been sloppy as his movements alerted the beast. The beast in question was a large lizard with bits and pieces of its meal still stuck to its bloody maw. It seemed to be staring both of them down after it had retreated to a more favorable position. The claws looked like large knives, while its teeth were razors. It was a scaly reptile that Yurt had never seen before. It may be a denizen of a tropical climate, brought to Zephyr to provide and exotic challenge. It made itself clear that it was the faster between the three of them, it may also be that it was the dominant one as well. Aesri was already chanting, no doubt making the most of the initial strike to put down the lizard. The lizard seemed content to observe its prey for the moment, Yurt had no doubt that its disposition would change were he to draw his sword so he kept it sheathed in the meantime. He hoped the gap the lizard would have to cross would be wide enough for him to draw his weapon should it decide that they would both be threats.


"Any ideas, Aesri? This seems to be a formidable adversary. One that has us severely outclassed in speed." They were not seen as threats yet, but that can change at any given time. Aesriel’s hands trembled as she attempted to concentrate. While the lizard’s speed had temporarily shocked her into stillness, the sight of its jagged teeth had jolted her into action. Shaky action, apparently, but luckily prvok magic did not require a steady hand so much as a strong will. This was not her first battle. After the battle that ended The White Hand, her lack of employability as an instructor quickly became evident, so she had turned to mercenary work. Her first few jobs had been clumsily arranged and even more awkwardly executed, but slowly learned what it meant to prepare spells in the heat of battle. Granted, usually she had usually done it from a distance, with, more than a one-armed, men at her side, and without an audience. Gods, the audience. Was her father up there? She did not even dare look to the crowd now, to see their eagerness for blood. All she could focus on was the spell at the moment. She could do this. Right? Temporarily ignoring Yurt’s question, she slowly drew from the elements around them, weaving what she pictured as lines of energy into a ball in her hands. The air surrounding her dropped rapidly in temperature as she did so, and her eyes fluttered closing briefly as she felt a minor tug at the center of her being. At that moment, a swirling ball of blue and white light appeared in her hands. Ahead of them, the lizard hissed a second time, its back legs twitching on the ground and wall. She probably should have thrown the spell right then, but she had a hard time refraining from answering a question. Her travelling companions had made it quite clear that her lectures were not needed or desired. Still, an unanswered question, even a rhetorical one, would sit in the back of her mind like an itch you cannot quite reach. Aesri knew this about herself; she also knew she should not attempt to scratch it. And yet that self-awareness failed stop her from following her impulse.


She looked at Yurt, her eyebrows knit in concentration as she kept the spell ready in her hand. “It likes the heat, so I thought - ” she whispered. The rest of her planned explanation died on her lips when the lizard bolted toward them. With an undignified yelp, Aesriel tossed the ball at the beast before dashing for the cover of a nearby building with her staff at the ready. As it left her hand, the ball expanded into a vast swirling mass of blue and white. Instinct told the lizard to avoid the attack, but the expanding sphere of cold and ice was almost impossible to avoid. As it turned to scamper back to safety, the spell connected with the side of the lizard’s head and neck. Ice crystals formed almost instantly across the black scales on its head, neck, the front of its chest, and down one of its legs to the ground where they forming a patch of ice beneath the lizard’s front claws. They even covered up one eye. The creature roared at the sky, shaking its head wildly back and forth. Some of the ice broke off as it did so, small chunks shattering against the nearby buildings. Her eloquent theories and instructions evaporated in the face of true danger. Aesriel’s eyes were wide as she looked at Yurt and pointed frantically at the lizard. “Hit it!”Meanwhile, the lizard continued to twitch and shake dangerously; its dangerously strong tail swung back and forth as the lizards’ front legs slipped on the ice. This time her hands were shaking more violently as she began to cast again.


The tension of the encounter caused to Yurt to filter out unnecessary noise, namely the crowd that has gathered to watch the spectacle. No doubt they were wondering how a mage and a one-armed man could deal with such a fast and lethal beast. Even Yurt began growing second thoughts as to the probability of their survival; a bloody dawn may already be creeping up on their dream. Yurt had some idea with fighting with just one hand yet still had to master the art, this will test all his training so far, failure meant being devoured. Yurt glanced over to Aesri and noticed that the mage was locked in focus, channeling a spell before turning his attention back to the lizard. The lizard was still sizing up its prey mentally marking which one was a bigger threat. It looked like it was tense, as if waiting for that flash of steel to signal that danger had arrived and it needed to fight for its life. Yurt’s best bet was to hope that the lizard was not venomous and was satisfied with its earlier meal. It kept hissing at them and twitching around as if daring them to make the first move and taunting them in process.


Aesri's voice seemed to be the trigger. The lizard must have seen its chance as Aesri let her guard down. Yurt noticed it but was too slow to intercept the beast. Aesri should have counted herself lucky that the beast was hit by her spell. She scrambled to get in cover by a building, smart decision as it was Yurt's turn to prove himself and she would most likely get in the way unless she is learned in use of her staff as blunt force weapon. Yurt took advantage of his small window as the lizard struggled to maintain its footing and balance on the slippery field of ice that formed beneath its feet. The tail was thick and the scales on its head may or may not be hard enough to stop his sword. It looked like there were fewer scales that covered its flanks. The field of ice had reached its maximum distance making a somewhat large circle of ice with the lizard at the center. Yurt had an idea. He drew the sword from its scabbard and made a dash toward the lizard. As he neared the ice field, his step came in at an angle, which allowed him to slide upon the ice. He kept low to maximize the speed he would gain and rested his forearm on the knee of his rear leg as his leading leg was stretched out as far he could reach ahead of him to the point where his torso was leaning on the thigh of his rear leg. Midway through the glide, his body lunged toward the lizard with all his weight behind his sword arm. His sword point hit home and lodged itself within the beast. It was not that deep of a cut but Yurt had no doubt that if the ice field had been larger he may have been able to lodge it in deeper. He also may have gotten the theory wrong as the excess force made both of them slide out of the ice field. It was poor imitation of the "snow dancers" in the North who live in frozen areas, but it was a somewhat effective poor imitation. He felt the tail whip at him when they stopped gliding some distance away from the ice field. Yurt felt the pain race throughout his body as the tail made contact with whatever it could hit, but he kept all his weight onto the lizard in hopes of lodging the sword deeper and pinning the beast down for Aesri to cast a spell that would finish it off. He was thankful that the tail hit him now, rather than during his gamble on the ice field.


"Aesri, inci-" His statement was replaced with a groan of pain as the tail landed on him again. "Incinerate it!"

Part 2

​

His spear was ready, armed at his side and aim7ed forward as he prowled with caution down the street. The crowd overhead would speak up and holler at him, saying a mix of hurrahs and curses. The signs were quite clear, thanks to the crowd. When they were loud and rowdy with their attention on you, then there was either a big fight going on, or nothing around. When they were dead silent, then that meant there was most likely a creature hiding itself amongst the buildings or prowling quite closely. A majority of the crowd enjoyed the show more when the hunters found the beasts themselves, only on occasion would some rowdy fellow tell the hunters exactly where to look. The hunting portion was not the most difficult part of the hunt, but it was the build up definitely, as well at time the defining moments in the hunts. The larger monsters had very few places to hide, and thus would simply roam around areas that they found to be an advantage to them, or with less people, or even at times rampaging about. Either way, they were not at all well hidden, so the big monsters were always the first targets for the better and more experienced hunters. So the big kills garner the big scores, leaving those who smote the bigger creatures at a stale mate, at that point they have to spend their time killing as many smaller beasts as they can to get ahead of each other. The crowd dictated a lot of the action and where it was happening and was always a good reference for a hunter to know where the bigger monsters were, as the crowd would always be more attentive to the bigger battles, cheering, or silent for the kill, and always looming adding that extra peer pressure to the weight of your shoulders. Even between those who had to be impressed, the crowd was always the person most needed to be entertained. Rige trailed down his own designated path, mostly aiming to roam down the to the center of the district, to get to the church and hopefully find the garden. The district was designed in a circulade fashion. The main building, what the district was built around, was set at the middle of the circulade, the building being the church. Behind of the church was the garden, and was somewhat large, not incredibly, but large enough to attract some of the beasts. Rige knew from his experience spectating and sometimes coordinating the Hunt that the largest beasts had a tendency of claiming the garden as their own place. The rest of the buildings were set up creating multiple layers of circles around the main building creating a mass of rings, and a maze of houses. Most likely, the garden was being inhabited by the either the troll or the cockatrice.


This was old town, the original set of buildings that had been built in Zephyr by Duke Zephyrus and Saint Hubert Roosevelt. It was never renovated and upgraded into a place for nobles and those of very rich castes as to keep to old tradition. Zephyrus was actually not the hunter between the two leading men. Hubert, the Saint, was actually the more renowned hunter. Hubert was a different case when it came to becoming a Saint, as most saints would go through the common line of the church learning, then onto enlightenment, Hubert was chosen to be a Saint. They say, either by Sultra herself or one of her angels, he was given enlightenment and bestowed the ability of finding the souls in need. He was a hunter before that, a well good one too. Zephyrus was a member of the senate in Byzantium. He was a mischievous one, and a member of a family of four siblings, the sons of Aiolos and Hippotades and the chariot lords. Each brother decided to separate to the four directions, Zephyrus went west, Boreas went north, Euros went east, and Notos went south. He had separated during the collapse of their empire and went west to make himself a home. With the help of Hubert, they founded and settled, during the season of Life, a prime location for a city at the western coast. They say, on the finest day, during a gentle breeze of Life season, at dusk they finished construction of the church and deemed the area as Zephyr. Zephyr prospered from then, and the city grew on its own. Zephyrus has a statue within his own castle of himself, but had erected a larger amount of statues of his wife, Khloris. There is also one statuette of Saint Hubert at the church. The Duke of Zephyr, Karpos the XV, is still in direct line of Zephyrus, and holds his line's famed favoritism towards greenery and fruits. Zephyrus was of Byzantium origins and the area of which he grew was actually very green and kind to the eye. During the age of stone to the age of iron, Byzantium was the largest country and the strongest trade position available. As the Realm of God is separated by a large strip of water,and the only connection between the two parts of the Realm was a large strip of mountainous terrain with a thick land bridge connecting at the center of the strip, the placing of Byzantium’s capital, right at the center of the strip, created a bountiful start, then onward into the times of iron, they began to expand making the entirety of the strip ownership of Byzantium. Like Zephyrus’s family, many did not inherently have surnames and instead spoke with something of “son of” or stated where they were from. At times, their names are directly changed into “name” combined with “son of” the person they are related to. Recognition came from the names of fathers, and either the names would have similarities, or be the same and carry a number after it. While the naming likeness has spread across most of the Southern main land, the initiations of family names have become very rampant. Only the north really keeps to the traditions of naming people after their fathers, or sometimes their titles.


Rige had only encountered a few wargs, but each had been running in the opposite direction of him, and he felt no need to chase after them. He kept his path steady and aimed at the garden, keeping from straying from his path and keeping from getting to close to other hunters, unless he could spot the children. While teaming up in the Hunt was not against the rules or rarely done, it still had its own down sides. Usually, the more members the more the beasts would retreat from the group of hunters, and thus it was better to hunt in the smallest group possible or travel in a strategic fashion to direct and lead the beasts to be trapped or surrounded. Rige only found that he would enjoy the sport of hunting and perhaps lead some easy prey towards the children if he could. There was a whining sound and a scratching, claws against wood. Rige rounded a corner and before him was a warg, on its hind legs pressing against the door of a resident building with its front legs. The creature was disgustingly mangy, being furry all about its body but mostly around its face, stomach and back. Its arms, sides, and legs were more visible, showing its incredibly muscular form and intimidatingly large frame and body. Its arms and legs were greatly muscular, capable of standing upright, if it pleased, and clawing down smaller creatures. Standing, it was almost between eight and nine feet tall, and it was a surprise it did not simply collapse the door underneath it with its mere weight. The door was creaking incredibly loudly, doubtful that the wood frame would have held up much longer. The warg dropped down to its fours when it caught glimpse of Rige. The deep growl and horrid gargling of drool was echoing, but Rige only readied himself further, keeping a steady stance and spear pointed forward. With cautious steps, he continued his advance. The warg seemed impatient, as it took the first swipe, lunging forward and slashing its massive paw at Rige, in which Rige's reaction was marvelously timed. He took a long back step avoiding the arm completely, yet keeping the beast in distance of his spear. With a wide spread stance and all his weight on his back leg, he was prepped to retaliate, lunging forward throwing his weight forward and driving the spear forward at the now unprotected shoulder. Rige put enough thrust in the strike to lean forward and allow his back leg to fall to one knee. The best was struck, but the spear only entered so far before the warg backed for away from Rige and began letting out loud whimpers and whines of pain. Only for a few moments, it nursed itself before growling and gargling at Rige again. As such, Rige was prepared and ready, cautiously stepping in tow with the warg's movements. This time, the warg jolted forward, in effort to pounce and charge Rige. Again, with wondrous timing, Rige was able to dodge out of the way, with a jive to the right, letting the warg jump past him, but along with it Rige swung his spear at the passing flank, striking its ribcage. Just as fast it landed, it turned and launched itself back at Rige. Rige had pivoted as the warg passed by, so he was slightly prepared. With spear at the ready, Rige took a sturdy stance and jabbed forward.


Tor sat back in his chair and took in the crisp evening air as he gazed off at the spectacle below. The roar of the crowds was building; either the hunt was beginning or someone had made an impressive kill. Tor gave no ounce of care to which was the case. He thought he saw some bit of action off in the distance, but was too far to make out for sure. In truth, he never was one for the spectacle of the hunt. Tor believed his time was better spent in his workshop dithering and tweaking on a new project or invention. He lifted up his right hand up and held the strange combination of mechanical engineering and magic up to peer over it. A leather vambrace covering his for arm, worn and somewhat aged giving it a darker texture. Custom made it seemed, with some traps around the fingers and palm. Over it was was his latest piece of technological innovation that he had developed. It had the appearance of a golden gauntlet, designed in a minimal weight style to add protection in only certain areas. Such as a plate over his knuckles the top of his hands, the top, small plates over his fingers, and half cylinder over his forearm. Along his forearm, the plate had erected circular pores that each held one stone object that emitted a slight glow; as well each was encrusted into the metal. There were about four slots each holding a stone. A few short months ago while working at an excavation site, he discovered a series of runes. After some experimentation (and some singed eyebrows), he had managed to figure the small gems out. Today just so happened to be one of those rare days that would be better spent outside of the workshop however. Not that he expected to gain any keen insight from watching the barbarians wrestle with strange creatures below. No, he had made arrangements with an eccentric fellow to acquire a strange artifact that he had come across. All he knew about it was that it seemed to be a living construct of sorts. That alone was enough to pique his curiosity. He raised the glass of wine and took a sip of it as he looked over the crowd around him. It was just then that he heard the boisterous fellow call out the name of the man he had been looking to see.


Tor got up with the assistance of his cane and walked over to the small group and introduced himself, "Greetings, I am Tor Drassal. I hear you have a artifact for me today?"


The warg was running now, with one eye useless it could not contend with Rige very well. It whimpered as it quickly took strides to escape the hunter. Rige was not very poised on chasing after it; it could easily out run him and would disappear quickly. He really only had one chance to catch the beast before it disappeared into the maze of buildings. He flipped the spear, to point the blade downward, took a wide stance and reared his spear over head, then flung it over him, into the air. The spear went soaring skyward, making a wide arc, changing directory downward from its original ascending angle, then came down with a loud clang of the blade hitting the stone. It seemed he missed, too bad. Rige only now heard the crowd’s roars of excitement, not only toward him but happening elsewhere. There were other groups beginning to find their kills, and in fact it made Rige wonder who would be taking first blood this time around. He noticed that more directly at him, some people were throwing curses down; they wanted to see more blood, more rather they wanted to see something die. As he retrieved his spear, he was tempted to follow the warg’s trail of blood, but he reminded himself of the better game towards the center of the circulade. He pressed himself to ignore the warg and go further into the district where he could hopefully find himself the big game. He was much more interested in finding a troll, he had never even seen one before, at least as far as he can remember. A new foreign beast to kill, he believed that it would revitalize his being, the thrill he had experienced when fighting new creatures and enemies from foreign places. This would be no different, be may be somewhat older, but he found himself to be as fit as he could possibly be at that age.


Wargs were not so rare; they were actually a large amount more common in all lands, only varying types across the Realm. Through most of the western coast wargs are darker hued, ranging from brown colors to light oranges and reds. A large difference between the coastal wargs and majority of other warg species is the fact that costal wargs have a tendency of preferring lone traveling and hunting. Most warg species prefer packs, but the coastal warg is known to travel and hunt without any help. While this actually decreases their population due to their lesser capability of acquiring larger prey, they have become much more agile and slender to catch larger amounts of smaller prey.


The warg Rige had just faced was actually from the main lands, the type to hunt in larger packs. It was mostly likely separated form its group during the transfer from the cages to the district, and was going about looking for food. Rige doubted its capability against him alone, although they were of course still formidable creatures of great strength. As long as he kept form the large groups, he would be fine.


In the north, the wargs were considered the spawn of Fenrir, one of the leading deities there. Fenrir was known as the great wolf, a god who took the form of a giant wolf, a warg some consider, and when he pleased he could grow to a much larger and ever gigantic size. He was feared for having a heavy temper and boisterous nature, there were few who could negotiate with him, and so he was chained to a mountain, as legend goes, and there he attempted to create his own spawn. He tried to create his own sentient race, the wargs, but they only turned out as mindless beasts. They even say he impregnated humans and attempted to create a hybrid, but all stay as legends.


Rige continued down the path, turning here and there, seeing another beast run by or one momentarily snarl at him. The Hunt was heading in almost an hour or more, and he had yet to score a kill or even encounter another besides the warg closer to the walls of the district. One thing he could tell, the others seemed to be having more luck in their encounters. The roaring of the crowd from the distance could be heard from where he was, and it sounded as if some large battles were ensuing all around. Most noticeable to him, he heard a large frenzy of cheers a little ways behind him, where he suspected someone had just did something quite drastic. He almost wanted to go back and see what exactly was a happening. He pressed himself to continue onward, he was not a spectator this time around; he had to focus on earning himself some kills, as to, at the least, not embarrass himself in his old age. Rige did not honestly care much for his image, as he was old enough that people simply respected him for his past actions, and paid very little what he does now. Mostly, when recognized, they see the valiant leader that once led the grand forces of Zephyr, the Djinn Wolves. When seen as he is, they see an old veteran, who has passed his prime and is free to relax as his underlings care for his empire of warriors. Rige only sees much of his self-image. That image he sees is a strong man, who stands for what he deems as right. As well, he hopes that image appeared to his children, and that his children adapted the trait. What Rige sees now, is the center of the district, his designated of hunting. The wide doors of the church sat sealed shut. He could see, upon the roof, were a few Wolves and monks keeping tally of participants successful kills and how difficult the game was. He could also eye out that there were a few carcasses lying in front of the church door. He could not tell if they were each already gutted, but he could tell that they had not met their end by bite marks. He began to make his way over, to see for himself what had been killed thus far, and to make his way behind the church to search the garden.


Aesriel gripped her staff in one hand as she watched Yurt run toward the beast, using the ice to slide into it sword-first. He certainly was not a coward, although he and the lizard sliding further away from her position made it more difficult for her to help him. The crowd loved it, though. She had barely registered the yelling as she ran, but she clearly heard the uproar as Yurt’s sword sunk into the beast’s flesh and they slid on the ice. Gasps, moaning, and cheering accompanied every twitch and strike that followed. It was not a pretty scene. Every instinct told her to run, but she forced herself to get closer, ducking into a small alcove and racking her brain for sound tactics. Then Yurt yelled for her to incinerate the lizard as he battled to hold the beast down. As if it was that easy. Conjuring that kind of spell required a source, and even then it was tricky work, especially with Yurt in contact with her target. Her first spell, while effective, had pulled from the water in the air and a small well nearby. Now she rested a hand on the wall beside her and felt the heat emanating from it. Perhaps it would be enough. It would have to be, because Yurt would not be able to last forever; the lizard was twisting and turning, its jaws snapping in the air. She did not like the idea of what would happen if the beast bit Yurt; even the priests might not be able to save him from the potential damage from those strong jaws. Bowing her head a moment, she concentrated on drawing the heat from the stone and the earth around her. This source was stronger, so it did not take her long to channel it into her hands. But she could not throw it, not if she wanted to avoid burning Yurt along with the lizard. She would have to be in contact with the beast. Damn.


With a silent prayer to Sultra for luck (and a second prayer that she had been wrong about the goddess’ apathy), Aesriel ran toward the patch of ice, gliding across it with her staff outstretched beside her in an effort to keep her balance. She stumbled the last few steps off the ice, just in time for the lizard to snap at her. Shoving the butt of her staff in its mouth, she grabbed onto its neck with her free hand, stopping her momentum and releasing the spell into its flesh. The effect was nearly immediate. The beast grew warm, then hot; too hot to touch. Aesriel jerked her hand away and withdrew staff, smacking the reptilian nose in the process. This caused some of the beast’s saliva to splatter onto her hand and arm; she felt her skin go numb where it made contact but did not have time to dwell on it.


She grabbed Yurt’s arm and pulled on him. “Get back!” The energy that normally would trigger a fireball quickly expanded within the lizard, eating up oxygen as it burned hot and bright. The beast’s black scales began to glow - first grey, then maroon, until finally they took on the hue of red-hot coals. Aesriel staggered backwards, slipping on the ice and landing on her backside as the beast roared, its now-glowing tail twitching in wide arcs that chipped at nearby buildings and threatened to take Yurt and Aesriel down. It would be dead in less than a minute, at least she hoped it would be, but it could still do damage until then. Aesri lay on the ice to duck a swing of the tail, then scrambled away as the monster flailed wildly, trying to attack the source of the pain within. The clamor of the crowd could be heard behind the monster’s roar, which suddenly seemed dry and paper-thin. They all knew what was coming next. The fire within the beast could be seen through its nearly translucent scales. It pulsed and expanded rapidly; in a moment they were likely to be covered in lizard goo. So much for the idea of bringing a trophy to the Church.


Beneath his feet, the ground began to shake incredibly so, there was something large approaching at a quick pace. Rige did not dare turn to look; he began to quicken his pace, intending to get to the corpse pile before the beast found him. From what he could guess, the beast would be better fought in a wider area, as the narrower path ways would allow it only need to fall over to crush everything in an area. As he sprinted through a cross way, from his right he realized the heavy steps were coming from a charging cockatrice. A wyvern with a rooster’s head, practically, with a serpent tail, skinny bare legs of a cock, and two large, but clipped in areas, wings. It looks as if it would be able to fly with its wingspan, but it seemed to lack the ability due to the cuts in certain areas. It was charging rampantly, Rige could tell that it was distressed, as it had several weapons pointing out from its chest. He as well noticed that an arrow had shot one of its eyes out. Smart hunters, as the cockatrice’s glare was known to cause a person to feel death. Not experience, but feel it, their eyes, when in direct line with the victim’s eyes, send out a concentrated flash that commonly blind most if not all victims, as well it causes a flash of pain in one’s mind. It still had one eye though; Rige found it best that he stay on its blind side. As well, the cockatrice was known to have a miasmic breath, capable of paralyzing a man and causing hallucinations.


He continued sprinting down the path, the cockatrice heavy on his trail, towering almost five feet above him in its slouched charge. Rige had no chance of out running it, and he highly doubted his chances of defeating the creature on his own. If anything, he could only weaken it further as others had before him. Within a few moments, the cockatrice slammed its beak down intending to catch Rige. It missed, only slightly, hitting right behind the Alpha. Rige could feel the trembling ground shake right under him. It tripped him up, at least, but the cockatrice did not slow its charge, causing Rige to be pressed up against the top of its beak. The beast reacted quickly, as Rige felt his feet leave the ground and the air press down on him. In the air, he, only for a moment, could see eye to eye with the spectators. Looks like they were entertained. He noticed some Wolves preparing to drop down and assist in protecting their leader. During the descent, he felt a heavy slam, yet the surface was somewhat mushy and fleshy. He was out of breathe for a moment, the impact was enough to leave him slightly dizzy, but the continued heavy trembling of the ground was enough to shake Rige back into consciousness. He realized he was lying in the bodies; they were indeed gutted and cleaned out of any organs. Blood was everywhere now as well; his outfit was completely dirtied now. It was terribly nasty, although it almost felt refreshing to be down in the dirt again. Rige could not help but smirk and laugh, even as the wyvern charged towards the circle. As Rige knew, beasts were to be kept out of the inner circle, as to not disrupt the already dead beasts. There was a plethora of echoing as tightening ropes let loose arrows that went whizzing through the air towards the beast. The creature yelped from the large number of stings it felt all over its body, and then went off in the other direction. Rige, once he found stable areas to place his feet, pushed himself onto his feet and began to hop over the corpses. He found that there were only medium sized beasts so far, with a few smaller critters. Nothing incredibly large had been slain yet. And at least, the cockatrice had been located and hunters were attempting to bring it down. It was a deadly creature, along with its eyes, it had a miasmatic breathe, like some type of gas, its breath looked some odd color and sent paralysis through a person’s body. It was temporary, with only slight side affects. Rige could not seem to locate his spear though. While he was in the air, he must have let loose his grip, and now the spear was missing. It was no problem though, he could simply request for another. Rige peered up to the crowd, and only now he realized that the crowd was roaring almost deafeningly loud. They seemed to be enjoying the cockatrice. Its rampaging nature always seemed to tickle the audience’s side. The beast was leaving a long trail of feathers now, it seemed like it would be easy to track now. Rige found that it would be beneficial to find the creature later and help with its killing if he could. For now, Rige would focus on the new beast, and circle the church building, to get to the garden.


“Hey, mind giving me a weapon?” It took little time for them to react, another spear was dropped for him, of which he caught and continued on merrily.


The garden was quite large, about thirty yards in width and length. The edges were surrounded by skinny trees, with one large tree sitting directly at the center of the garden. There was also a small circular stream of water creating a very shallow and skinny mote, small enough to step over, around the tree. The garden usually looked like that, but at the moment it was completely torn apart. Half of the trees were cut in half and torn from their places, bits scattered around. The center tree was actually broken in half and fallen half way down. Mounds of dirt was dug up and thrown around, making the usual flat grassy land of the garden a rough and dusty dirt heap. Rige scanned over the now unfamiliar layout, trying to locate the creature that had done this. The audience around him stayed generally silent, only the slight whispering being passed around. Rige trudged towards the center tree, in hope that he could get a better view from there. As he trudged through the out of place piles of earth, he noticed another large tree stump. There was only one thick tree in the garden originally, so this one did not quite belong. Rige found the troll, hiding right there in the ground. He started after it, spear ready to be driven into the beast’s back, though, doubtful that he would do much damage to it with only his petite spear. The only thing he could really do is gather the beast’s attention and lead it towards other hunters. In numbers, they would have more chances defeating the troll.


“Behind you!”


Again, the ground trembled beneath him, much like before, but much different, almost as if the ground was actually falling back beneath him. Rige turned to see what it was, and to his solemn dismay, the troll erupted out of the ground, at the center of the garden where the original tree had been placed. He saw the troll and a massive mound of ground flying towards him. Rige leapt out of the way, and got a face full of dirt.

Part 3

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As much as he would have enjoyed taking a moment to dust himself off and cough out the dirt in his nostrils, he could hear the troll pulling its lower half out of the ground and knew that running was the most suitable option at the moment. He rushed himself off of the ground and began sprinting with every ounce of might in his legs towards his spear that lay on a large mound of dirt. The massive trembling of the floor beneath him instantly warned him that the troll was on his tail. The beast was almost twelve feet in height; Rige saw no advantage fighting the creature straight on. He quickly climbed the mound, plucked his spear from the dirt and hopped over hill, rolling to ground and laying down as flat as he could. The troll was right on his heels, and when it met the mound, it swung its gigantic arms in an upper swing, destroying the loose pile of dirt and spreading the mound over Rige and a few yards onward. It continued forward searching for Rige amongst the other hills, letting out a roar of frustration when he was not hiding behind any other mounds. Rige recognized the sound as a flock of goats and sheep, all screeching at the same instance, and right under each of the animal’s helpless calls was a cry of child.


Rige threw himself off the ground to stand on the dirt that had been thrown about him, his spear prepped in his hands, pointed at the beast’s snarling maw. The troll was quick to react, it spent no time pulling an intimidating growl or roar, it simply went for the charge. Rige reacted doubly in turn, moving in angles, stepping greatly to a diagonal right and left, to keep the troll from anticipating his movements. The troll slammed its massive clenched hand out, lunging out to hit Rige before he closed enough ground. Rige dodged to his right, avoiding the fist with agility, and continued his descent on the beast. The angle that he approached at would not allow him to jab his spear, and so he swung the winged spear at the troll’s inner thigh, but to little avail. The spear merely left a few light scratches stringing where the wing’s fangs had contacted. The troll scooted away slightly, keeping Rige from striking again, and reached its hand to take Rige in its grip only to find a the edge of Rige’s spear holding back the large palm. The spear’s head penetrated deep into the hand, causing the troll to screech in pain and stagger back, clearing room from it and Rige, slamming its fist down in front of it keeping Rige from advancing or attempting another attack. It kept from using its wounded hand, keeping it nursed near its chest. Rige stood ready again, catching his breath, but he spent as little time as possible on that before marching closer to the troll again. Again he took quick steps, strides to his left and right to keep the troll from guessing his next location. In confusion, the beast swiped its entire arm across, to hit a larger range. Rige lunged forward, jumping out of the way and onto his stomach. The thick arm swung only some feet above his head. Rige launched to his feet and, as quick as he could, jabbed his spear upward at the beast’s midriff. Due to the rush, Rige only guided the spear with one arm, and could not supply enough force to penetrate deep, as well once the troll felt the cold steal; it jumped up and back to avoid the painful blade. Rige advanced again, stopping infront of the troll to make another stand. He pointed his spear towards it, using it as an intimidating limb. The troll did not advance and instead continued screeching and roaring in Rige’s direction, but flinched when the Alpha jabbed the blade forward. It feared the weapon now, and put Rige at a slight advantage. Even with the troll’s incredibly giant stature, towering figure, and massive arms and dangerously formed body, the sting of the spear’s penetrating ability was enough to memorize in the troll’s body as generally bad. Without a doubt, the troll had experienced things like that, but the spearhead was long, and sharpened further than any fang. Steel was something remembered when it passed the skin.


The continuing roar of the surrounding audience seemed to be growing every moment the troll’s fangs were flashed. It definitely disturbed the troll; the small beady eyes flew every which where, eyeing out the masses of bodies yelling at it. This was not its habitat. The shine of the spear was blanketed with the red hue of the troll’s blood. In a fling of fear, the troll swatted at Rige, hitting the spear’s blade and upper staff. The impact was enough to defeat Rige’s grip, sending the spear flying in the short distance. The troll took notice, and began to charge forward past Rige and some place elsewhere. Rige attempted to roll out of the way, but the troll’s speed and unpredicted action trampled Rige, leaving to take the troll’s leg straight on. He was left on his face, half of his body in aching pain from the thick stubby leg running him over. He was ready to surrender now; it was fun, but now it just hurt. Even with the loud audience, Rige could hear his name being passed around. People wondering if he was all right, if he was hurt and if they should go down and help him. He could here the Wolves prepping a monk to head down and check Rige’s vitals. All Rige would need to do now is wait; they would figure he was fine and simply carry him to safety. Then Rige could spend the day spectating or even drinking, or hell just sleeping and resting these new bruises. He had served his time as a workingman, a man that could not have respite. There was nothing here he was proving besides having some fun, at least he told himself that. Something itched at him, there was no way he could give up now, and the Hunt was barely beginning. There was mostly likely nothing he would be doing afterward anyhow, as well the Cold season would be coming, and the only things that he really could do then is stay home or go out to drink more. This really was possibly his last moment to enjoy the moment, and he shall not squander it.


He started simple, pushing himself onto his back, letting his lungs breathe easily. After a few moments of resting, Rige was back on his feet, slightly dizzy and groggy from the earlier hit. He could feel that age catching up to his bones. After a steadying himself, he retrieved his spear and checked over the mounds of dirt to locate a trail or indication of where the troll had went. With much luck, Rige found that the dirt had a heavy trail, then the small splatters of red upon the stone pathways, and most indicating were the indentions on walls due to the troll’s clumsy movements. Rige, with conviction, tracked the troll through the streets.


Hunting was definitely not hard with a creature like this, of this immense size. The crowd’s rampant cheering and the clumsy trail of the troll’s fearful retreat were enough to show exactly where the beast was, and if Rige knew the district well enough, he could corner the creature or cut it off before it cleared too much distance from him. The creature barely made it any distance from the church before it turned and began wandering in circles near the center of the circulade. Rige was able to run past the carcass pile again and catch the troll as it trampled down the pathway. He placed himself in front of it and held his spear out, the creature was not stupid enough to run right into it, but instead stopped itself from advancing in skidding halt. Again, they were having a stare down, Rige and his spear against the troll’s beastly roars and tantrums of size. Rige tried to advance as fast as he could, but kept a cautious pace. He would not allow himself to be beaten due to the rush to further wound the beast. They kept at their stale mate; the troll would slam its fist forward, forcing Rige to back away to avoid getting it. Rige would jab his spear forward causing the troll to retreat some yards out of fear of the blade’s sting. Rige feared that neither would lose ground at this rate, with none gaining any permanent ground against each other and the troll holding enough courage to keep from retreating again.


Rige could hear some silent taps, something different from the same noises he was hearing during his skirmish against the beast. It was too close to be from the audience above, it sounded like a heavy tap, Rige recognized that sound very well, but he could not peg what it was. The troll reacted as well to the noise, a bit more harshly, as it turned its back on Rige and began a retreat. Rige had to hesitate, as the beast took initiative to swing its arm at him before retreating. As soon as Rige could, he began to chase after the troll; as well he eyed, out in the distance, two other participants, the two children from the tavern, Leo and Mhara. As before, the boy had somehow garnered everyone’s attention as he spouted on about how the hero should be the one to kill the vilest of beasts. They seemed as confident as ever, somewhat bickering amongst each other and boasting about heroics once again. Rige could not help but allow a smirk to grow on his lips. This could be the moment he was looking for, the moment he could spend showing to his children that he was indeed a father.


As loud as a fly soaring right by your ear, the whizzing sound of a straight piece of wood, metal tipped, and a soft tail could tear through the air and kill a man instantly, if placed correctly. As such, when one is heard only some feet away, a man cannot help but drop to the floor to avoid any others.


“Watch it!” That was not a child, that much Rige could tell easily. Peering from his low crouched position, he could see that their was an archer hiding in a small alley opening, shooting off arrows in Rige’s direction. His attention was pressed elsewhere though, as the ground’s trembling had not ceased. He could see the troll disappearing behind a turn where the children had been boasting. Rige heard another arrow whizz over his head. This time he turned his attention where the arrow was headed. Again, like before, he saw the wyvern charging in a rampage down the pathway right for him. This time, even more arrows covered the cockatrice’s body, weapons dangling from its chest, its feathers covered in blood. It seemed blinded now with arrows scattered about its face, but now it was spewing its miasmic breathe. This creature really was made to bring about death. Rige was not intent on letting the cockatrice beat him this time, this time he was quite sure he could properly kill it. He heard another arrow whizz past him, and lodging itself in the wyvern’s shoulder. The beast crowed, as it seemed to be falling forward as it rampaged towards Rige and the archer. Rige would have time this perfectly, as if he planned to get the kill himself, he would have to hit it square, less the archer claim the cockatrice.


The beast could at least hear Rige, and to increase his chances, Rige began yelling at the wyvern. When it designated it was close enough, the cockatrice smashed its beak down where it indicated Rige was. Rige acted as well as he could with the best timing he could conjure, moving out of the way of the oncoming mouth, and sending a thrust from his spear as far as possible into the beast’s bleeding eyes. The cockatrice yet still continued rampaging down the path, lifting its head bringing the spear and Rige with it. Its motor skills gone, it would not stop and went head first into the adjacent building. The wyvern went right through the wall, lodging its face, torso, and one leg into the building before thrashing about in its final moments of anguish.


Rige could feel his muscles tensing, keeping him from moving freely, his airways feeling a slight difficulty in breathing. In honesty, Rige found it manageable, it would be a short break before he had to go hunting for the children and the troll again. He let his eyes shut as he focused first on locating his lungs and allowing them to work properly. His muscles slowly calmed themselves, allowing Rige to stretch them and ease his joints. He was comfortable where he was, even though it was on a rickety wood planked second floor, with half of the building missing and a giant rooster head hanging some yards away. He was content on sleeping there for a few moments, but a gentle dripping of liquid falling on his forehead halted him. He opened his eyes and narrowed them on the source. He could see the red now, a third floor, or a top house. Rige was completely awake now, yet when he tried to focus he felt woozy. It took him little time to force his arms and legs to work him up to his feet, but it took much longer to steady and to realize the pain in his side. He knew he hit something too hard; he had gone through building in fact. He was scanning around for his spear, but realized that it was still stuck in the wyvern’s head. Rige attempted to move forward, even with the pain erupting with every step. He would have to find a way up first, stairs or a ladder. Rige assumed that it was also crushed by the cockatrice’s rampage.


Rige decided to speak up, call out to him to figure out if the poor soul was still conscious, “Hey, are you alright?” He realized that even speaking brought pain on his side. He was guessing that either one of his innards was bruised or a rib was broken. He noticed there was some stairs, perhaps a bit precarious due to the damage from the wyvern, but it was a way up, and their was no answer. Rige kept moving, slowly getting used to the pain and driving through it in effort to reach the fellow above. He climbed the stairs slowly, only stopping when a plank broke when he pressed his weight down on it. It only scared him, but he kept moving up the stairs to get to the next floor.


“Are you there?” Again, Rige called, but again to no avail. He scanned the third floor, looking for the trace of a body. He could hear the audience roaring still, accompanied by some yells from some Wolves. He heard some banging, and eyed out that some wreckage blocked the roof entrance, and the Wolves were trying to get into the building. He doubted he would be capable of moving the wreckage in his state, so he focused on finding the source of the dripping blood. He found the blood; it came from a trail, a small flow from a man in propped up against the wall. Rige made his way over, while continuously speaking “Come on,” and, “you’re alright, just hold on!” The man did not answer nor did he stir. When Rige was close enough, he kneeled beside the fellow and searched for a beating heart. He could have sworn he felt something, maybe faint but it had to be there. Rige finally checked whom the man was, pulling his limp head to look at him properly. Rige saw a face all to familiar, someone close, someone he would wish to replace him, and someone he wished he properly gave his time to.

Chapter 4

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Two Djinn Wolves and three auxiliaries were finally enough to break the door open. They rushed in, quickly scanning around for bodies, while one of the Wolves checked if the cockatrice was alive. It only took a moment for them to locate the blood and the sobbing from their Alpha. One of the Wolves quickly went over to check on their leader.


“Sir?” He asked inquisitively. It took a moment for him to realize that Rige would not answer. “Is it someone you know, sir?”


Rige began to respond; his words choked up as he buried his face into the bloody deceased. An auxiliary checked the body, checking if it was merely a citizen or a participant. He found that it was no one but a farm hand. It seemed a piece of wood broke off and stuck itself in the man’s gut, getting deep enough to cause the man to bleed out in mere seconds.


“He’s dead, no doubt.” The auxiliary announced.


“Soren, amongst the dead,” Rige began to speak up, “may you find happiness. Amongst those long passed and those much missed, I pray thee find pleasure therein-peacely domain of Sultra. O goddess Sultra who carries wayward and brave souls. Soren leaves his fleshly home and reaches to be among presence noble and light as you o wondrous goddess. We ask of you to allow aid. Bring him in his ascent and in comfort. Let all who knew him, being a father who now lacks a son or a son who now lacks a father, with the knowledge that he is now with you, safe and happy.”


When the auxiliaries and Wolves realized it was a prayer, they bowed their heads and joined in the final words. “Through the light of Sultra, we will find glory.”


“And may you find your glory, son.” Rige added silently towards the end.


There was a silence for a few moments, before auxiliary came in through the roof door. He entered with a, “Hey” but went silent when he noticed the scene, the silence for a man departed and the Alpha’s mourning. He kept silent for a moment before speaking up, “There’s something outside you oughta see!” The other Wolves and the auxiliary peered; the man had spoken much more exasperatedly. Rige took a few more moments, letting the other occupants clear out to see what was amiss. He adjusted Soren slightly, to allow him to sit in a much more slightly fashion. Then Rige stood up and began to walk out of the roof door. People send glances his way, some bluntly stared. Rige was covered in more grime and filth than usual, more than anyone there. He was drenched in blood not his own, then plastered with dirt from head to toe. Rige paid no mind; he was fixated on what had been catching the attention of most of the audience all around. Far in the sky was a blotch of black, nowhere near the sun, and gave the appearance of a humungous mass. There were people attempting to call out what it was, saying things like “it’s a flock of crows” or “a lone storm cloud” but no one could quite tell what it was, the only thing everyone knew for sure was that it was definitely getting closer.


“Have the auxiliaries clear the citizens out of here, get them out of the district.” Rige spoke to one of the Wolves. “Bad omens commonly come in black.”


“Aye, sir.” The Wolves began to give out orders, and with confusion people were herded out towards the exit. It was too slow a process as people were slow to acknowledge the command.


“Head to the gates and gather up some of the cavalry. It’ll help enforce the evacuation.” The Wolves were even more reluctant to this, as the cavalry were usually used in only militaristic actions. “And hurry up, it seems ever closer.”


Rige went over to the roof’s railings, to peer over and scan over for any hunters, especially the children and the troll. He could not locate anyone, just trails and tracks that lead to and fro. From there, he could not tell where they had gone. Rige, even further, began to ponder on where the archer had gone. He worried that he might have been crushed by the cockatrice’s rampage. Rige scanned the area once more, realizing there was a loud sound coming from the sky, in fact it was the black cloud, it was making an incredibly loud and growing sound. Rige found it best he checked for the archer’s safety, the cloud had some distance before it would be close enough to see. Rige began to job into the building, not daring to spare a glance at Soren’s body. He immediately went towards the stairs, ignoring the pain in his side when he half jogged. As he ran, he again heard the screeching sound growing louder to a deafening height. Rige tried to call out for the archer, but he could not even hear himself speak. He began to find his way down, but was cut short by an impact that sent him off his feet and sprawling to the floor, the shutters blasted open, and the ground shook uncontrollably. For a moment, he thought the cockatrice revived itself and was beginning to bring down the entire building. When the shaking ceased and the cockatrice lay still dead. Rige found his feet and went to the open shutter. He thought he had become blind, as everything outside was completely black. Only when he began to exhale did he realize it was a mass of smoke rising off of something that had crashed in the garden. Rige went over to the disturbed head of the cockatrice and took hold of his spear. He put his foot to the creature’s skull and yanked the blade from the wyvern’s noggin. It was a lot easier than expected, and a lot of unnecessary pain came form his side when he staggered back. After regaining his balance he began to sprint up the stairs and out of the roof door. He was welcomed by an immense amount of heat, indefinitely much hotter than Zephyr has ever experienced before. The sudden change in temperature made Rige woozy, and he almost fell over, but caught himself by leaning against his spear and using it as a crutch. I looked over the roofs, seeing that the evacuation had paused due to everyone being knocked over, sweaty, and baffled by the giant cloud of black smoke. Rige again went to the railing, trying to eye out what came down from the sky. The ground began to tremble again, something large, larger than what they had been fighting in the hunt was moving around within the smoke. He could see the silhouette moving, it was casting off the smoke from its texture, and when it moved, it looked to be almost twenty feet tall. He tried to shape it; it was humanoid in shape, a thick body, its torso shaped like a bottom heavy vase. Stumpy legs, thick and massive with ravenous toes, arms forming from its shoulders reaching down to the floor, one much deformed and thicker than its opposite, limbs like an ape. It moved slightly, its arm waving over the wall of trees, and once contacted by the wood, they burst into a mass of exploding flame. The amount of heat it gave off incinerated the wood. It stood up in the smoke, some of the blackness clearing, to reveal its skin. It was a solid mass of stone, with spouts of fire shooting out flames, the earthy body seemed to be helped by nothing but its own gravity. It was figure of magic, no doubt. The creature looking to be formed to resemble an ape with the head of a wild cat entirely made of molten stone. It began to move, extending its stance and throwing an arm back, and off of its arm flew off some molten stones that erupted fires to anything they touched, then swung its arm into the air, spewing out more burning stones, and collapsed its arm upon one of the rooftops, crushing it and sending it into a roaring and explosive flame. People were screaming now, and children were crying, all accompanied by the ringing in one’s ear. The noise alone was enough to throw everyone into confusion, but now people were panicking.


“Auxiliaries, get the civilians to safety,” Rige attempted to keep order, “Wolves, with me, we distract it.” The Alpha led his pack to a closer rooftop, the nearby Wolves joined into the group and followed after their leader. The earthy creature caught on to their movements, reacting promptly by rearing its arm back and up again, bringing it down where the Wolves were passing.


Rige spoke as fast as he could to command his men correctly, “scatter!” When its arm came down on the building, it split it in half, sending a spreading flame amongst the crevice. The Wolves that reacted fast enough attempted to dodge and roll out of the distance of the arm’s width, some could not get far enough and some were could by the flames and were taken into the crevice. “Clear the rooftops!” Rige attempted to change their tactics, at least to avoid as many casualties. The Wolves began jumping right off of the balconies and landing harshly on the ground. Rige doubted he would be able to stand up to his feet again, if he were to jump from the roof, so he attempted jumping crevice and onto one of the lower floors. With a quick jog, Rige approached the jump and leapt onto the second floor of planks, and as he landed upon them, they collapsed. Rige found himself on the floor, again out of breath and struggling to gain air. He was surrounded by fire this time, and he could move but really he lacked the want to do so. He peered to his side, and from his spot he could see some Wolves running into the crispy garden, and the stone giant promptly wiping its arms upon the ground. Nothing was seen up small explosions of fire and yells of anguish. He could see the giant, moving over to the church, it looked like its torso’s mass was slightly less than the church, but thanks to its arms and legs, it seemed much larger. It wrapped its arms around the walls and clenched what looked like fingers under the foundation, and began to tug at the entire building. After some trembling of the ground, the building was lifted from the ground, from the windows people were trying to climb and jump out. Before long, it had lifted the entire building from its place and reared it over its head. Rige forced himself up, jumping over the flames getting away from the burning building. The air seemed so turbulent, yet the air was so heated. He could that his Wolves had already become covered in soot. Rige ripped a piece of his sleeve off, realizing his arm had been on fire. He could not feel the burning red skin on his forearm, in fact he felt numb. When he looked back to the flaming giant, he saw that the church was gone, but found it in the air soaring towards another district. Rige felt that choking feeling again, a dizzy wobbliness in his limbs. He stepped back, feeling his balance leaving him. The sounds an army charging erupted from the distance, the whinnies of the horses and the yells of men, the cavalry came charging down a pathway and right under and around the stone giant’s legs, stabbing their spears into any area they could. Some Wolves threw their spears at it, but nothing seemed to affect it. The blades would heat up and begin to glow with heat, sometimes hot enough that the blade would melt off. Along with that, the staves caught fire quite quickly.


“Sir!” Rige snapped out of his dazed stare as a mounted veteran rode over to him. Rige peered over, the man was some year older than him, still abled, but looking like he would only stay in the vanguard. “Take my horse, sir, ride to safety.”


“No,” Rige responded instantly, “save the people of Zephyr. The pack will keep this beast busy.” The rider was reluctant, but had no say as Rige began running towards the flaming giant. Rige found a lone horse, the rider knocked off somehow. He mounted it, feeling his youth flow into him. He kicked the horse onward, and rode into the fray. The Wolves recognized him, and he called out “With me,” they listened and followed, “keep it on us, let it go no further!”


The Wolves began circling the earthy giant’s legs, sending their spears at the torso or sticking the giant’s knees. Mostly, no damage was done, as the giant’s skin was comprised of thick stone. As the Wolves had aimed to, they kept the giant’s attention, slowing its pace as it trekked ever closer to the other districts. They rode with valiant capability; a smaller faster group would lead the giant’s attention by riding under its legs and attracting its fist behind it. Then another group would launch their spears at the giant’s exposed under arm and sides. Though, nothing they did stopped the giant from continuing its march towards the noble district. In luck, there were no citizens in the path of the giant’s wake. The auxiliaries had done their part.


Flaming projectiles flying from its joints accompanied the giant’s movements, with flaming spouts jutting out of it pours. Everything near and far began to catch flame. Zephyr burned. The giant smashed through the gates that held the Hunt’s beasts within, and its surging heat set the gates on fire, allowing it to quickly spread across the entire circle of gates, and setting fire to each building in contact with the walls. The giant did not spare time by walking around buildings; instead it marched through by swatting the houses clear from its path, sending them into a blaze of razed destruction. It continued its advance with disruption, reaching the cathedral of Cosmos. The cathedral stood some yards higher than the giant, but was much larger in mass. The giant crashed into the cathedral, head first crushing its support beams, smashing the foundations, and letting the cathedral begin collapsing upon it. The giant came out unscathed, and began its march towards the castle fort, knocking down each tower and building that was placed in the way.


The Wolves regrouped as a whole, further ahead of the giant’s path. They were organized and prepared to charge. They were edged on stopping the beast before it destroyed Zephyr’s final construct. Nothing had ever survived the Djinn Wolves’ full charge. They planned that they would charge directly at its legs, in hope of toppling the giant, then they could work from there, or hold until the adjacent college to the city sent a cohort of mages as reinforcements. Most likely, they would be capable of doing more permanent damage than any regular spear could. The Wolves gathered, putting their longest spears at the forefront, ascent down as such. Those who lacked a spear would be armed at the back. A Beta-Alphas would be positioned to guide the ranks properly, at least one accompanying each unit. Rige found himself in the vanguard near the back of the group. Close to the group who had lost their spears, but among those who had the shortest in length. From there he could give last moment commands, in case of unexpected changes. He was in the group, the vanguard, and the down and dirty. This is where he felt he belonged. The Djinn Wolves began to loosen their formation to prepare the charge.


Rige called out from where he was, “This flame seeks to feed on Zephyr,” he caught the Wolves’ attention, “then let us give more than any mere heated rock can handle. The Death breeze is here, let us bring the cold!” The Wolves hurrahed then tighten their grip on their spears. The charge began, the rolling trembling of the hundreds of horse hooves slamming against the ground, carrying the mass of spears aimed and pointed at their mark. They charged and charged, with passion and eager craze. The giant marched towards the oncoming mass of riders. It reared its head back, its chested puffed up as air sucked into its face. It lurched forward, casting a humongous river of fire from its mouth cavity, swimming and spreading across the floor and upon the adjacent walls. The fire moved and swirled in the air, counter charging head on against the Wolves. Stones and flames, launched like flying coordinated birds, and began shredding into the front line, eating and enveloping the entire cavalry. The Djinn Wolves would not cease their charge forward. They were persistent on the belief they would get through, and they would defeat this flaming wall. Rige hollered and yell from his horse’s saddle. He aimed his spear, straight and true, right into the flames and stones. Rige crouched, close to his horse to avoid the swirling stones. He could see nothing but the flames surrounding every inch of air. It became difficult to breathe again, but the air that did enter his lungs felt dry, like they burned his throat when they entered his nostrils. He could see the faintness of his adjacent riders, one by one they were knocked from their saddle by an oncoming stone, or their horse toppled. He himself took on multiple stones, scaring against his flesh and singing him with fire and heat, but Rige rode further in, the air was getting intensely rough, and he could feel himself lifting up, only holding on by the weight of the horse. Then his horse felt as if it buckled underneath him, then he felt both himself and his stead entering the air, only for a moment as he flipped upside down. His legs were yanked from the horse, as he was sent ever higher into the air. Then something large hit him, it was fleshy, but it was set aflame. And he went out.

Part 2

​

Rige awoke; he was atop of a dead horse and a pile of crisply burnt bodies. He tried to move, but found that several other lifeless corpses weighted down his body. It took him some time, but he was able to pull himself from the pile of corpses. When he came to his feet, he found several pains amongst his body. He felt as if he was a walking bruise. He took a moment on a knee, letting himself calm before gathering his senses and marching forward. He was slow, as he limped with every step. He did his best to walk over the bodies; he would to disrespect the dead by treading among them. He kept his dizzy eyes on the giant in the distance that was now throwing adjacent buildings at the castle that sat some great size larger than it. Rige found a spear amongst the piles of dead. He plucked it from where it nestled under man who remained attached to his horse.


“Forgive me, brother.” Rige whispered to the corpse before disarming it. The spear’s staff had been broken at the half point. The blade was in tack, but the spear lacked the length that made its use. As there were no other accessible weapons in his sight, Rige continued with it. The giant was slowly getting closer at it only moved to be adjacent to more buildings. Rige forced himself up a ladder, and onto the roof of a building close to the giant. Rige had will; he would not let his troops down.


“Beast of stone,” Rige called to it, “crimson in color, and take me. Take me and assess your ability. Let this human be your end!”


The giant turned to the building, its face only some yards away from Rige’s position, the heat pouring down on the Alpha. In one spare moment of near to noiseless contact, Rige ridded his body of all pain and charged, with half spear in hand, directly at the mouth of the giant. With gigantuous stature and incredious they collided, the giant opened its maw and smashed it into the building where Rige had been. Sending the entire building into rubble and leaving no trace of the hume. Fire burned and peeled, it erased. Fire takes and removes, replacing nothing but more flame, like a virus, or bacteria. Devour and replace, infect and consume, burn and grow. The process could be slow, the process could be fast, but never was it timed in a fashion of favorable measure. Tolerance of the flame often became a large detail of the immensity of pain fire was capable of conjuring. Some found themselves capable of burning themselves alive without a wince of pain, a gesture of respite, and burned with courageous effort with will support the mental defenses. Self-mediation, control over what one can feel and what one cannot. Pain, a mental trigger telling one that something is wrong, something needs to be fixed, help. A jerk of movement, a reaction of anguish, the body wants something to happen in retaliation. There are ways to separate oneself from pain, by the use of distraction, call away one’s mind and press it upon something of different context, make one believe pain is not existent. Emotions can be controlled and mastered. It merely takes will. Will is patience, chastity, kindness, charity, diligence, humility, and temperance. Will is life energy. Will is the excursion of the soul. Souls are the engines of embodiment, of the living. Souls are made of three basic components, life energy, mind, and body. Will, knowledge, and strength. Life energy supports the body, without it, the body does not grow, the body cannot protect, continue to attempt defense from anything. Mind is the seat of consciousness; the logical, thinking, planning decider, needed to understand, to gain and keep knowledge, to comprehend and learn, to know more and more without it one would animalistic, uncontrolled, feral. Body is strength, it is needed to move with power, to hold memory and life span, feeling, emotion, to envelop and create for of each other, it is the fuel to fuel, without it the others will die. Souls are in constant process of creating more of each, like any organ of the body, yet it takes place as vital, amongst a man’s heart or a man’s brain. Souls are needed. Souls exist outside of the body. They are ethereal, exist outside of the plain of existence and take form in another. They work and guide in the same reaction as their bodily counterparts, they exist besides each other. Souls themselves work as existing sentience. The most crucial part of life, souls, the existence of souls brings about the existence of life. Everything that stirs with breath upon Terryal owns a soul; anything that thrives owns a soul, animals, bacteria, and gods. The soul is most easily compared to as a flame, for th is the form most believed to be seen when a soul is visible, if ever visible, small ball of fire or candlelight. When someone is born, or rather their body is made, the soul becomes lit and fills the body and gives it life energy, mind, and body and what makes a person a individual. As the person grows, so does the fire, and when the person ages and withers the fire dims, and finally when a person dies the fire goes out, this is the basics for the life of the soul. But there is more than this, each soul is diverse and different, it is never simple and easy to explain. There is difference between souls; gods are different from all else. Where human souls can grow and burn brightly or dim and fade, a god’s soul cannot. Gods cannot grow their souls any larger nor can they dim, the soul contains frozen flame, or crystallized soul fire that becomes a caged form of the body of the soul, making an infinite fuel for each other part of the soul. When a soul depletes, it either perishes into oblivion or surrenders into the form of ember. When one dies by another by unnatural death such as by sword or by an accident, the soul simply disappears, out of existence and into true death. Never does it burn or spark again. When a soul withers away slowly and dims, by age or by natural disease, one does not completely die. “Dimed souls” head into a type of hibernation stage, the ember form. This form is the remnants of the past soul usually holding pieces of mind and body. When their resident body withers away with age, the soul must move on to its next vessel, but embers cannot easily survive without bodily counterpart. Embers must hold themselves onto another soul or surface to survive, a courier of sorts. Often times, this courier is some close companion to the person, when a new body is created from two bright souls, the ember takes the chance to fill the newly created body before the two souls create a new spark. Thus reincarnation is achieved. Even so, memories are not commonly retained, but personality and emotion, commonly carry over. Embers can latch to other things to survive. Those few who are capable of manipulating the soul, through means of mystics, can contain the ember within crystalline soul, and can hold it in its form until the manipulator pleases, the same could happen if a person is close to an inanimate object in the stead of a person. This brings about capability of creating life and creating new bodies for souls. When souls fail to find new bodies, one way or another, they begin to wander and roam wherever usually looking for a chance to fill a new body, which begins what is known as possessions. Souls commonly do not have a mostly visible physical form, but at times a faint glow can be seen illuminating from the peculiar areas in the air. This brought about the rumors of wisps and fairies. Some souls do not take such graceful forms; some souls do not burn in their ember wanderings. They give off a cold essence of pain and anguish, these souls create dark and solemn aura of fear, and the rumors speak of ghosts.


Souls cannot die of fire.

Chapter 5

​

Zephyr looked like a sea of fire, like a underground city raising to the surface by burning through plains and mountains above it, but all rewinding as the buildings sunk into the earth, the fires ate all, and near to nothing was left except flaming ruin. Survivors plucked form what they could scavenge. Amongst the charred corpses and ashes of home, there was nothing but despair. There were near to no Wolves left to defend the civilians, so the refugees of Zephyr would have to leave with haste. Those Wolves that were left were hard pressed on guiding the survivors to a nearby city where they could find refuge. There were a few very small cities on the western coast, the closest large city that owned a portion of area was Ur, but their relation with Zephyr lacked, as they enjoyed war with the creatures of the unexplored further south. There was a line of mountains in the way of the other city-states, a large mass of refugees would have no easy time traversing through there. They would have no choice but to separate amongst the villages, or funnel into Ur and be adapted into their draft. The remaining Wolves tried to debate over other or better options, but the lack of a higher command left them arguing over rank. The people tried to gather items and food for the travel, very little was left. Among the scavenging masses, a rider trotted through the ruins. His hair was a very pure and clean white slicked back as it was long enough in length to cover his eyes with several ties to keep it from falling forward, and his skin was quite pale in color and his young but strong face, and his eyes shined a bright sky like blue. He was adorned in red plated armor, with the crest of the Djinn wolves on its chest and shoulders. The crest was a very simple silver wolf head, small and nicely detailed, but added nothing but aesthetic design. It was definitely a high costing coat of armor. The man carried a spear at his side; the same spear the Wolves carried. He seemed tired, his eyes heavy and his shoulders dropped. He looked ready to collapse. Amongst the scavengers, he seemed like a lone guard watching over the charred-with-black ruins of Zephyr. His moment standing amongst the crowd was short, as he proceeded to lead his horse further into the rubble. There was much left in the cathedral, but nothing of very high value, looters had hit here first. The Hunt district was nearly gone entirely, and amongst the piles of ruined buildings; small creatures that survived had endeavored to make homes amongst the warm ashes. The districts were burnt, every house had been razed, and nothing was standing too tall. The castle was in ruins as well, nothing left of it. Something had gone through and personally destroyed every inch of it. The rider continued to urge his horse forward, scanning over for any traces of something. He found the pathway of corpses and he recognized their dress. He could consider himself one of them, but in luck he was away, on family errands. He nudged his horse onward, avoiding the bodies, attempting to respect some of what was left of Zephyr. He came upon where there was most wreckage. Something large had been trampling back and forth through this spot in front of the castle. It was flattened out, the buildings completely lifted from their foundations. The rider scanned the area for a few moments, and then moved on to examine the castle’s fallen stone. In the castle, he found a lone monk praying.


“Why pray,” the rider kept his horse from intruding the man’s space, “Zephyr is gone, its people no longer capable of being as such, and its royal line without heir.” The rider had a young voice, he was not old, and his voice gave him the façade that he was quite near his twenties. “There are people who are injured, and people in need of help now from fellow kin, so why pray to gods that may never answer?”


“A god did this,” the monk replied, “for what reasons, it is not known, but I pray to that god who did this.”


“Why pray to that god, the god who slaughtered those of your city?”


“None else would, now,” He kept his head down, and his hands clasped up to the air, “We are taught to pray to everyone equally, so I pray to those who are subject to avoid, or subjected to be prayed against.”


“Who is this god?”


“His name was not spoken, but I was close to the Alpha during his final stand against the flaming giant. He gave it a description. I am no man of language, but I call him Crimston, by the Alpha’s words against the giant.”


“Tell me of this giant.”


“It was not the giant that did this to our people,” the monk began, “but the man who took resident in its body.”


“The giant was a vessel?”


“Like the ships that carry men and spices across seas.”


“And who manned this vessel?”


“Crimston. The Alpha was able to enter into the giant’s body without being set entirely aflame. He was able to drive Crimston from its bowels. The giant’s chest opened and from two horses made from molten rock with manes of fire guided a great chariot out of the giant’s open torso. Upon the chariot sat the god, Crimston.”


“Describe to me, this Crimston, what does he appear to be?”


“One cannot describe a god.”


“Do your best.”


“A cloak one would see in the far reaches of the north, made of black and designed with fiendish appearance, truly a menacing deity. Chest was barrel shaped, and the mass of the humanoid form was huge and inhuman. Armor plated its arms and hands, with a handle of a sword perched at its waist. Legs were covered in chainmail and armor, all black of charred color. There was no real body there, only a flame that gave a form to wear the coat and armor. As a face, there was a mask, a mask that would only cover one’s eyes and forehead. The entirety of the body spewed fire from any area that allowed it to escape. When it drew its sword, there was no blade, but in its place a whip of stringed fire extended out some yards and sliced buildings in two. The chariot itself crashed through whatever wall in the way and set fire to any resistance and adjacent objects.” The monk sat up from his prostrated position. “After the castle had been felled, Crimston’s chariot took to the sky.”


“And where did he go?”


“North east.”


“So he is a northern god. He comes to the furthest reach of the realm to trample peaceful Zephyr. Under what motive, under what need does he act with such cruelty?”


“Why does a man feel the need to place his family above others?


“Because Cosmos demands it.”


“Why do what Cosmos demands?”


“Because Cosmos is above us, I would expect you to know that, monk.”


“Then why question a monk who carries out her commands?”


“Because you act against her, heretic.”


“And who are you to dictate what she wishes? Perhaps I act against by her command; perhaps it is her wish to test you, sir? Perhaps I am a tool of her divine works, what would she do if you were to break her tool?”


“Then as a tool of the goddess, dictate my actions to avenge Zephyr.”


“Vengeance?”


“My father is among the corpses that litter the ground. By my right, I deserve to take back from those who took.”


“Then decide yourself, as it is your vengeance.”


“A campaign.”


“Against a god?”


“Yes, he stole the soul of Zephyr, so I shall extinguish his flame.”


“The north is your destination. You’ll need supporters, supplies, money.”


“My position demands respect. I am a man of noble heredity.”


“A Djinn Wolve, one of high rank. Even so, there are others who argue for demand over what is left.”


“I hold the highest ranking crest, they will fall in line.


“You, a man that has never gained respect as the bastard child.”


“Then let them challenge me, as always. If I must once again defeat them by blade or by wit, then so be it.”


“I shall pray for you.”


“Thank you, I fear none else would.” The rider reared his horse away from the monk and redirected towards the outside encampment where the, now homeless, civilians were making shelter. There he would find the Djinn Wolves bickering over whom should take mantle as the new Alpha. While the Djinn Wolves’ need of Rige had been fading, the jobs had been separated between the many veterans and with half of the veterans wiped out during the city’s attack, there was a giant void in power left. At this point, it would be smarter to disperse the Wolves, as their numbers have depleted to nearly nothing and they no longer have any order amongst their ranks. There are three candidates for the next Alpha, arguing over what decisions should be taken now, each decision differing from the other. Beta Bede, the venerable, would take the people across the mountains, where the treacherous travel and the oncoming season of Cold would kill many of the citizens; Beta Vortigern sought to gain protection from Ur and their king, Gilgamesh, there the refugees would most likely be drafted into crusades aiming to explore further south; Beta Alfred considers staying and trying to rebuild before the Cold season arrives, leaving the people defenses against bandits and raiders. Each argued their pros and other’s cons. Their bickering had been attempted to keep within the confines of their tent for some while but soon erupted to cover the entire encampment. It was no trouble finding where they were, in their large tent where they sat over a map of the western coast and the bordering mountain passes. Bede insisted on the mountain passes, suggesting that it would even be possible to split into multiple groups to move quicker; Vortigern kept on about Gilgamesh’s former hospitality towards Zephyr, and Alfred simply spoke of their faults and the immense casualties and loss of honor from either option. The rider pulled his horse up near the tent, near the Wolves guarding the entrance. Merely from the look of him, the Wolves knew to clear way for the superior rank. The dismounted rider reached into the tent, clearing the flaps and entered, the sight of him caused the Betas to silence themselves, as most would when someone disturbs a conversation. He walked to and joined the table of debate, looking over the map of the land.


“You are?” Alfred was the first to speak; he is one of the younger Betas, earning his way to his position by keeping men alive.


“This tent is for negotiations of the future Alpha.” Vortigern spoke, a man known large amounts of successes in exterminating conspirators and insurgencies.


“Worry not, he’s right to be here, same as each you.” Bede, the oldest veteran, spoke. Bede was around since the beginning of the Djinn Wolves, and stands even older than Rige.


“Who is this man? What right does he have to declare Alpha?” Alfred questioned.


“I believe he means the opposite,” the intruder finally spoke, “he considers none capable but himself, correct, Bede?”


Bede kept silent.


“My achievements number much greater than either of you, the title of Alpha should be mine.” Vortigern spoke up.


“You risk the lives of too many.” Bede responded to Vortigern.


“Near to none have ever died under my command.” Said Alfred.


“You cower and coddle your men.” Bede responded to Alfred.


“And what of me,” the rider asked, “why is that I am not suited, what’ve I done to show lack of valiant soul?”


Bede kept silent.


“Perhaps I should be the one to answer that, as I as well have not spoken reason why I am suited for lead man.” He gestured back to the silent Bede, “Then perhaps you should tell us why the venerable Bede is more suited than any other here.”


“I was with him since the beginning, when we left Zephyr in hopes of joining against the diuris. And when we returned, I was still by his side. Most of all, before Rige lead our forces against the giant, we instructed me to guide the citizens to safety, that I shall do.” Bede was forceful in his tone. “I know Rige better than any.”


“Is that so?” The stranger spoke


“Yes, none else survive, his wife gone in the flames, his daughters gone to a far off distances, and his son,” He cut short there.


“Yes, his son?” The rider asked, much more interested in this than the other reasons.


“His son,” Bede’s wrinkles stretched and curled as he narrowed his vision on the intruder, “had shown his disdain for the Wolves when he declined the offer to lead them.”


“Does that not make him the best candidate?”


“You left Zephyr in its time of greatest need. You have no right to any position of power when you make no appearance to defend the men of whom you claim to be deserved leader of.”


“My obligation was to family, to both sibling and father, she needed escort and I supplied my service, as a proper man should.” The stranger continued, “Sure as any father, is that not what you would prefer your son to do for your daughter, nay I should not tread in such territory as tender as a father whom lost daughter and near same as son.”


“I challenge your right!” Bede exclaimed.


“Then you challenge the Alpha’s word.” The stranger’s tone went flat, holding back the unneeded yelling. “We have always been orderly men, and a code had been made for each to follow. One rule sat above all, if you do not recall, we are to listen to the Alpha’s words, to the letter, to and passed the edge of boundaries if matters call dire.”


“And I aim to do what I was demanded, protect the people, the men and women of Zephyr.”


“I swear to you, this will be done, but the command will be under by hand.”


“So you wish to take the glory, bastard.” Vortigern spoke up from his silence, finally catching on.


“No, what I will do will dishonor my name and any recollection of what may come of the Air family. You all will bring honor to the Wolves.” He answered.


“You speak of honoring the Wolves, then what action do you suggest?”


Alfred was curious.


“The Djinn Wolves take charge over all duties. The people may leave as they please, but the Wolves will stay and do their best to rebuild and protect those who wish to stay.”


“Our forces are too few, Gilgamesh could,” Vortigern objected.


“Ur is at war with the species to the south, sacrificing strife for more strife is no solution.”


“We can make it through the mountains!” Bede exclaimed once again.


“Not as the Cold season enters, even small numbers would have difficulty surviving the harsh mountainous trail.”


“And who would lead this operation?” Alfred spoke.


“All three of you, in joint leadership,” he began to elaborate, “Bede, being as you were most supportive of Rige’s ideals, you shall care for the people, be sure to help rebuild where you can. Alfred will account for maintaining relationships between the nearer cities, be sure to keep Gilgamesh from expanding north towards us through negotiable terms. Vortigern shall take care of defending our people, as Rige commanded, he will lead the cavalry and protect the people who choose not to leave their homeland.”


“And what of you, self proclaimed Alpha?” Vortigern spat.


“I will cross the mountains and seek support from our allies.”


“So you wish to escape in Zephyr’s time of need once again.” Bede spoke out.


“If I sought to escape, then why would I dare return?”


They silenced.


“I will not strip you of any men by mandatory decision. I will initiate a small campaign; gather volunteers who would find themselves willing to work under low conditions and pay, seek help from neighboring cities, and from there,” the stranger looked over the group, pausing a short moment, “I will head north, you will not hear from me again unless you hear of me once more of my defeat or of my victory.”


“You jest.” Bede looked up quizzically.


“I leave to accomplish what my father could not, I go to the northern lands, this time not to cut down the diuris, but to seek out Crimston.”


“Crimston?”


“The damned beast that did this to our people, to my father.”


“Now surely you blather crazed buffooneries.”


“No, as a stand from the only son of the Airs family, I shall show that the breeze of Zephyr can become swelling typhoon when angered by flame.”


“You are a crazed bastard. You’ll die before you make it to Byzantium.”


“Then let me be. I walk willingly to my grave, with spear in hand and discontent in heart.” The stranger turned from the group and marched out from the tent, finding that his loose ends had been tied. The veterans glared at the man as he left. The rider quickly took to his horse and led it away from the tent, before any of the Betas took to arguing more. The horse galloped over to hill within the camp, where he could see the edges of the gathering of tents. He called out to the distraught civilians, “Attention!” The encampment slowly brought their attention to the rider.


He brought out his spear and directed it towards the sky. Eyes slowly found themselves on the shine the blade casted. “Attention.” It took little time indeed, but people were indefinitely reluctant to spare their aching ears on a young Djinn Wolve. “The Wolves have come to a decision.” More people perked up to hear the announcement, some already began to scoff at the unheard mandate. “There will be no new Alpha,” that earned more eyes, “Rige is the first and last, and there will be none like him.” There was skepticism in the crowd. “The three Betas, Bede the venerable, Vortigern, and Alfred shall serve as the leaders of the Djinn Wolves. The decision has been made. The Djinn Wolves will stay in Zephyr and protect any who wish to rebuild what they can, leave if you please, but we assure you that there is no place like Zephyr.” The crowds stirred, masses whispered of the possibilities of being attacked by foreign raiders, nations invading, and even the giant returning. The rider sat silent for a moment, letting the people take a rest and process the information he had given. The people were distressed, on the verge of rebelling; insurgency could be seen all over the camp. The people were fed up with the Wolves; they had failed to protect them, to do what they had come here and sworn. They wanted something done, something to be done at that moment, to make up for their losses, their family, their grief and despair. They had wrath, they wanted to bring about the reparations that the Wolves had done to them. Their angered grief was simply placed wrongly, they missed their loved ones, their homes, their protection, their lives, their hate was not towards the Wolves but rather the world that had decided it was time for Zephyr to feel undeserved pain. The world, almost Terryal, the inhabitants, the gods, did not want Zephyr. Why though, why would they not want Zephyr, was it because Zephyr was prosperous, Zephyr was peaceful. As if peace was not allowed to exist. Perhaps that was truly it.


“Listen, dear mourners of Zephyr,” the rider attempted to regain the mass’s attention, “I know at this time, each feels wretched hurt. I am sure; there is one here that does not know how it now feels to lose everything. I assure you all, I feel the same; with you I have lost my home, my birthplace. I have lost my family to the terrible flames of that who did this to us, to our people, to our, oh so, loved Zephyr. Each here has lost someone, something that they dreamt for. Some, have lost their lives, some lost their new ones, some have yet to even start theirs, some lost their chance, some lost their loved ones, some lost their mothers, their sons, their daughters,” he paused, “some their fathers, some their homes, some their being of life. I here, stand amongst as what I would hope you all understand as an equal, a man who has lost one as you all had. My sense tells me not to, but I believe it right to tell you all of the man I lost, the man each one of you, today, lost.” The rider hopped off his horse, to put himself on the same ground as those he spoke to. He took a few breaths; he could feel his neck choking back what felt like tears. He kept strong; he would not allow this to happen now. “This man, my father, that I lost today, was one of the greatest men I have ever known. One that taught me much, even without being there for me when I was confused, when I did not understand, when around me people had intention of hurting me, when they felt the need to usurp me. My father was still there, the man who founded me as son. My father and I are not related by blood, aye, I am a bastard. I am known as such, for my bastard blood is partly what brings me acknowledgement. My mother, she saw me as an intruder of her house, another mouth to feed, and one that had no deserving to be fed by the noble house of Air. Aye, I am a son of Air, the only and last son of Air. I am Airrow son of Rige. I am the forsaken prodigy whom was deemed to the despised by those who taught, those who raised me. Zephyr itself maimed me of life, the proper life a young man, a young man who takes place as son of one of the most prominent powers within the Realm, yet I, as a bastard, was placed on a mantle that would consider me unfit, unrightful of the title son of Rige. And today, I prove those who doubted me right, as I was not here. I failed to do the duty placed upon my shoulders by my surname. My father, my father did my duty for me. I am no man; I am merely a sharpened blade. I will one day die, and no one will remember the name that I own. My father, he is indeed a different being than myself. He will be remembered, his death means nothing, for he cannot be killed, long as he stays in the memory of his people, his people that he worked so hard to protect. The people that I fail to protect. I apologize once more, as this title is not deserved. I give my title, heir to the Alpha, away to three men much more prominent than myself. I give up my rights to Bede the venerable, Alfred, and Vortigern. These men will do the job, and do it properly for I will fail time and time again. Cowardly, you may consider this job I push off to others, but I pray you allow me to redeem myself in way that I specialize. I ride north, far north, and I hunt in the name of Air and vengeance. I intend on bringing about the end of who did this, the end of Crimston. If I must do this alone, then so be it, but I will take anyone able and useful along the way. I am a sharpened blade, trained and practiced to kill and to kill well. I ask, to those here, a guide, for I know very little of the geography of the northern lands. I ask for mystics, for the utility of one is nearly infinite. I ask for monk or healer, for the prevention of death is always needed. I ask for innovation, person that seeks to spread wit among the decisions of travel. And I ask for any who has fire in their heart, fire in their heart that asks to put down Crimston to stand with me.” A speech, the speech was terribly thought out, one not deserving of prize or praise. The Alpha’s inspiration stepped away, with horse in tow. 
I forgot to change some words, so the censors may have messed up a few things. nothing big though