[Suzerain of Sheol]

The moon was high in the outland hills. The sound of wolves and prey echoed in the night. Alone, a cloaked figure made their way over the jutting limestone, half walking, half crouching, knee-deep in heather and moss. Calloused, carefull hands felt their way over way-markers on abandoned paths.

Lifting his head, the figure basked in the moonlight. The sky was clear, the moon so vivid, the stars twinkling brightly. Hearing something behind him,his hand strayed to his waist. He cursed himself for the absence of his sword, going for his small hunting knife, instead. Drawing it, he held his hand under his cloak and looked over his shoulder.

A deer. A damp, weather-roughed youngling that probably thought of him as another piece of limestone on the hill. With a shuddering sigh, he slid the blade back home, drawing his cloak around him. Creeping forward again, carefully, carefully, he never noticed the quiet figure, soft and pale as the moonlight under a grey cloak.

The figure smiled, and although it wasn't necessarily a hard smile, it was a killer's smile, nonetheless, made passionless by years of spilling blood without remorse. This hunt had been long, but would soon be over. He looked at his quarry, wondering if he was finally going to go without a fight. His reaction to the deer proved otherwise, though one could still hope.

With cautious movements, he slid aside his mantle and reached for the crossbow hanging from the unusual holster on his back. Steadying himself, he could only blink one eye before the cloaked man fell face first onto a limestone rock, a blue feathered knife burried just below the nape of his neck.

Shit.

Whirling, he dropped, falling flat with a wince. They never hunted alone, and every one of those knives was dripping with enough poison to fell an ox, or two. He cringed when he heard the tenor laughter coming from nearby.

"You can relax, Gedard. It's just me."

Gedard grunted, and laughed sharply at himself,...

Second compilation. Post more, people!