[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, and at the absurdity of this hunt. Stooping, he collected up his crossbow, and with sure swift movements had it leveled at the speaker.

Standing at the other side of the clearing was a tall, deeply inked woman with long black hair and deep ocean blue eyes, she raised her empty hands as though to convince him she was harmless. He wasn't having any of it. "All of you, come out!" he shouted.

Slowly, a group of five men and women came out of the dark night. Scowling, he knocked an arrow into the crossbow "I said all nine of you, come out! Don't think I don't know your hunting rituals. All of you get out here and drop your weapons, or she dies."

"Do you honestly think you could get that shot off before you were killed yourself?" said the same tenor voice from before, except this time, it wasn't laughing.

Now, or never, he thought bitterly. Do it.

"Yes," he said, a split second after pulling the trigger.

He was already moving. He didn't wait to check his shot. All things considered, his odds were good. At least eight of them wouldn't be a problem. The ninth... well, this was their turf, and it was night, besides. He ditched his crossbow, biting back a vicious oath. That had been a damned expensive weapon, and he didn't really wish to waste it now. Expensive or not, it was definitely better than leaving things up to chance.

He'd never been one for glorious last stands, hence him still being alive. Still, the odds were low of him being to able to slip away from this situation. Despite his reluctance, he drew the expensive dagger from it's sheath. The merchant who sold it to him said that it would make him turn invisible and let him fly. He hadn't tested it yet, but he was hoping for one or the other.

He could hear them closing in on his position, so as quietly as he could, he whispered the invoke word for the invisibility. A rustle in a nearby bush caused him to stumble over the pronunciation. With a quick glance, he saw it was only a raccoon, but he'd botched the incantation. Hopefully that wouldn't ruin the invoking, as the merchant had not mentioned anything about a time delay between uses. He remembered that items such as these sometimes could only be used a certain number of times per day. How the items knew what time it was was anyone's guess.

He tried again, but just in case the merchant was a liar he headed for the broken hills and tall rocks; the better places to hide. Behind him, a stretch of crags and overgrown weeds rendered the heatherlands nearly impassable. Flattening himself against a moss-riddled boulder, he tried to slow his breathing when one of the natives came over the boulder landing right next to him.

The native quickly looked the other direction, then towards Gedard with an air of feral triumph. Before he had the chance to signal his clansmen, Gedard lashed out with the knife, but the native wasn't looking at him: wasn't there. Standing still he only just noticed the sting in his shoulder just shy of his neck. He reached back...

This is getting kind of long, needs to be spoiled now.