[Suzerain of Sheol]

* * *

The body lay in the limestone hills, the blue feathered knife retrieved by it's owner. Black blood gradually seeped through the man's clothes, creeping to the ground below.

The killer stood cleaning the knife with a black silk cloth. It had been an easy thing, to sow such chaos in the hunt, what with the tension with the local 'wildlife.' He chuckled, and slid the knife into his belt alongside three more, all decorated with blue feathers. His clothes were fine, yet functional, showcasing a certain refinement despite the less savory aspects of his trade. He drew his heavy mantle closed about himself, and kept on the path that the dead man had been taking, glancing back at the broken landscape where the other man had gone over. He knew he wasn't dead. He smiled.

There was no hurry. This had been but the first contact of many. Let him reel in wonder, if he had even noticed at all. The time for niceties could come later, when it was more convenient for both of them. Besides, he had a contract to redeem.

* * *

The footpath was half-sunk in a bog, but at least it was empty. He couldn't help but wince at the splashes his feet made, but there was nothing about that would pose any great threat him in this area, beyond some of the more irritable local animals, and even they were scarce it seemed.

As the night wore on and he began to relax, Gedard found himself wondering how things had gone so horribly wrong. Perhaps he should go and have an anti-celebratory drink at the town who's lights he could now see.

If those lights where what passed for a town in this place, then he should be able to at least find somewhere to sleep off this most recent disaster. And after that, it was on to find a new job. He desperately needed to recoup the losses from the previous failure, and he hoped someone would have something, anything he could do to get some funds together. He'd had enough of this region, was planning to ship out to the next continent over, just to get as far away as possible from his previous employer.

He had a sinking suspicion that he had been given a stale mark; one that had been on the boards for a while and had who knows how many hunters already on the job. Or even worse, a set-up. He couldn't think of anyone who particularly wanted him dead, but it was always a possibility for someone in his business.

Now that he knew more about the extent of his new knife's powers, it might be easier to evade any unpleasant, unexpected acquaintances, old or new. Still, he didn't have enough money to settle down yet, and he was energetic enough in his middle age to keep on doing something, even if it wasn't his usual type of job.

Courier, perhaps. The thought raced across his subconscious almost without merit. Or maybe an advocate. He shook his head, sighing. No, probably more dangerous my current line of work, and certainly less moral.

No, he'd have to stick with what he knew, and what he knew best. For the last forty years that had been stalking all manner of vermin into whatever pit they chose to call "home". It wasn't clean work, and it wasn't pleasant, but there was a certain satisfaction to it.