[Suzerain of Sheol]

Please don't post in this thread, this is just for putting the story into readable format. Thank you.

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, careful 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 buried 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.

[Suzerain of Sheol]

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, but feeling was already leaving his arm. Where was the hunter he'd seen? His head was spinning.

he dropped to his knees, the feeling gone from his chest as well, fumbling with his other hand, he reached for his belt trying to find the antidote he'd had prepared knowing that the natives used this type of poison. Gedard tried desperately not to panic, but his fingers were numb, and flailed dumbly at his belt. Bursts of color filled his vision like phosphenes, and his ears were buzzing as if a swarm of hornets was right next to his head.

With all the concentration he could muster, Gedard made one last attempt and with a surge of will, managed to dislodge the vial from his belt. It fell to the ground and cracked, the liquid leaking all over, but he managed to collapse onto the bottle, cutting his face but allowing him to lap up the liquid.

It was a high quality antidote and the effect was almost instant. His vision cleared, and he regained control of his muscles. Springing to his feet, he looked frenziedly around himself only to see all nine of the natives surrounding his position.

Gedard, not used to panicking, quickly assessed the situation and noticed that the natives were all still alive. He'd missed. Some of them were smiling, like this was some sort of game. With an exasperated sigh, henoticed that the natives slowly held his hands up as if to surrender, before murmuring the invoke word for the flying ability on his dagger.

The effect was not what he expected. All at once, a whirlwind sprung up around him, buffeting the tribesmen and lifting him up. He tried to keep himself level. It was the best he could do. Still, he was flying, sort of. He felt a "thud" as something small hit his backpack.

It couldn't have been an arrow, not in these winds. Even a throwing axe would get blown off-course. He chanced to look behind him and saw he natives, wide-eyed, throwing rocks at him. The winds were affecting the rocks' flight path but one still hit him squarely, which shouldn't have been possible. But then he noticed the tribesman to the rear, with feathers and fetishes laced through his hair. A shaman.

I knew that last one would be a problem.


He could already feel the winds weakening, and made an effort to move himself to a safe place to land, preferably far away. He could hear the distant ululation of the shaman's chanting coming from downwind. Hopefully, he wasn't too late to get to safety. There! Was that a cave he could see? He dearly hoped so.

[Quiet Man Cometh]

My bad, wrong thread. I'll ask a mod to remove the post.

[Suzerain of Sheol]

YOU DESECRATED THE COMPILATION THREAD!! Joking, it's fine. ;)

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He began to try to steer himself that way, only for the Shaman's chant to finish, and while high in the air, the winds died. Dropping like a stone, Gedard quickly grabbed the small root thrusting out from the hillside to his right. The impact was jarring, but he held his grip.

Looking back over his shoulder, he saw nothing of his pursuers but their shadows among the rocks. He waited, hand groping for a practical weapon in case he had to fight his way clear.

This was getting out of hand. The entire job had been a mess from beginning. If only he hadn't been so foolish as to think that he had been the only man hired to do the job. At least one man back there was not one of the natives.

Maybe there was still some way to talk his way out of this. He hadn't killed any of them, after all, and they were known to enjoy a few choice items, none of which he had on him at the moment. An arrow hit the rock not far from where he hung. That's it. He cut the root.

Falling, he scrabbled down the nearly-sheer hillside, cuts and bruises accruing too quickly for him to wince before he crashed into the brush below.

He laid there for a moment, dazed, when he suddenly felt a presence near him. He jumped away from it, trying to focus on who was near, when his nerves had enough. He lashed out with his knife, still instinctively clutched, and the presence became a low heap on the bush. He caught his breath, and walked on.

They're out for blood, regardless, he thought bitterly, the pain aggravating the sentiment. Why not give them a reason?

As his strength returned, he began to move more quickly, thinking it might be best to get out of there before things got worse. He held up the knife and used the reflection to glance behind him. It was dark, but there was still enough moonlight to spot white skin, provided he was right about whom he'd actually killed.

I really hope I don't get interrupted this time. Gedard carefully incanted the word for the invisibility again, and steadied his steps, walking carefully as his boots and hands began to slowly disappear from sight, transparency creeping up his limbs and seeping into his clothes.

[Suzerain of Sheol]

He was hoping the invisibility would take effect faster when he heard the sound of several sets of feet behind him.

Shit. He whirled around and saw several men. Armed men. They didn't seem to see him and he thanked his fortune that the merchant had at least some degree of honesty.

He slowed his movements some to minimize any noise he might make and started moving away from the group. This job was no longer a priority. The target was dead -whether it was by his hand or not was irrelevant- and his continued presence in the area was just asking to get himself killed. He had no idea why all these armed men were even here but he was starting to suspect that it had something to do with his recent altercation with the natives. Perhaps that meant there was a town nearby.

He changed direction, heading down and following the trail of the armed company. If I follow this back, I should reach the town they started at.

[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.